Lions, Lions and Theo, Oh My

 Sometimes I see my cats at home as miniature lions or tigers--their fur and coloring, the way they stalk their prey, and even though none the three--Theo, Sienna or Mico--have actual manes, they prowl and growl like a lion. That's why I'm not too surprised to discover that Theo becomes mesmerized by the lion exhibit. 

Now most zoos have lions--from the well known Philadelphia Zoo to the smaller and less known Paws and Claws in Pennsylvania. But how close can you actually get to seeing a lion up close and personal? I guess the other question is how close do you want to get?

The Schonbrunn Zoo has one of the most eye-popping lion exhibits I've ever seen. From one vantage point, as Mr. Lion stalks around the exhibit, he can get so close . . . well, it feels as if he is going to somehow pass through the glass that separates him from us and touch our noses.

Theo gets close, too. They stare eye to eye, and I know what Theo is thinking. He wants to sniff Mr. Lion. He wants to find some way in. I can see his head swishing from side to side. He knows there's glass there; he's well acquainted with windows and patio doors at home. 

He looks up at me expectantly. 

"This isn't a sliding glass door," I tell him. 

He looks disappointed.

"Trust me, Theo, you don't want it to be a sliding door."

Theo glances at Dan because it's obvious I'm not making any sense. 

"Lions are wild animals," Dan says. "Dangerous."

I want to say: "He'll want you for lunch, a cute little cat like yourself." I don't. No sense scaring the kid. I hope it's enough--this close encounter with a lion, even if he can only see him. 

Theo taps on the glass. The lion lets out a roar.

"Don't do that. You really don't want to rile him up."

Now he's pouting because Mr. Lion, assessing the situation, is beginning to stalk away.

"He either wants a snack or he wants a nap," I pronounce with authority. 

I'm wrong. 

"Look." Dan catches sight of another lion in the exhibit. The wife. She is proudly sitting on a rock at the highest point in the exhibit. That's where Mr. Lion is going.

"Look, Theo. There he is."

I'm reminded of an observation in Out of Africa, the memoir not the movie, when Karen Blixen, after her beloved Denys Finch Hatton has died and she has moved back to Denmark, receives a letter from a friend that the Maasai have reported seeing lions on Deny's grave in Kenya every sunrise and sunset. She sees the lions as a fitting tribute to the man she loved.

We spend a few more moments watching these two majestic creatures sit side by side, and I'm reminded how it's small moments like these that make life so wonderful.

Theo Decides Elephant, Hippo or Koala Bear

 We have never seen him happier. As Dan and I move from exhibit to exhibit in the Schonbrun Zoo, Theo comes to life. I know cats can't smile, but the look on his face--the way he keeps opening and closing his eyes, the way he skips along the path eager to see the next animal, the way he stares as if he's willing himself to slip into each enclosure--to get closer--says it all.  

I love elephants. Years ago on safari in Kenya, I sat in a safari truck as hundreds of elephants sauntered past. You could hear them passing but no one was afraid. Nowadays elephants are rarely found in zoos. They need a lot of room to live, and most zoos don't have the space. I'm both thrilled and concerned that Schonbrun has an elephant. I try to explain the dilemma I find myself in to Theo.

"Even though this elephant lives in a big enclosure, is it enough room? That's my worry. But I'm glad that anyone coming to the zoo can see an elephant. Maybe people will care more when they hear the tragic stories of how elephants are disappearing on the plains. They'll be more aware."

Theo half nods, his face pressed against the rails, as he stares at the elephant:

We take a few minutes to stand and watch:

We move on and check out the hippos. They are big and eat large amounts of food--a single watermelon in a single gulp--and they seem harmless enough prowling around in their exhibit. But there's another side to the hippo.

I tell Theo, "They are considered the most dangerous animal on the plains. They can run fast on the land. It's only safe to view them from a distance and never up close. Even though you'll often see them floating in the rivers in Kenya, their heads just above the water, their eyes resting on top of the water, it's still not safe to be so close. Most tourists are accompanied by guards with a rifle, just in case.

Seeing them this close is a real treat. Watching them eat. Move.

Finally, we move on to the koala bears. The last time I saw a koala bear in a zoo was years ago in Washington, DC. They look so cute from afar, but I remember the zoo attendant, holding a koala in her arms. She showed us the scratches on her arm, a gift from the koala. Koala bears are bears after all. 

"Okay, which one is your favorite, Theo, the elephant, the hippo or the koala bear?" I know what my answer would be (elephant).

 He smiles. 

"Which one? Inquiring minds want to know."

"The lion."

And on we go to the next exhibit to see the lions. 

Theo and Stanley the Stork

 It doesn't take much to convince Theo to come to the zoo with us. We're still in Vienna, so it means jumping on the subway and walking about a mile to the zoo. (In Vienna dogs are allowed on the subway so I figure who's going to worry about a cat?) 

The Schonbrun Zoo, part of the Schonbrun Palace gardens and the oldest zoo in the world still in operation, was established in 1752. It is also a UNESCO World Heritage Site and is approximately 40 acres. The official name: Schonbrun Tiergarten (Zoo).

I'm impressed. I've been there once before and loved it. Theo has one interest only--seeing and possibly sniffing the animals--lions and tigers and bears. Well, not exactly, but the zoo not only has a lovely assortment of animals, it also was originally laid out by an architect so the paths wind around in the most interesting fashion. Each exhibit looks like a work of art. 

We are on our way, but it's slow moving. Theo wants to see and hear everything. He has amazing eyesight, able to spot an animal even when they're heavily camouflaged in their environment. We keep a close hold on him, dreading any attempts he might make to get into the enclosures themselves.  And things go along as we hope--Theo is happy. And well behaved. 

Until we reach the storks. They are a rambunctious group. Loud and brash. Constantly flapping their wings. At first Theo is fascinated. Birds? What cat doesn't love birds? And even though these storks can't fly, they leap about as if they're going to take off any minute.

What separates Theo from the storks are three lines of wire fence. Big enough, surely to keep the storks in. Not big enough to keep a cat out. I know that's what Theo's thinking. At first, he's content to spy from a distance. But then on his little cat feet, he slides closer, utterly fascinated by these majestic birds.

One of the storks--let's call him Stanley--spots Theo and comes over, too close for my comfort. Meticulously, he grooms his coat in a show offy kind of way. "Look at me," he seems to squawk. Or is his incessant squawking an invitation to the gangster cat to come over and sniff?

Theo moves closer. 

"Hold it, buddy," I whisper. "You're not going in that enclosure."

I know nothing about storks. Would they eat a cat? Would the entire flock of storks surround and then torture my tabby cat? 

Stanley Stork is a tease. He gets even closer. Theo looks like he's about to rush into the enclosure. He wants to sniff Stanley.

"No sniffing allowed," I hiss.

But Stanley doesn't seem to care that Theo is there. He comes so close to that fence that now I'm wondering if he intends a grand escape. Imagine the headlines. Stork escapes zoo enclosure to meet a cat. Theo, in his defense, would meow he only wanted to sniff him.

Well, there's no drama this time. Stanley leans out and Theo sniffs his stork. Then, as if those kind of encounters happen everyday, Stanley turns around, flaps his wings and stork foots away. 

Phew. I glance at Theo. Is he disappointed? No, he's happy. And it's on to the next exhibit.

Theo and the Viennese Horseman

 Some people call Vienna the magical city. If it weren't for the cars, there are views of this ancient city that makes you think you've stepped back in time. The city (with over 2,000,000 inhabitants) lies on the eastern edge of the Vienna Woods and northeastern edge of the Alps, and sits on the Danube River. It was home to many celebrated classical composers including Beethoven, Haydn, Schubert, and of course, Mozart.

Vienna used to be surrounded by an ancient wall until the middle of the 19th century when it was knocked down and replaced with a circular boulevard--approximately three miles long--called the Ringstrasse. This is the cultural and historical center of Vienna and includes the Vienna State Opera House, the Imperial Palace (also known as the Hapsburg Palace):

 the Kunsthistorisches Museum (containing the art treasures of the Hapsburgs), The Museum of Natural History (which houses the largest natural science collection in the world), Parliament constructed in the Greek style, and the National Theatre with ceilings painted by Gustav Klimt.

The views are breathtaking. The statues, the gold, the decorative motives on the buildings:

We are in awe. Theo is happy to be outside. After a quick tour by bus we slow down and walk on foot. This is Theo's favorite part. He can sniff his way around and as we ooh and ahh, he trots along--enjoying this romp through time or oblivious to it. 

Sure, he gazes up (reluctantly) when I point out some of the more unusual or exotic sights: a lion statue wearing a cross and holding a shield

a rooftop golden globe surrounded by three warrior goddesses:

But, frankly, he's more interested in what's on the ground than what's on the buildings. He's being super cooperative because he knows that we plan to leave Vienna proper for the zoo. And Theo loves seeing other animals or what he thinks are animals.

This is when it happens. Suddenly, Theo takes off for a quick run down the sidewalk. Where is he going?

We hear music. The sound of an accordion playing. And Theo is headed straight towards a sneaker wearing musician playing on the streets of Vienna. But he's not just any musician, he's wearing a horse's head, the Viennese Horseman.

Emphasis on man. Wearing a horse's head. Minding his own business. 

Does Theo think he's a horse that plays the violin? Is that why he's so interested and racing towards him? We have two pianos at home but no accordion. Has Theo ever even seen an accordion? Or a man wearing a horse's head?

We expect him to get close but no closer. Or will he jump on the horse's lap and take a good sniff? 

We're wrong on both counts. Theo, who has never shown any interest in Mozart's music, suddenly transforms himself into a cat child prodigy who appreciates accordion music. He sits and listens. Respectfully. 

We come up slowly behind Theo. And then drop a few bucks in the horseman's bucket. It's a tough and slightly eccentric way to make a living. 

 

Theo: Snacks or Mozart

 I like all kinds of music, from classical to modern, from show tunes to folk to rock to country and even the blues. We are lucky to be living in this century when there are so many choices. 

In Vienna, Austria, Theo (the gangster cat), Dan and I visit the Mozart Museum. (Yes, I am a fan of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's music.) I play the piano. I think I know a lot about him. In the movie Amadeus, 1984, Mozart was portrayed as an eccentric, selfish, often childish and unlikable composer who lived life on the edge. 

And yet the body of his music tells another story. Mozart was a man who was obsessed with playing his piano and composing. Who worked long hours composing into the night. Who in his day was so famous that he was seen by the public as a rock star. Who wrote his first piece of music when he was five years old. Who had already performed before two imperial courts by the time he was six. He toured for three years with his sister playing in Munich, Paris and London. He was a child prodigy. Everyone wanted to meet him and hear him play. Everyone invited him to dinner.

And that is where the story gets interesting. What was Mozart's relationship with food? Theo wants to know. Yes, there is a connection to his music, a fascinating one.

When he was at home, he ate with his family. He had servants to prepare the food. He also went to inns and restaurants to eat and be entertained and to even compose music. At home, when he was in the middle of composing, he had food delivered from local restaurants. In his letters he valued eating and drinking as a social and cultural experience. All of this is quite interesting, considering we're talking about the 1780's in Vienna when people still rode horses to get from one place to another, and there was no electricity, indoor plumbing or central AC. 

On one occasion Mozart was invited to dine at the house of a man who did a copper engraving of him. He arrived shortly before dinner was served. He immediately sat at the piano and began to play. When the soup was brought to the table, the guests remained in the adjoining room listening to his beautiful music. The soup turned cold. That evening the roast burned. Mozart continued to play, unaware of the situation. Finally, the hostess touched Mozart's arm and invited him to the table where the guests had finally assembled to eat. Mozart promised to be right there, but he continued to play and eventually forgot to eat. We know all this because the hostess kept a diary and described that evening.

Music or food? 

On another occasion, the hostess, feeling distraught that Mozart wouldn't come to the table to eat, brought his plate to the piano, trying to tempt him to eat while he continued to play music for the guests. 

Theo listens intently to those two stories and shakes his head. When Theo is at home, what does he like to do more than anything else? Besides play with Mico and Sienna, he loves to sit on the rug or on the back of the couch and gaze out onto the patio, watching the birds and squirrels, the deer, the leaves. He likes to smell the breeze wafting in through the screened patio door.

But when I say "snack," no matter what is out there, his head jerks around and he is ready to run upstairs and eat his snack. 

In this museum, which includes part of where Mozart lived while in Vienna, Theo wanders around and sniffs. He politely sniffs an outfit that Mozart wore. He examines the display of all the announcements of Mozart's concerts. 

He sniffs some of the furniture in the rooms of his house. 

But when I say snack, Theo must decide--Mozart or food. Instantly, he's by my side, waiting. So, okay, Theo is no musical cat prodigy. He likes his snack.

Later, Dan (my own hero pianist) plays a snippet of the second movement of Mozart's Sonata in C. Theo smiles. (Well, if a cat could smile, he would be smiling.) 

Log on to my Facebook page to hear some Mozart magic. 

Theo Horses Around in Vienna

 It's been years since I've visited Vienna. Like a little kid in a candy store, I can't wait to look around and see what I can find. Theo, my gangster cat, is a bit less enthusiastic. Because Vienna is a hustling, bustling place, chocked full of ancient buildings and, perhaps, too many people, he seems intimidated.

I promise him--we'll find something you like. Trust me.

Eagerly I snap photos as we head toward the main part of the city. We pass our first church affectionately called the Mexican Church:

We pass the graffiti building (or at least that's what I call it):

We cross a bridge over a Danube River tributary:

In Vienna proper now, we're on foot, within the Ringstrasse, an elegant 2.5 mile boulevard which encircles the old town. In 1857 this boulevard replaced Vienna's ancient city walls. We cross beneath an old but magnificent arch. Now I'm beginning to feel Vienna's heart:

All of that leads us to our first glimpse of St. Stephan's Church, which took hundreds of years to build from 1137 when they first broke ground to 1578 when it was finally completed. This mixture of both Romanesque and Gothic architecture stands on the ruins of two earlier churches. Over the years it has been the scene of numerous weddings including Joseph Haydn and Mozart. 

I am in awe. If I believed in time travel, standing inside St. Stephan's Church, on ground that's existed for so many centuries, would be the first step in finding a way to travel through time. 

Explaining that idea to Theo, however, is a waste of time. He'll watch something on the History Channel (especially if there are animals in the show) . . . but outside the church he finally looks interested. 

Horses. A white wheeled horse drawn carriage to be precise that is attached to four gorgeous white horses. For tourists who like to imagine that they're back in Mozart's time when people still rode horses and took carriage rides--not for fun but to get somewhere. 

Theo looks up at me expectantly. The driver, who was there one minute ago, is gone for some of that excellent Vienna coffee, so this is our chance, I think. 

"Behave yourself," I caution automatically although how much danger can Theo actually be in when the horses are tied to their carriage. 

Theo approaches cautiously and keeps his distance, at first. But then he can't resist the lure of his fellow animal. His nose twitches. He's sniffing from afar (which will never be good enough).

I know Theo. Sure enough, before I can step in between him and the lovely white horse he's fixated on, Theo is there, standing near the horse's leg, sniffing away. The horse glances down as much as he can, despite the blinders that surround his face.

Who's that? he's probably wondering. Or has he figured everything out already because he can smell Theo. 

Suddenly, I imagine everything going to hell. What if the horse decides he doesn't want some American cat sniffing him, and now even cozying up to him? What if he lifts one of his legs and uses that gigantic hoof to try and kick Theo away? I half imagine Theo flying through the air, like in some cartoon and ending up where--on top of St. Stephan's. 

I reign in my imagination and dread. The encounter is a peaceful one. 

For me, it's a lesson in how the world can be perceived so differently by one person to the next, one person to a cat. Theo sees the horse. I see St. Stephan's, in all its historical magnificence. 

Theo and Pearl's Tadpoles

 As is often the case with Theo, the gangster cat, and historic buildings, he's more interested in the wildlife and the beauties of nature than furniture and the historical ambiance that makes certain places so special. Tucked away in the Bucks County countryside in Pennsylvania, Pearl S. Buck, the renowned author of The Good Earth lived with her publisher husband and adopted children.

The farmhouse they purchased after their marriage was old. They needed to renovate and expand. Acres and acres of luscious farmland surrounded them. They split their time between a townhouse in NYC during the week and their country estate on weekends. They installed all the latest amenities--running water, indoor plumbing, electricity. Near the kitchen a giant bell was rung to call the children in for lunch.

At that time, Bucks County attracted wealthy and famous New Yorkers who wanted to leave the country behind. Musicians, writers and artists surrounded them including Oscar Hammerstein and James Michener.  

I read The Good Earth years ago in college. Buck was born in the USA but grew up in China so she was more than familiar with the culture and mores. Born from Missionary parents, she spent a great deal of her adulthood in China until it became too dangerous to stay. 

I was impressed by the novel, a best-seller which won the Pulitzer Prize in 1932 and then a Nobel Price in 1938 for her keen depictions of Chinese peasant life. Her house and grounds have been preserved. It is now a destination to visit: 

Dan, Theo and I are given a private tour of her house. We're taken from room to room as we learn her story. Her house is an odd mixture of Pennsylvania farmhouse and Chinese artifacts. 

When I visit her house, I'm even more impressed with how she lived her life. She was a fierce advocate for children, especially mixed-race children, who back in the day were often unadoptable. Over the years she and her husband, true to their convictions, filled their house with the children they adopted. She also used her earnings to start a Foster Home, which she located on her property near her own house. 

She didn't live a perfect life. Controversies surrounded her. But what does all this have to do with tadpoles?

Outside on the side of her farmhouse, there is a stream which leads into a small pond with a bridge, the perfect habitat for tadpoles. 

Before Theo expresses an interest, I know little about them. But a quick search on google reveals that they are the hatched darlings of frog eggs. When they hatch, they first feed off of the yolk of their egg and then swim around in search of algae. 

In the initial stage they have a mouth at one end and a tail at the other. In the course of three to four months, they lengthen, grow front and back legs and begin to metamorphose into frogs.

Theo seems to instinctively know the tadpoles are there. He wanders over to the stream, too close for my comfort, and leans in--his keen cat eyes searching the water for any sign of movement. He's ever curious and like a laser beam, spots the tiny fellows darting here and there.

Theo is not a fan of water, but I issue a stern warning anyway: "The tadpoles are not for eating, Theo, only watching."

Can a cat grunt? Approval or disapproval? I hear something, and then his tail wags, slowly at first, and then with greater velocity. 

He's going to jump in. I can feel it. But Dan is one step ahead of me. He's been watching Theo's signs. The stare. The crouch before the leap.

Dan swoops up Theo, says nothing, but shakes his head, confirming there will be no tadpoles for dinner today.

We walk away, across the field, toward the lovely bamboo that lines the edge of their property. Bamboo is an invasive species, not that hard to cultivate, but still I'm impressed. 

As we leave the property, we make one more stop. Pearl S. Buck is buried on her own property. It is a cool, quiet place. She designed her own headstone with one word only--her birth name in Chinese characters. Quite a statement. Even Theo comes over to pay her tribute. 

Despite the tadpole almost incident, Theo's a good boy at heart. He dutifully sniffs the grasses surrounding Buck's grave. He'll no doubt dream of tadpoles tonight.