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. 

Chuck Meets an Orangutan

    Chuck wanted to meet an orangutan.

    That’s basically what started the adventure to the zoo.

    I wanted to visit the Schonbrunn Zoo for a thousand reasons, one of which included the fact that this fabulous Baroque-style zoo housed an orangerie which housed Vienna’s orangutans.  And who doesn’t want to come face to face with an orangutan?

    But, as we rode the subway system that afternoon to the zoo, I tried to explain to my rascal cat that the zoo had so much more to offer.

    “Chuck, this zoo is the oldest zoo in existence.  Do you realize that Emperor Franz I technically first brought visitors to see his menagerie of interesting animals behind the palace back in 1752?  Today that site--the zoo--is considered a UNESCO world heritage site.”

    When I ramble on and on and throw out what I consider interesting historical facts, Chuck always looks amazingly bored.  If you can, imagine the three of us (Chuck, my husband, and myself) riding in a subway car, ever alert for our stop, while I am whispering this pseudo lecture to Chuck, who is semi-stuffed in my smart bag.  He is not a happy camper. Because all he wants to do is to meet an orangutan.

    When we reach our stop, we climb the stairs to the outside and walk the few blocks to the Schonbrunn Palace, then follow the path to the zoo.  There will be no escape for Chuck because I’m determined to tell him what I know about this wonderful place.

    “Listen, there are over two millions visitors who come from all over the world each year.”
 
     Chuck, by now his head clearly visible out of the smart bag, is busy gazing around as we traverse a little used path to the zoo.
 
 “The zoo has more than 500 animal species and is considered one of the most modern zoos in the world.”

    Chuck shoots me a glance, and I wonder if he understands the concept of species or even cares, for that matter.

    “Okay, but Schonbrunn was voted the best zoo in Europe in 2009 and 2010.”

    We reach the entrance gate, and Chuck ducks back down as we pay our fee.

    Inside, we waste no time getting our bearings and scoping out the surroundings.  It will take us ten minutes to walk to the orangutan exhibit.  Chuck seems to be interested in little else.  But that’s how he is.  Once he puts his mind to something, he cannot be distracted.

    Finally, we arrive, and we are lucky that for the moment, the exhibit is  practically deserted.  A few moms with babies in strollers are nearby, but we have the perfect moment for my rascal cat to emerge and do what he’s been dying to do all day--meet an orangutan.

    I have no idea how this will go or what Chuck actually intends to do.

    I watch as he hops out of my bag and lands on the sand in front of the glass wall that separates the orangutan from us.

    The orangutan glances over and spots us.  Slowly, he meanders over in that lovely orangutan way, his long hairy arms propelling him along the grassy ground, until he can’t get any closer.  He presses his face up to the glass.

    Chuck peeks up at the orangutan, and the orangutan looks down at my cheeky boy in what I would call “wide-eyed” wonder.

    Obviously, they are curious about each other.

    I wonder--if the glass wasn’t there--if they would shake--hand to paw.

    But they don’t, of course.

    And I know little to nothing about orangutans at that moment, and ever worried about my Chuck, the horrid thought shoots through my head-- would this orangutan eat my cat, if he had the chance??

    Later, I do research and discover that orangutans don’t eat cats.  In fact, orangutans eat mostly tropical fruit, leaves, bark, sprouts, and insects.  They are also highly intelligent and use tools to forage for food.  Interestingly enough, they are also bothered, like humans are,  by mosquitoes.

    When the all too brief encounter is over, the orangutan shifts away from the glass.

    “Are you happy now, Chuck?”

    Chuck watches as this giant red ape saunters back to where he was originally, and I wonder if this was the first time this orangutan ever saw a cat?

    All I know is that this is the first time my cat has seen an orangutan.

    And I would bet all the rice in China that he’ll never forget it.

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   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."