Chuck Falls Hard for a Hunchback

It all began when Chuck, my rascal cat, became obsessed with the deformed bell ringer, Quasimodo, and wanted to meet him in person.

He’d seen the movie, and even though I wasn’t sure if he could follow the plot, I knew one thing for sure.

He loved the hunchback scenes. When Charles Laughton, who played the deformed bell ringer “Quasimodo” of the Notre Dame Cathedral, dragged himself across the screen, Chuck sat glued in front of the TV set.

The Hunchback of Notre Dame is a classic black and white film, released in December 1939 starring Maureen O’Hara as the gypsy girl Esmeralda who is framed for a murder by an infatuated Chief Justice played by Cedric Hardwicke. She is then saved by “Quasimodo” himself, the Hunchback, because she gives him water when no one else dares to show him the smallest kindness.

How can you forget the scene when he faces her and says, “I am not man. I am not beast. I’m as shapeless as the man in the moon.”

Fast forward.

I went to Paris because so many people raved about how beautiful Paris was. Chuck, we later discovered, had a very different agenda. Besides wanting to see the Eiffel Tower, he wanted to meet the HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME.

QUASIMODO HIMSELF.

As if a fictional character from a book, a film, really existed.

In our hotel room in the Montparnasse, I sat Chuck down and tried to explain. “Quasimodo isn’t real. It’s a made up story. If we go to Paris and visit the cathedral, he won’t be there, I promise.”

Chuck stared at me, and tilted his head slightly to the left.

I know Chuck very well. When he does that, he isn’t buying a word I am saying.

I tried another tact. “Have it your way. We’ll go to the Cathedral. After all, we are in Paris. You can see for yourself. No Quasimodo.”

The next morning, bright and early, Chuck was ready to go.

We were not close to the Cathedral, but we were within walking distance if we crossed through the Luxembourg Gardens. Luckily, it was a nice weather day.

Chuck had watched the Hunchback of Notre Dame movie a lot. He knew exactly what the cathedral looked like. And although modern Paris looked a lot different than the 15th century Paris portrayed in the movie, the cathedral looked almost exactly the same--very medieval--even though it went through extensive renovations in the 19th century.

Of course, it didn’t hit me until we were inside and I stopped to light a candle that Chuck was going to expect to go to the top into the BELL TOWER. After all, if you are looking for Quasimodo, you’ll not see him lounging around near the altar. Oh no, he will be up, up, up in the BELL TOWER.

And, of course, the route to the top, to the South Tower, is not easy.

Poor Chuck.

How could I possibly explain to him that the Notre Dame Cathedral is an historic landmark? One cannot wander around at will.

Plus, the place is very crowded.

If you stop to admire something for longer than a second, someone is bound to bump into you.

I could feel the Chuckster rustling around in my smart bag.

He wanted to peek out and scan the cathedral for Quasimodo.

And any minute he was going to expect to climb the 387 stairs and go up to the South Tower, past the gargoyles and the chimeras, designed by Viollet-le-Duc in the 19th century.

We squirreled ourselves in a corner, and I let Chuck sniff around. He was content for a moment. I whispered a few relevant facts in his hear - that construction for the the cathedral was begun in 1163, that it took over 200 years to complete . . .

Suddenly, someone tapped my shoulder.

A concerned tourist was trying to warn me that we’d been spotted.

Someone in charge, someone who looked very official with a terrible scowl on his face and a walkie-talkie type instrument in his hand, was making his way toward me and my rascal cat.

I imagine smuggling a cat into the Notre Dame Cathedral was punishable by LIFE IMPRISONMENT and/or DEATH?

And I don’t speak a word of French. Only Italian.

There was only one way out of this dilemma and of this cathedral.

I began to push and shove my way through the massive crowds. Then we disappeared into the sea of faces that swarmed the front entrance like ants.

Some missions--like meeting Quasimodo--the Hunchback of Notre Dame-- are just impossible to achieve.

If Quasimodo was up there in the bell tower, as Chuckie suspected, I imagined he was gazing down as we scampered off. And laughing.

Wild Point Island, my paranormal romance, is available on Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble.com.  Recently it was rated 5 Stars by The E Book Reviewers, who said, "At the very core . . . is a multi-level mystery, with plot twists and turns that you never expected. And there is a deep touching love story that grasped my heart and never let go.  This is one book you must go buy now; once you start reading, you won’t be able to put it back down."  

       

Chuck Is On a Mission - In Search of PEZ

After the fortune telling incident, before we’d even made our way back to our hotel room, as we were strolling down the boardwalk in Atlantic City, one of the most famous cities on the east coast, Chuck, the rascal cat, had yet another idea.

So . . . imagine. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining brightly. And I’m almost beginning to totally enjoy myself. I’ve almost even forgotten our encounter with the tarot card reader and the crazy man in the casino. I glance at Chuck, and, yes, he seems to be enjoying himself. Because, as you know, CATS LOVE THE SUN.

But no sooner do I let relaxation course through me, than I sense that something is about to go wrong.

Chuck is pointing with his paw.

Because we are passing a store that I would have thought Chuck would have no interest in.

I am obviously wrong, of course.

He has that look in his eye, that stare that cats get when they spot a bird or a butterfly.

This time the Chuckster has spotted the sign that no one can miss as they saunter on by : IT’SUGAR.

I discovered this store last year when I was in Atlantic City with my sisters. It is the ultimate sugar fix-candy store, with literally every brand of candy you can imagine or remember gorging on when you were a kid. Even the mega-sized Hershey bars.

But Chuckie isn’t interested in “smoking” candy cigarettes to look cool or licking lollipops. Or munching on twizzlers or those dots that are pasted on those long sheets of paper that you have to tear off with your teeth.

As we sneak into the store -- and believe me, we really don’t have to do much sneaking because everyone in this story seems to be so totally mesmerized by the merchandize, I could’ve walked in with a 200 pound gorilla and no one would have noticed -- Chuckie scans all the shelves until he spots the only confection he’s truly interested in.

PEZ.


Now, it’s true. Cats don’t eat candy.

At least no cat I’ve ever lived with. They’ll sniff it and pretend interest, but when it comes right down to eating it, they’ll go for chicken, steak, lobster or salty potato chips anyday of the week.

So why was the kid so into PEZ?

Chuck and I made a beeline for the PEZ, and I did what any concerned guardian would do. I turned our casual outing into a history lesson.

“This candy,” I said to Chuck as he sat staring at the PEZ, “has a fascinating history. It was invented in 1927 in Vienna, Austria, as a breath mint.”

Since he didn’t stir or sigh, like he usually did, I kept on talking.
“In fact, the word PEZ comes from the German word peppermint: PfeffErminZ. That’s where the PEZ came from. Isn’t that interesting?”

Chuck leaned in closer, and I could tell he was looking at all the different types of dispensers.

“In 1935 they built a factory in Czechoslovakia to manufacture PEZ on a grander scale, but it wasn’t until 1948 that Oscar Uxa designed the first PEZ dispenser.”

Now, here I had the kid’s attention.

“That’s right. Before that, the candies came in just plain old wrappers. Anyway, the dispensers were meant to resemble cigarette lighters to encourage people to quit smoking.”

Chuck tilted his head. For all his bad habits, smoking wasn’t one of them.

“PEZ came to the United States in the 1950’s. Popeye, Mickey Mouse, Tweetie Bird were all on dispensers. Elvis. Star War figures. Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. They added feet to the dispensers in the 1980‘s.”

Chuck looked really interested now.

I rambled on. “In fact, their slogan was: ‘YOU’RE NOT FAMOUS UNTIL YOU PUT YOUR HEAD ON A PEZ DISPENSER.’”

Chuck’s eyes lit up.

That’s when I realized what the kid wanted.

He wanted his head on a PEZ dispenser.

My almost famous cat.

Oh, Chuck. Just because you are star of a blog and your picture is on my website and sometimes, just sometimes people notice you . . .

“Maybe, someday you’ll be so famous you’ll get your head on a PEZ dispenser. But for now . . .” And I almost couldn’t bear to say the rest of it, for already the kid looked so dejected. He had his head down in his paws. “Oh, Chuck, for now, it’ll have to be just a dream. But someday, I promise, you’ll be on a PEZ dispenser, too.”

To learn more about PEZ: www.pez.com/history

And to learn more about Chuck log onto www.katelutter.com

Wild Point Island, my paranormal romance, is available on Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble.com.  Recently it was rated 5 Stars by The E Book Reviewers, who said, "At the very core . . . is a multi-level mystery, with plot twists and turns that you never expected. And there is a deep touching love story that grasped my heart and never let go.  This is one book you must go buy now; once you start reading, you won’t be able to put it back down."