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.) 

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