Rascal Chuck and the Antique Elevator

         Alexandria is one of the truly ancient cities. It sits in Egypt like any other city, but in many ways, it's the crowned jewel with a past that other cities envy. But, first, you have to drive through crowded Egypt, and this country has traffic like anywhere else.

When you arrive, there's something magical that happens. You get a glimpse of the Eastern harbor of Alexandria, which has been a happening place for culture for 2300 years. This is where the Pharos lighthouse, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, was located, guiding people from all over the world safely into port. This is where Cleopatra (the real Cleopatra and not Elizabeth Taylor playing the part in the Hollywood version) first laid eyes on Julius Caesar. 

      

        And this is where the Great Library of Alexandria, built by Alexander the Great, was located. It was the largest library of the ancient world and contained somewhere between 40,000 to 400,000 scrolls or the equivalent of 100,000 books. It employed over 100 scholars. Although it was originally believed to have been destroyed by fire, it was accidentally burned by Julius Caesar during a civil war, rebuilt and then dwindled due to lack of funding and support.

         Today Bibliotheca Alexandrina replaces the ancient library. All of this, of course, is of no interest to the Rascal Cat. He is tired of driving in the car. Tired of looking at the scenery. Tired of hearing me drone on and on about the fabulousness of Alexandria.

        Chucky wants a snack.

         There is a wonderful restaurant in downtown Alexandria in the Cecil Hotel. It is old world and quite majestic looking and overlooks the Mediterranean Sea. It was built in 1929, is considered one of the Grand Hotels, and has hosted celebrities and diplomats including Winston Churchill and Al Capon.

   

         Somehow, we figure, we'll talk our way into this restaurant with an orange and white cat. He is famous. In America. Star of Hot Blogging with Chuck. Or we can sneak him in.

        "Find a table in the back," I suggest to Dan.

    

        Chucky is wiggly around in the backpack. About to explode. We both know when he has had enough. And he has had enough.

        Discreetly, we are seated at the table. Chuck is in the corner. We are the model of propriety, but can't help ourselves from looking around because the place is even more glamorous and incredible inside.

        Quickly, we peruse the menu and order an interesting dish with lots of eggplant and chickpeas. Luckily, I've discovered that I love Egyptian food. We scoff down our lunch in record time. 

        We're about to leave (and this is when Chucky tempts the fates), he spots a beautiful, elegant, antique elevator--what was known in those days as an "open cage elevator", that is literally beckoning to him. I imagine he hears, "Come on over," because the next thing we know he is scampering across the lobby toward said elevator.

        Dan says, "It's a bad idea. Grab Chucky. We should leave now. After all, we're in Egypt. Soldiers walk around here with loaded rifles. No telling what they'll do to a cat."

         Sober warning. Are we taking a foolish chance? Egypt is not a democracy. 

         On the other hand, we both know, when Chucky gets an idea in his head, you might as well, give in. We can see by the way he is staring straight at it that he cannot resist checking out this elevator. Even for me, it is conjuring up all kinds of imaginings. It is as if I were stepping back in time. It dates back to when the hotel was built. 

          AND IT STILL WORKS. 

        Dan and I look at each other. "Let's just go with it. We'll keep him under wraps."

        The plan is simple. We'll get inside, just the three of us, and ride up one floor, and then ride back down again. How risky can it be? And Chucky will be happy.

           We have to wait. Someone is using it, and it's one floor above us.  (We discover later that the elevator is a MAJOR tourist attraction.)

            I glance over and notice a mirror. I somehow manage to secure Chucky's attention. We're going over there to take a selfie to prove we're actually here in Alexandria, I tell him. It'll only take a second. Stand over there and don't draw attention to yourself. 

            The elevator is in a corner. At that moment no one is there.

     In a flash we're back at the elevator. It still hasn't come down, which is odd. And what's even more alarming--no Chucky. 

       "You don't think . . ."

        We look up.  We hear the faintest of meows. A Chucky meow. 

         That darned cat. As we were busy with our selfie, that rascal cat must have jumped into the elevator and rode up to the floor above us. Without us.  

         Within seconds, he's coming down, but not by himself. First floor guests accompany our never to be underestimated cat down to the lobby. 

          "My bad," I tell Dan. "I should have dragged him with us over to the mirror."

          The black cage door opens and the three touristy people walk out. By some miracle, they've hardly noticed Chucky. Too busy snapping photos of the elevator, which here and now is the main star attraction. 

         Finally, the three of us are alone at last. Dan pulls the antique black gate closed in front of us. We are in a magic world--circa 1929, the way it used to be. Slowly, we go up and then, ignoring people who are waiting to get in, we quickly go down. 

        "If you were a cat back in 1929," I tell Chuck, "this is the kind of elevator you would have been using. Pretty cool, huh?" 

        Chuck looks around with some interest, then lets out a gigantic cat yawn. 

        When we're leaving, I can't resist pointing out to Chuck that although he's somewhat famous in America, here in Alexandria, it's the elevator that tourists are snapping photos of, not the cat!! He shrugs. But at least he's safe and sound. No soldiers with rifles. So far so good.

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The Rascal Cat Can't Sing!

    "Egypt is more than just pyramids," I tell Chucky as we're in the midst of our next adventure. This morning we're 60 miles northwest of Cairo, visiting a famous monastery called Dier Anba Bishoi in Wadi El-Natroun, surrounded by a desert consisting of salt lakes and salt flats. The Egyptians used to extract salt from here. The Christians established their monasteries here dating back to the 4th century.

        Dier Anna Bishoi or St. Bishoi Monastery is named after patron St. Bishoi, who immigrated here and lived in solitude. It is one of five churches and is used only in the summer. It is an oasis with greenery and palm trees.

 

   

        Everything about this place is old. We move from room to room. Chucky is in seventh heaven. The priest takes one look at Chucky, assumes he is a cat who lives at the monastery, and doesn't give him a second glance. Which is good news because this place is a wonderland for Chuck. He is sniffing to his heart's content. 

             We're greeted by a very charismatic priest who gives us a tour and recounts some of the highlights of the monastery's history--the destruction that was done and the many restorations over the thousands of years. Most notably there is a well on the property called the Well of Martyrs where, you guessed it, martyrs were thrown down to their death centuries ago. Today the well still produces fresh water, which is considered to be a miracle.

  

        We pass ancient signs, frescoes, pottery laid out on tables that was used centuries ago and realize that even though this place is a working monastery, it is in many respects also a museum of sorts. 

        Out of the blue, and this is how the universe works, at times, we're invited to a baptism. Now I've attended plenty of baptisms in my day, but never one in a monastery in a desert in Egypt performed in Arabic. 

        Out of nowhere, or so it seems, people have arrived and are filling up a beautifully decorated room--standing around, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Dan and I, and Chuck melt into the crowd. 

 

       

         Another priest arrives and the baptism procession begins. 

              There is incense, cymbal clanging, clapping, singing, chanting and an overall festive atmosphere. Dan is busy snapping photos. I'm in awe, watching everyone as they gather around the parents and the newborn.

        And then I hear him. At first--what is that sound? It's not quite singing--a kind of mixture of mewing and meowing and . . . "Chuck, shshsh."

        But Chucky, who is plastered to my side (thank God), is swaying in time to the chanting that is reverberating through the room. But his singing sounds more like caterwauling. Which is getting louder and louder.

        I'm not going to panic. But I imagine a cat interrupting a baptism would not face an easy fate. I can see it all now--masked men swooping him up and dropping him in the Well of Martyrs!

        I have to get him to stop singing. But he is just so darned cute. I hate to interrupt his reverie. Is anyone else noticing that he's horribly off key? The rascal cat can do many things well, but he can't sing!! 

          I kneel down next to him. "Chucky, no more singing, honey."

          He looks up at me.

          At that exact moment, everything around me goes quiet. 

          I place my finger on Chucky's lips. 

          The priest recites a prayer in Arabic. 

          Chucky goes silent. Is it a miracle? Or . . . I look over my shoulder. Dan, Mr. Hero Man, holds out a luscious treat and Chucky, needing to make a decision, chooses to eat and not sing.  

          Crisis is averted. No masked men will be coming for Chucky. The Well of Martyrs will not claim another innocent victim. I heave a sigh of relief. 

           We've learned one valuable lesson: the rascal cat can do many fabulous things but he can't sing!

Chuck and His Journey to the AfterLife

        What do you do with a cat who has a crazy idea? The rascal cat somehow got it in his head that if he climbed on board an Egyptian solar boat, built and buried for the pharaohs thousands of years ago and now rebuilt and put on display, he could be transported to paradise.

      Yes, that paradise--the afterlife, the land of milk and honey where life is beautiful all the time. 

      I knew that Chuck's misconception was the result of half listening as Dan and I discussed whether we should or shouldn't stop and see this amazing boat. We were in Giza, and after we passed the luscious looking Sphinx, whose sole purpose was to guard all the pyramids:

 it was a hop, skip and jump to reach the Solar Boat Museum. We were only trying to figure out what the archaeologists actually believed was true about this boat.

      The debate centers on whether the boat was built and buried near where the pharaoh was buried BUT was only meant to be symbolic--a way that the pharaoh would ascend to the heavens, after death, to be with his father. OR was the boat built to be actually used during the funeral to move the body of the pharaoh in the river to the pyramid, where he was buried. 

     Some scholars claim there was evidence the boat had been in water. Other experts point to the fact that shavings of cedar and acacia found in the pit where it was buried indicate it was located near where the pyramids were.

     To further complicate the matter, the boat was the right size to serve as a river craft, but a mast was never found. 

      Chucky doesn't care about any of these arguments. He latches on to one fact and one fact only. The pharaoh used this boat to get to paradise. 

       We are walking along the side area that is set up for visitors to view the assembled boat, which is massive. You have to figure the boat was built for a pharaoh. The pyramids were gigantic. The boat would have to be super sized too. 

        There are a few people around, but not many. This is not a very popular exhibit. Chucky is itching to get down, but we're nervous that if we let him loose, he'll actually make a jump for the boat. 

        The kid always has had a super active imagination. 

        Dan tries to assuage my anxieties. "Chuck is very pragmatic. He's not going to make a jump for it. He'd never make it and most likely plunge to his death. He'll just stare at that boat for awhile. He'll reach his own conclusion."

        I'm not as confident. We're talking about a kid who's climbed a palm tree. Who climbed into a space capsule. 

        Dan is in the process of setting Chuck down. My heart is beating furiously. I wedge my body between Chuck and the boat. I have to think of something to say to him to convince him that getting on that boat is a bad idea. I need a powerful argument. 

        Chucky is leaning to the right to look around me. He is clearly fascinated with this boat.  Is he dreaming of his journey to the afterlife?  

        I decide in a last minute desperate attempt to keep my cat alive that I will go along with this ridiculous idea.

       "O.K. Chuck, but, just know. There's no coming back. You'll never see me or dad or Jack (his brother) again."

        Chucky shrugs.

        "O.K. You'll never get another . . . snack again." I put on a very sad face. 

        Dan echoes my statement. "Not another snack again."

        I repeat. "No more snacks."

       And then I do, what I think I'll never do, I step aside. 

        Chucky walks to the edge and stares at the boat. Then he turns and comes back to us. He doesn't say a word. I heave a sigh of relief. 

        Dan says, "I think he should get two snacks when we get home."

        "Absolutely," I agree. I pick up this rascal cat and give him a big hug. 

        It's only later, as I mull over the facts of the incident, that I ask Dan in the car going back to the hotel, "Do you think he really was going to jump or was he just playing us?"

       

        

        

Rascal Chuck Rides a Camel in Egypt

                 A few months ago my sisters and I and Chuck, the rascal cat, visited a small zoo in Pennsylvania. Much to our surprise, they had camels—an animal you don’t usually see except, of course, if you’re in Egypt.            

            In fact, Chuck’s obsession with camels actually started in Giza, Egypt—the first time he came face to face with a camel and decided that he just had to ride one.

            Now, cats have a long-revered history in Egypt. Dating back to the Egyptian gods (one god was depicted with the head of a cat) and the Pharoahs who valued cats for protecting them (in one case killing a venomous snake), you can find evidence that Egyptians loved cats. For example, there are cat skeletons in pyramids with small pots that most likely contained milk for the cats. You can also find mummified cats, amulets with cat heads, murals of cats showing them as part of everyday life, cat statues, and even cat cemeteries. I can go on and on.

            The upshot of all of this is that Dan and I are not concerned in the least that we're bringing a cat into Egypt. We figure the Egyptians will be thrilled, and Chuck will be treated like royalty. After all, he is a very special cat. The Egyptians will certainly be able to see that. Right?

          Full disclosure: When Chuck first mentions wanting a camel ride when we're still back in the USA, it sounds farfetched. When we're sitting in our hotel room in Giza, gazing out at the pyramids, it's quite easy to schedule one. Now this will be my first camel ride. Since Dan grew up in Egypt, he's an old pro. Chuck finds nothing unusual about wanting to ride a camel, whatsoever.

           Take it from me.  The desert in Egypt is a surreal experience. Close your eyes and imagine you're in a scene from Lawrence of Arabia. There's sand, of course, everywhere. Pyramids stand majestically in the distance. Camels laze around complacently, waiting for the typical tourist to arrive so they can do their thing. 

            Our guide wears a long flowing green robe, a smartly styled mosaic scarf, and modern reflective sunglasses. He greets us, never blinking an eye that Chuck wants to ride, too.  How many camels--he wants to  know. I expect him to ask if we want the standard, deluxe or super deluxe camel ride, but, no, he is a serious guide, and there's no funny business.

        Camels are big. I have the same sensation mounting the camel that I do whenever I get on top of a horse. It's something I want to do, but when I'm right there in the moment, that horse . . . that camel is big and the seat looks very far off the ground. Somehow I manage to get myself on top of the camel while Dan holds Chucky. 

        Dan tries to hand Chucky up to me, but I need a minute. The view looks different on top of a camel. Suddenly, frantic thoughts besiege me--falling off the camel thoughts, dropping Chucky thoughts. 

        "Okay." 

    

         Dan tries again, but this time, Chucky is the reluctant one. He wiggles around. 

          Our guide immediately steps forward. "Maybe he wants his own camel." He's about to wave his friend over, who just happens to have a spare camel lounging around.

           I look at Dan, and he looks at me. We don't say a word to each other. We're each too busy imagining what that would be like-- Chucky, holding the reins as he marches across the Sahara Desert on a camel.

        Suddenly, a brainstorm: "Let Chuck sniff the camel."

        I should know my cat better. Humans need to see their environment. "Let me see it," we say. Cats needs to sniff. They can get a world of information when they inhale. 

        The rest is easy. Chucky sits in my lap. Dan mounts his camel. We are off.

         If you're curious, riding a camel is a bit like trying to sit on top of a seat that goes up and down and sideways at the same time. I wouldn't try to drink a cup of coffee while I was riding a camel  or shoot a photo. But you can look around and see the scenery. And if you have an overweight cat in your lap, he'll stay there, his face jutting out stoically to the Sahara wind. Sniffing, sniffing, sniffing.

       Later, back in our hotel room, I say to my not too spoiled cat, "Do you realize how spoiled you are??"

        But Chucky, always up to something, usually rascally, poses in a nearby window. I snap his photo. 

         "Gosh darn," I say to Dan, "doesn't he look just like an Egyptian cat?"

           "With those black eyes," Dan says back, "he looks more like he's been taken over by the d----"

            To be continued . . .

            

         

        

        

            

      

        

        

        

        

Chuck and the Munching Camels

   What could go wrong with a rascal cat at a petting zoo? 

        After Chuck's almost wild encounter with bison at Yellowstone . . . after the rascal cat's near scalding experience with a baby geyser when he jumped off the boardwalk in protest of a growling girl dog, how could a visit to a local petting zoo be considered dangerous?

        My sisters and I decided one beautiful morning, well, it was one beautiful hot morning this past summer to visit a nearby zoo in the Poconos to see the local wildlife. 

        Chuck loves animals, and I convinced myself that the wildlife advertised obviously wouldn't include bison, wolves, or bears so the danger factor would be considerably less. Nevertheless, I'd learned my lesson on how to be a good mom the hard way. Never underestimate what Chuck will do in any situation. 

        I was on high alert. 

        We arrived, parked the car and as my sisters moseyed on over to "experience" the zoo, I read Chuck the riot act. "Behave yourself. Look don't touch. Most important of all, don't eat their snacks. I've got my eye on you."

        Chuck grumbled. I could see he was hot and hungry. But he's always hungry. 

        The small petting zoo was not very crowded. Good. Enclosed within a fence, the zoo of wildlife was actually a safe assortment of animals. Better yet. I tried to relax. 

        First up was Mr. Turtle, a mellow guy who seemed harmless. He moved at an alarmingly slow speed and was preoccupied with eating lettuce leaves visitors could buy to feed him. Still he was quite charming and larger than the usual turtles you see in the park.

        

        

         I kept my eye on Chucky. He waited on the sidelines. Luckily, he's not a fan of lettuce and had no interest in meeting a turtle. 

       So far so good.

       We moved on to the next exhibit--the cutest rabbit you ever saw. I anticipated big trouble. This was a worst case scenario. At home Chucky loves to chase bunnies and squirrels. This rabbit was called Mr. Einstein. I hoped he was named after the famed genius for a reason. Maybe he'd developed good social skills. If you're one of the star attractions in a petting zoo, surrounded by kids (and the occasional rascal cat) who are trying to pet (or sniff) you, you must have a uniquely calm personality, right?

        Chuck spied Mr. Einstein and glanced over at me. 

        "Don't even think about it." Chasing Einstein, I meant.

         He looked restless. 

        "Remember, look, don't touch."

         My sister Cheryl at that moment noticed the goats in the next pen. "Look how cute they are," she said. I turned to look. Of course. That's all it took. Chuck, who can move faster than a speeding bullet when he wants to, was standing right near the calmer than calm bunny, sniffing. 

        I held my breath. Mr. Einstein didn't move. On his best behavior, Chuck shrugged and walked away. A miracle.

        We visited the goats, the pigs, the donkeys and the horses. All my sisters are fans of the show Heartland on Netflix, and we love to see horses and ride horses. We were having fun. Every time I glanced over to see what Chuck was doing, he was moping around, waiting. 

        My sister Cyndi said, "Maybe he's just hot."

       Or maybe things were building to a crescendo. But after the non-rabbit incident, I had hope that, maybe, this was going to be a good day.

        

 

        Finally, I couldn't take his passive resistance any longer. "What's the matter, Chuck?"

      He let out a plaintive meow. Usually he'd be trying to get closer to the animals. Instead, he ambled over to the one shady spot in the tiny zoo. Maybe it was the weather. Hot and muggy. 

       "Well, I got myself worked up for nothing," I said to my sister Karen. Secretly relieved. "I guess we've seen everything . . ."

        "What about over there?" Caroline, who's always open to adventure, was pointing across the yard.

        I looked over. Two camels. Most zoos in the middle of Pennsylvania don't have camels. Behind a fence. But close enough that you can reach up and pet them. Get right in their face if you want to.

        "Geez." When I was in Egypt a few years back, I went on a camel ride and grew to respect them.

         I couldn't resist meeting these two.

         

    Full disclosure--I find camels quite exotic. They can live up to 50 years and are gentle and friendly animals. They're highly intelligent, smarter than a horse, and have incredible memories. They are also big animals. Camels average between 7 to 11 feet long, 5 to 7 feet tall, and weigh between 900 to 1300 pounds depending on the type of camel. 

    Camels eat grains, grass, wheat and oats. These camels were eating up a storm. Munching, munching, munching.  I have to admit in that moment I was in camel heaven.

      They were wonderful to watch. They looked happy and well cared for. As I was taking a closer look at these fantastic animals, I saw something quite out of place-a long tail of orange and white fur with dark orange stripes running sideways through the entire length of it. 

       "That looks just like . . ." I glanced over to the shady spot where Chuck had been sitting only moments before. No Chucky.

        My gaze shot back to the tail.  

        "Chuck." He was inside the fenced in area with the camels, sniffing one of the camel's legs. This was wrong on so many levels. I couldn't believe it. A barage of thoughts raced through my mind. How had he gotten in there? Why was Chuck interested in camels? And then . . . oh my God, danger. My blood pressure spiked through the roof. 

        "Out. Out of there. Now."

         Chuck stopped sniffing and gazed up.

         "Come on. Out. Now."

         Camels are not mean animals, but they can do mean things if provoked. I'd just read an article about a camel who bit, then trampled a worker who punched the camel in the face. Let's call it a revenge trample. What if this nice camel didn't appreciate being sniffed? One lift of a camel leg. The weight of a camel on Chucky and he'd be crushed to smithereens.

          I blamed myself. My obsession with camels must have rubbed off on Chucky and spurred him to get a little closer. 

         Chuck stopped sniffing and let out a big sigh. He then proceeded to wiggle himself under the wire fence, somehow managing to squeeze himself out of the fenced in area. 

        Safe and sound. 

        Later that evening, after the drama of the day had subsided, I looked down at a sleeping Chucky. Was it the camel's incessant munching that had lured him into the camel's den? Chucky loves food, especially snacks. I guess I'll never know.