Christmas Kidnapping - Who Done It?

 When you live with three rascal cats and something disappears, you can never be sure who did it. Let's call this case the mystery of the missing Christmas angel. Yes, what you're imagining is absolutely true. 

Here are the facts of the case:

We put our new artificial tree up in the beginning of December and put our beloved angel on the top. Now, this angel has been in the family a long time. She looks perfect on her perch on high. She stares directly into the living room. We love her and never suspect she will disappear like a puff of smoke.

We wake up on December 18 and at first, don't notice the angel is missing. But because we're so close to Christmas, we turn the lights of the tree on early in the morning. Something is wrong. We gasp in horror.

The Christmas angel is gone. 

Are we seeing things? Maybe our sweet angel is tilting backwards, and we can't see her. But no, the angel isn't tilting; she's gone.

Who would kidnap an angel?

Culprit one: Theo, our oldest cat, named after Theodore Roosevelt. Although he is affectionately called the gangster cat as current star of the family blog, he usually is an upstanding feline citizen in our household. He is the least likely to cause mischief. But . . . we have noticed on occasion that if something nefarious is in progress, he'll look on and not make a meow. He is becoming more like rascal Chuck everyday.

Culprit two: Sienna. The sister of the brother and sister duo we adopted a year ago. Sienna is wily and extremely smart. She seems to see everything. At the most unlikely of moments she is racing around the house, looking guilty of having perpetrated some crime, but we can never figure out what she did. She never admits to anything. Usually she's on top of our oversized brown chair in the living room, stretched out, one paw dangling like she plans to stay there forever, or is she just taking the opportunity to plot her next crime?

Culprit three: Mico. The brother of aforementioned duo who is named after Michelangelo. He is as cute as a button, but mischievous and was initially charged (last year) with removing the sink stoppers in our three bathrooms and hiding them. We never could figure out how he pried the stopper out of the sink. But he did.  We must ignore his cuteness, especially when he's pretending to be fast asleep.

We have to take drastic measures. For example, we have an oversized hibiscus tree in our living room. Usually it is outside in warmer weather. Now inside, the three rascals insist on climbing into the planter, digging the dirt, making a mess . . . we try covering it with aluminum foil, with dog pee pads--nothing works. 

 

Finally, inspired by a Facebook video, we put plastic forks into the dirt with the tongs facing upwards as a deterrent. It looks ridiculous but it works!

Dan and I confer on our recent tragic situation.  It's a matter of principle.

"Well, we know one of them kidnapped the angel. But which one?"

Dan smiles. "Based on past experience, it has to be Mico. I'll put my money on Mico."

I don't want to believe it, but the orange and white troublemaking cat does seem the most likely suspect. Perhaps, he swiped at her and she landed upside down, hanging onto the tree for dear life. My imagination is running wild.

But no, she isn't hanging off the side of the tree. 

"It will break my heart if we don't get that angel back. After all, who wants a tree with no topper?"

We decide that using the third degree is our only choice. I get the ultra bright light to shine in Mico's face. Dan prepares the questions. (As a last resort, we can always pull the other two aside and resort to bribery.)

Mico, of course, denies everything. He stares at the top of the three and shrugs his orange and white shoulders. "No, mom. I didn't do it."

"You didn't kidnap the angel?"

We cannot shake his story.

We move onto Sienna. She denies nothing but won't admit to anything. Her blasé attitude almost pushes us to the limit. She silently meows in protest. I'm a firm believer in one rule: Better to let a guilt party go free than punish an innocent party. 

We need proof. 

Our last suspect, Theo, is sleeping soundly on the back of the love seat on a horsehair blanket that he loves. Can someone sleep that soundly if they have a guilty conscience? 

"Theo, tell us who did it. No one will be punished. We just want our angel back."

Theo tilts his head as if considering, as if he would ever play the role of mole in his criminal organization. 

I spy them together on the couch, conferring, plotting. 

"This is ridiculous," I whisper to Dan. "They've obviously taken a code of silence. All for one, one for all."

"So all three were in cahoots together."

It's late. We make one final plea. "Delicious snacks for all if whoever kidnapped the angel, returns her to her right place."

The next morning arrives. It is now five days before Christmas. No Christmas angel. These are the stubbornest cats I've ever met.  

Two days before Christmas Eve. Morning arrives. Dan calls upstairs, "You're not going to believe this. She's back."

I race down the stairs. Sure enough, there the angel sits as if she were never missing. How did they get her up there? How did they get her down? Are they trying to gaslight us? And now they expect snacks.

"You did promise them snacks," Dan says innocently.

"Really."

"Let it go, Kate." 

And let it go I must for my own sanity. 

Happy Holidays! And . . . Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

Theo Investigates the Horrors of Pompei

 Everyone thinks they know the story of Pompei. Read on if you want to know the real story. Only made possible because Theo wants to know and decides to investigate. 

Theo, the gangster cat and my faithful traveling companion, asks the most important questions: why is Pompei so important? what actually happened?

Our local guide--and believe me, you need a guide in Pompei. There is just too much to see. Anyway, he gives us the gist up front:

In 79AD a nearby volcano named Vesuvius erupts (for the first time in 1,000 years) and covers the town of Pompei in approximately eighteen feet of volcanic ash. The eruption destroys the town but, ironically, preserves it. 

Theo narrows his eyes. He says, "I didn't know it was the first time in 1,000 years." (Let me explain. What Theo does know comes from the History Channel.)  

The people of this thriving town die--some breathe in the poisonous gas that drifts into the town. Some die from the intense heat. Others initially escape but return for money and jewelry, misjudge the time, and die.

In essence, time stops in Pompei. It is both a tragedy and an opportunity.

We wander through the museum first because Theo wants to see the bodies, caught in the act of whatever they were doing when the volcanic ash made its way to their door. I can't blame him. Years ago, when I visited Pompei for the first time, I remember seeing some of the bodies, literally frozen in the moment the ash hit, in their houses. Now years later, some have been moved to a museum to help keep them better preserved:

 

They are a ghastly sight. One minute everything was fine. Normal. The next--the entire town they live in is destroyed.

Archaeologists over the years have uncovered the city by carefully removing the ash. From Theo's perspective, he would love to climb into those glass enclosures and sniff, but Dan is holding him tight. Not here. There are too many tourists around. Everyone wants to see the bodies.  

Pompei is immense. Walking around the city will take hours. Our guide is fantastic. He takes us to see everything. We are literally privy to an entire town--with its houses, shops, stadiums, statues, and even some ooh la la houses where the rich and famous lived. 

When we first arrive, the entrance way into Pompei is lined with flowers and trees, in stark contrast to the ancient town that lies ahead. 

The tricky part about visiting these ancient sites is that you have to imagine the way they were. A bustling town. Filled to the brim with people. We glimpse some of the structures that were unearthed from the ash, large pillars that hint at the town's construction:

The large amphitheater gives us an idea of just how many people lived in Pompei:

I'm imagining this amphitheater filled, like the Colosseum, people waiting for entertainment. Music? A play? A speech? 

That's when we spot a streak of gray and black, cruising along the grass and headed for the amphitheater. We're standing off to the side. I glance down. Theo was here a minute ago, sniffing the ground. Now he's running toward the stone arch that is the official entranceway to this outdoor space. 

Dan, my always hero, takes off after the gangster cat. The amphitheater is a big place. If we don't keep Theo within our sight, who knows where he'll end up. 

I arrived at Pompei, imagining it is a small town. I am dead wrong. Since I was here over 20 years ago, so much more of the town has been unearthed. 

Theo has, of course, disappeared now through the arch. Dan disappears too. Luckily, you can touch everything and walk around Pompei. So Dan is not in violation of any Italian laws. I start running too. After both of them.

Dan reemerges with Theo. He is now walking calmly towards me as if there's nothing wrong. It's hot.

"Theo, what were you thinking?"

But the honest truth is--he wasn't thinking. He was being a cat. 

"Was it a squirrel? A bird? What were you chasing?"

He shrugs. "I had to do it, see?"

There is an Edward G. Robinson look on his cat face. All he needs is a lit cigar and one of those 1940 style hats on his head. Ah, he's impatient and wants to see more. 

"No more running away, okay?"

We reach a compromise. A few snacks, some rest in the shade, and we're ready to move on. Pompei awaits.

Next week: Part 2: the rest of the story . . .oh, wait, there will be a special Christmas adventure next week. Pompei will have to wait.

  

Theo and Buffalo Bill

 

Dare I admit that I am in love with buffalo? Just take a peek. Yeah, I admit these guys are baby buffalo, but how cute!

Years ago I visited a buffalo farm in New Jersey which was known for their bison. I remember watching the buffalo in the field--I always think they are so magnificent looking--but what I remember most was accidentally stepping into a gigantic pile of buffalo poop. It looked like a mound of dirt. I had no idea. Yuck!

Today Dan, Theo, and I are on our way to another buffalo farm, but this farm is known for its buffalo mozzarella. It is family owned, of course, and it is surrounded by palm trees. Only in Italy. 

My appreciation for mozzarella has grown over the years. When I make lasagne, you can buy mozzarella all wrapped up and ready to slice. When you make a pizza, you can buy already shredded mozzarella. You can buy low fat and full boat mozzarella. Now the trend is fresh mozzarella, which is still sitting in its own juice. 

Most mozzarella is from cows. In Italy, in Capaccio, a province of Salerno in the Campania region, they breed buffalo for their mozzarella. The taste of that particular mozzarella is richer and more tangy.

So here we are at a buffalo farm, and I am very careful where I step. The buffalo here, when we arrive are in stalls, and luckily, we can walk on pathways--free of poop? I'm hoping.

The buffalo do roam outside, but for now they are in their pens. This place is enormous. 

Theo is in his glory. He can smell the buffalo--and his little nose is sniffing away. He stops a few times along the trail and just stares. 

I've seen them before, of course, in the wild at Yellowstone National Park. There you keep your distance. They can move fast, and like most wild animals, the mamas will defend the baby buffalos if they sense any threat. A close encounter with a buffalo will land you in the hospital or even dead. 

"Keep an eye on him," Dan calls out.

"I know." He means Theo, whose curiosity might just get the best of him. 

I call it close encounters of the third kind--when you go nose to nose. I can imagine Theo . . .

And sure enough there he is, the little gangster cat, stalking along the perimeter of the fence, separating safety from buffalo. He stops. And a buffalo saunters over. Curious too?

I can easily imagine the worse case scenario. Theo slips under the fence, misinterpreting the buffalo's friendliness. Something Chucky would do. 

If I move closer, will Theo make a move? A wrong move? 

Meanwhile, the buffalo--let's call him Bill--is inserting his head between the iron fencing and sniffing. I know he's spied Theo. I know he's curious. Has he ever seen a cat before? Sniffed a cat?

Dan, my hero, who has saved Theo from more unfortunate incidents, scoops Theo in his arms. He takes a step back but not too far. Theo protests. He meows. I feel incredibly bad. 

I have to admit this buffalo looks totally harmless. But I've heard the stories from Yellowstone. I know they are deadly wild animals. And yet, dare I say it, they look cute.

I snap a lot of photos. I take one more video.  Stalling?

"Should we let Theo sniff the buffalo?" I tentatively ask.

Dan looks like he can go either way. But he steps closer.

"Wait. Not too close--"

But Theo is giving me the evil eye. Even Buffalo Bill is looking at me a bit funny.

Nothing much happens. Theo sniffs. Buffalo Bill sniffs. There is no biting, punching, eye gouging, cat eating. Nothing. Later we eat lunch there also (it's always about food), and Theo even tries the buffalo mozzarella. 

Theo likes it. Yes!!

Theo Teeter Totters in Gaeta

 When I first visited Italy, I went to all the hotspots--Rome, Florence and Venice. The Vatican to see Michelangelo's Pieta. The Galleria dell'Academia to see the David. You get the idea. And always I battled tourists, usually too many people crowded into too tiny a space.

Now years later we choose places with fewer tourists and more locals. We practice speaking Italian. That's why we decide to cruise down the southern coast of Italy with a small group of people and stop at Gaeta, a smaller lesser known Italian town.

But no one comes to Italy and doesn't eat. Restaurants and trattorias and bars and/or cooperatives and even the local supermarket will offer prepared food. The choices are endless . . . but we decide to stop at an agriturisimo--a family owned farmhouse that offers good food from local sources (often from their own fields) and if you want, a place to stay. Agriturisimos are located most often in the country so you also get a terrific view. 

The food is simple and fresh. Wine is plentiful. The service is friendly. It is a good choice if you are visiting Italy and want to avoid the tourist spots, and we simply love this agriturismo. 

They are family oriented.

No, these are not children on the teeter totter. We stare in envy as this young at heart couple go up and down. Theo is watching them, too.

When Theo issues a meow and wears that hangdog expression on his face, I know Theo wants to teeter totter, too.

"Okay, we'll do it."

 

Never easy. Dan climbs on his seat, and Theo jumps up on his seat on the other side. Of course, he has to sniff everything first, but his balance is pretty good. Tentatively they go up and down. Up and down. Everything is teeter tottering just fine, until it isn't. 

Theo spots a small squirrel lurking near the swings. With no warning, he jumps off his seat and well, you know what happens. As Theo later admits, he underestimated the force of gravity. Dan limps off his seat.

When we finally arrive in Gaeta, we are exhausted. So our first view of this beautiful town, called the "city of a hundred churches" is after the sun goes down. Theo is restless, but luckily falls asleep when we're ready to so outside for a walk. Or so we think . . .

We spot a big moon sitting in the sky and Dan captures it. 

"Can you believe we're here?" I ask him.

"I know, right?"

We hear a meow. And Theo, as if he's fallen straight from the sky, is standing right behind us. Stalking us?

"What are you doing here? After what you did this afternoon to dad on the teeter totter . . ."

Theo shrugs. "I had to do it, see?"

Always a gangster cat, right to the end. 

A Rascally Hero in the Cemetery

 I love cemeteries. They not only make me feel peaceful, but I have to admit, I feel a bit in awe to be among people who used to live on this earth--sometimes hundreds of years ago--and now they're in their final resting place.

A few years ago I learned an interesting fact. When American soldiers fight overseas in foreign lands, and they are killed, their families have to make a choice--to have the soldier's body shipped back to the USA or have them buried with their fellow soldiers in an American cemetery, close to where they died. Many families choose an American cemetery overseas, and as a result throughout the world, there are American cemeteries that hold our fallen.

If you're a fan of World War II, like I am, you probably know that Allied forces fought several battles to drive the Germans out of Italy and liberate Rome. One battle (approximately 35 miles south of Rome) was fought at Anzio. Other battles were fought in Sicily. 

The Sicily-Rome American Cemetery and Memorial is one of two permanent WWII American cemeteries in Italy. It holds 7,860 headstones of American soldiers who died in the battles which were fought. A chapel has the names engraved of 3,095 who went missing. 

The battles began on July 10, 1943 and ended when Rome was liberated on June 4, 1944. The cemetery contains 7,738 Latin crosses made of Lasa marble and 122 Stars of David.

Contrary to what you might expect, these cemeteries are beautiful. The lawns are perfectly manicured. There is always a fountain or pool. There is a chapel and a visitor center. 

I have no idea how Theo will react when we arrive. I imagine he'll want to run in the grass. Bask in the sun. Watch the water cascade down in the North garden fountain. Feel the wind caress his face. Will he understand where we are? 

We want to see all 77 acres. It's hard to arrive and see all the crosses perfectly lined up on the grounds, knowing each cross represents a person who left their home, was part of a battle, but never believed they would end of here. Most still had the greater part of their lives in front of them. Most had family that mourned when they didn't return. 

We walk around the grounds. We see the beautiful pool of water. 

We visit the chapel and read through some of the names that are engraved. We marvel at the ornate ceiling.

  

"Theo, there's something else we need to do."

Part of the tradition is to leave a flower near one of the crosses as a sign of remembrance and respect. I explain this to Theo and we walk through the crosses in one section. I am ready to lay the flower on one of the crosses dedicated to an unknown soldier. As the engraving reads, "he's known only to God."  But as I move closer, Theo stops me. 

"It's something I have to do," he meows.

I put the flower in his mouth, and he drops it slowly in front of the cross. 

I have to admit I underestimate the kid too often. But he's well aware of the concept of fighting and territory. As a cat, he fiercely guards the land that surrounds our house. Other cats are not welcome. Other animals are barely tolerated. Birds and squirrels--he's fascinated but usually wants them gone.

"Chucky would be proud of you, Theo." And then I give him a snack. After all, he's only a cat.

Theo is taking a much needed two week break from being the star. He will be relaxing at home with Sienna and Mico. Our next blog will be posted on October 29! See you then. Meow. 

Elephants in Rome?

 I do a lot of international traveling. I've been to China, Kenya, Spain, Portugal, France, Great Britain, Ireland, Switzerland, Sweden, Denmark, Austria, Germany, the Netherlands . . . and, of course, Italy.  My favorite city is Rome. And one of my favorite things to do in Rome, besides eat, is walk around. See the sights. The city is both ancient and new, sunny and then lit up at night. It is magical.

I am the official tour guide. Dan is my steady backup. Theo is the reluctant tourist. This morning and afternoon, we decide to walk through the heart of Rome and play I Spy.

If you come to Rome, you will spy . . .

Piazzas or town squares, usually surrounding a monument, a fountain or an obelisk. This morning I spy an obelisk with the Virgin Mary sitting on the top, wearing a crown: 

Shopping streets or plazas or malls. This morning we cut through one of the most elegant malls you'll ever see:

Ancient buildings with Roman columns puckered with tiny holes that  are left over from where the Romans attached marble to the drab brick and mortar columns. Imagine what marble columns would have looked like!

A church with a cupola across from a cocktail bar and another church with a spire and a cross:

The Tiber River separating Rome from Vatican City: 

I think of where I live. There is nothing as old or elegant as this. In Rome everywhere you look, there is something from the past. 

Theo is remarkably well behaved. He is sauntering along, sniffing everything. If he could write or even dictate his meows into a recorder, the history he'd be able to describe . . . imagine . . . a dog from the three years ago passed by here and took a whiz. A squirrel dropped down from the elm tree over there and discovered a nut he'd buried in the ground from the year before. A horse clopped by here and ate an apple while he rested in the shade. 

"Are you having a good time, Theo?" 

Today is a beautiful day in Rome with clouds and sun and a soft breeze that flutters by. Every once in a while, we stoop down and let him lick a Churo, tuna flavored, which is his favorite. 

The gangster cat shrugs. "I can smell an elephant."

An elephant? Is Theo joking?

In 1962 the Italians discovered elephant bones while they were laying cable lines at the Vatican. It seems the Pope Leo X had a pet elephant--a gift from the King of Portugal. The pope loved his elephant and even had him buried near him when he died. 

Julius Caesar gained part of his reputation when he killed an elephant in battle. He often used an elephant to crush his enemies.

Elephants were brought in as part of the shows at the Colosseum.

And elephants were quite common in Rome during the Renaissance period. 

"Theo, you're a wonder."

Or, maybe he's watching a little too much of the History Channel.