The Birds of Melk

 This is my version of our visit to the infamous Melk Abbey, located on a rocky outcrop overlooking the Danube River in Austria and dating back to 1089. Believe it or not, Leopold II gave one of his castles to the Benedictine monks. First it was a school for monks and then later evolved into a monastic library, known for its extensive collection of manuscripts (especially musical compositions.) This was in the time before books were printed (Gutenberg 1440).

Today the abbey (rebuilt between 1702 and 1736) is Baroque in style, which means fancy and ornate.

That's what Dan and I notice when we first arrive. It is immense. It can be seen for miles, it's decorated with statues and gold, and you face a giant courtyard.

I can't resist taking a video:

The part of the story that I love is that it seems to be indestructible and somehow managed to survive:

a fire in 1297 (the monks saved the manuscripts)

a Turkish invasion in 1683

another fire in 1702

another fire in 1974 when it was restored from 1978-1995.

We are promised a tour of the inside, and it is dazzling. No photos allowed, of course, but you can bet there are statues and murals and ceilings that overwhelm you. Opulence is the word I'm using here.

Theo can care less. He is a reluctant visitor to this fabulous abbey. Imagine no excitement or exuberance. One painting is like any other. We surreptitiously let him sniff what we can, but who knows what he's thinking. 

This is Theo's version of his forced visit to Melk:

"I didn't want to go. Meow. Meow. They made me go, see? Who cares about an abbey? Who cares about thousand year old statues?"

"Theo, there must have been something you liked." 

He pauses and rests his head on his beautifully defined paws. 

"One thing," I urge him.

"Oh," he says, lifting his head up, "the birds."

What? And then I remember. As we are touring around this wonderful place (my words, not Theo's), we step out of the abbey into a courtyard in the middle of the castle/abbey. And there are birds.  No, we're not talking ostriches or eagles. Just regular birds.

And those birds make Theo's day!

Thanks for all your continued support over the years. Theo loves the fact that so many of you log on and read his adventures. Theo is taking next week off--July 29, 2025. We'll be back the week after that with a peek inside Theo's life at home with Mico and Sienna.  

Theo Cruising the Danube

 

Most of us hear the word cruise and think--yeah!!! That sounds like fun. Theo, the gangster cat, thinks--why would I like a cruise? His question comes out like a low-sounding growl meow. 

The truth is we hated leaving the Schonbrunn Zoo and Vienna. But a leisurely cruise down a portion of the Danube River where we do nothing but relax and watch the sometimes gorgeous and sometimes baffling scenery can't be all bad. Can it? 

The Danube River is Europe's second longest river, which flows through Germany, Hungary, Austria, Slovakia, and Serbia. We'll be traveling on only a small portion of the river (in Germany) for the next few days and making stops along the way. 

We're not quite sure what we're going to see, but we're prepared for anything. Theo is, of course, skeptical that we'll spy anything of interest. I disagree. He counters that this cruise is a giant opportunity to take a long and well deserved nap. 

"But . . . you're going to miss out on some really great stuff," I tell him. "How about if we wake you up if we roll by anything spectacular?"

He doesn't agree and he doesn't disagree. Why are so many of our compromises with Theo based on an uneasy truce?

Imagine Dan and I in deck chairs on the top deck. We have a perfect view of the river and the river bank. Theo is nestled on the deck between us, on top of a cozy blanket. He settles in and his eyes immediately snap shut. Is he really sleeping or only cat napping?

We pass our first noteworthy, not so noteworthy site:

What is it? It looks like a dilapidated house so it must be a ruin. No, don't wake Theo for this.

Ah, this is more like it. The kind of village where you want to walk around--the picture perfect antiquish town--cobblestone streets, old churches--a glimpse into the way life used to be. I turn to shake Theo awake, but Dan stops me with a quick shake of the head.

Regular people houses. So this is what a contemporary Danube River house looks like. I like the red roofs. Should we wake Theo? Dan votes no.

 

It takes us awhile to figure this one out. We see the large protruding rock but what is that underneath? Some kind of statue? It must be. 

And finally some greenery. We know the land near a river is often fertile and perfect for planting vineyards. Wine and more wine. We think this is what we see. Still, Theo is no wine drinker. We leave him napping.

We see more of the same---picturesque houses, beautiful scenery and a lovely terraced vineyard that is eye-popping. Theo is fast asleep.

Parts of the river is, well, just river stuff. 

And then, we get the view that we can write home about. Surely, Theo will relish this one. He has to see this one, I think. Dan looks skeptical.

"Let the kid sleep."

"But this one will make his day," I insist.

"Will it?"

You tell me. Should we have woken Theo up for this view?

Theo and One Disgusting Vulture

 When you're traveling with a gangster cat like Theo, don't even think of visiting a zoo, especially the Tiergarten Schonbrunn, without visiting the aviary exhibit. But stay clear of the vultures!

We're on our way to find the elusive polar bears when Theo spots the sign for the birds. It's beginning to rain, and Theo doesn't like getting wet. We'll duck in for a minute. What can go wrong?

We pass a few exhibits of birds--no idea what kind of birds we're looking at and no time at all to find out. Immediately Theo is enthralled. He stops, crouches down and begins to do what cats always do when they spot a bird--their tails wag back and forth, their mouth opens and they make a half cackling half I'm going to bite your head off sound. 

I've seen Theo react this way many times before. Theo can be behind glass and the birds can be way off in the trees somewhere, but if he spots them, he wants them.

"I just want to sniff them," he says all innocence but you would have to be insane to let Theo get within 50 feet of a bird. Sure, they can fly, but this kid is fast. That urge to sniff a bird propels him like a rocket.

Which is exactly what happens. Theo disappears and reappears in front of the vulture exhibit. It is the bird to beat all birds. Mr. Vulture  has a black body, red head devoid of feathers, and a wingspan of about three feet.   

We notice he is carrying a mouse in his mouth. I've never seen that before. The poor thing--Mickey, Minnie (my heart breaks to think about it) is half in and half out. I can see its tail dangling down. 

Theo is enthralled. A few minutes turns into many minutes as Theo watches this vulture perch on a branch, a mouse dangling from his mouth. Will the vulture eat the mouse in front of us? Will he drop it and will it scurry away in a last bid for survival? 

I know little about vultures, only what I've seen in movies so I consult David Swanson's article on vultures: What do vultures eat? 

I learn a slew of disgusting facts. Despite the fact that vultures have a perfect sense of smell, excellent eyesight and can fly high above the Earth's surface, they smell terrible because they're not only carnivores but can feed on rotting carcasses like mice, lizards and insects. They have a highly acidic stomach which breaks down their food quickly and prevents them from getting sick from botulism, etc. They also have a unique defense mechanism--they can vomit the entire contents of their stomach to distract a predator, giving them time to fly off and reach speeds of about 30 miles per hour. They can consume 20% of their body weight in one sitting. And they urinate on their own legs to lower their body heat. That's why he stinks.

Because Mr. Vulture is behind glass, we can't smell him or hear him, but vultures do hiss, grunt and cackle as they feast. They are messy eaters but afterwards will take a swim and meticulously clean themselves.

It hits me. Should I be letting Theo get too close and watch a potential massacre unfold? Is he old enough for this? Then I realize the poor little mouse is dead so there won't be much drama. Of course, meanwhile, Theo is sniffing, sniffing the outside of the cage looking for a way in. I don't doubt it for a minute.

I try to get a video because frankly I'm a bit mesmerized myself, but there's an horrendous glare on the glass. We wait another few minutes, but the vulture does absolutely nothing. 

"Theo, can we go now?"

It has stopped raining temporarily, and we have a far way to walk to reach the subway station and get back to our hotel. 

If Theo could moonwalk backwards, he would. Imagine watching the final episode of a blockbuster series and your partner threatens to turn it off. Theo wants to see everything.

Dan comes to the rescue. "We have to go now."

Eventually Theo is ready. Fun fact: despite the disgusting nature of vultures, they are considered friendly and even harmless birds that other birds avoid--you guessed it--because they smell so bad. 

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.