The Little Sleeping Devils

       It all started when Mico and Sienna found out that Theo was the chosen one. The one picked to follow in Chuck's footsteps. The one who would be going on the next long distance, air plane in the sky flying trip adventure. And they would be staying home.

        Theo has gone on a few one day trips so he's used to car rides, backpacks, behaving himself as much as he can. He buys into the whole idea that traveling and being the star of Hot Blogging with Chuck is an honor and a privilege. Sort of.

       The conversation goes something like this: 

      "Can I sleep on the plane?"

       "Yes."

       "Will there be extra snacks?"

        "What kind of snacks, Theo?"

        "There has to be snacks. See?"

        "All right. Extra snacks."

         Theo always gets straight to the point. 

         "Do they know about my going?"

         Theo is no dummy. He sees the suitcases on the bed. He sees the extra food stacked up on the counter. He knows I've been in contact with the cat sitter. He's put two and two together. On the other hand, the kittens are clueless. They have no idea what a suitcase is and what it means and how it will affect their lives. 

          Until they do. 

          "What does it mean, Theo? Are they coming back?" Mico wants to know. 

           "Of course, we're coming back," I want to shout, but Theo is in deep conversation with Mico. Theo's the alpha cat and needs to handle the questions.

           "This time I'm going. See? Next time, maybe you can go."

           What? That isn't the plan. 

           "Are you coming back, Theo?" Mico asks again.

           I glance into the room. Theo has draped his arm around Mico, big cat brother style. "It's called a vacation. It doesn't last long."

           That's the truth. 

            And, so I think the matter is settled. It isn't. Theo's last statement that next time Mico can go rattles Sienna. Because . . . now she wants to go. Of course, I don't know this until all hell breaks loose. 

            First, they avoid each other. Two kittens, who can't stand to be apart for longer than a mini-second, now are hanging out in separate rooms and barely meowing with each other.

            Then, they are chasing each other through the house like a bunch of wild banshees. First a steak of white and gray. Then a streak of orange. Down the stairs. Through the hallway. Across the living room. Treacherous turn into the kitchen. Through the hallway. Up the stairs. It sounds as if we have 100 kittens racing through the house. 

            Finally, the fight. On the master bed. Which by some stroke of luck I've covered in a green blanket to keep their cat fur off of the comforter. Now it can protect the comforter from any blood stains. if it gets to that.

            It doesn't. It seems the "fight" is only a wrestling match between two spoiled kittens who both want what they can't have. 

            Theo later tells me he solved the entire problem (he caused.)

            "Well, what happened?"

            "I grounded them. See?"

            "And no snacks?"

            Theo looks horrified. 

             "Where are they now?"

             "Sleeping."

        "Like angels," I want to say, but I know the truth--those little sleeping devils!

Theo's Gangsters at Play?

      One week later. You might be thinking. How is it going with those New Year's resolutions?    

        The jury is still out. I've been exercising more. Reading more. Eating healthier. Watching less trashy TV? Oh, you want to know about the gangster cats . . . how are their New Year's resolutions going.

        Are they begging for more snacks? Playing more? Sleeping more? Let's examine the evidence. This evening for instance. I hear Sienna on the stairs, engaged in some life and death struggle with an inanimate object that doesn't look like anything in particular. I call it playing. You tell me.

       Sienna says, "I'm honing my mouse catching skills, mom." 

       The day before Theo, Sienna and Mico are engaged in more active pursuits. "It shows up out of nowhere. See?" Theo says. "What are we supposed to do? Flashing colors and lights. Going here. Going there. Banging against walls. Under beds. It's possessed. See?"

        Mico said, "We think it might be after our snacks, right Theo?"

        "Oh, so in other words, you weren't actually playing with that mouse toy your aunt gave you for Christmas, you were  involved in a major investigation."

          

          Theo doesn't answer. He only strikes his typical gangster pose.

         And then there is the flopping fish incident. Sienna says, "Two giant fish suddenly appear. Out of water. They don't say anything. Just flop around."

         "They make this weird sound," Mico chimes in. "I chased them down the stairs." Mico still has this wide-eyed look on his face as if he'll be traumatized forever.

          "Flopping fish. You're referring to those fish I brought home from Costco as a present. I suppose you're going to say it was your sworn duty to apprehend them," I say. 

           The upshot of the entire conversation is that these three gangster cats insist they're not playing more, they're only doing what they have to do--practice their mouse catching skills, investigate strange objects that suddenly appear in the house, capture flopping fish. And, as for sleeping more?

           "Not us", they meow in unison, just before Mico hops into his big luxurious bed even though it's two o'clock in the afternoon. 

             

Theo and the Waterfall

     Most cats hate water. Or let me put it this way--they would prefer not to get wet. Theo, the little gangster cat, is a cat of a different breed.

   He's never met a water fountain he didn't like to drink from, a bathtub he didn't like to swim in, a puddle he didn't like to stick his paw into. How far would he go?

    We decide to make Theo's day, so to speak, and introduce him to a magical place where water is king. 

    Imagine a beautiful fall day. The sun is shining. Leaves are just beginning to turn. We are entering what is called the Chimes Tower District. An historic bell tower sits atop a fifty foot waterfall.

    Constructed in 1929 by Pierre du Pont, this 61 foot tall stone chimes tower was based on an ancient fortified tower du Pont saw at Chatillon-Coligny on the Loire River in France. Du Pont then bought chimes from a company in Chicago--the largest set of chimes he could find--twenty five tubular chimes costing close to $16,000--and installed them in the upper chamber of the tower. The chimes were replaced several times over the years. Finally in 2000 a Dutch firm created a 62 bell carillon for the chimes tower, which still exists today. 

 

    So you are likely to hear at any given moment the sound of rushing water from the waterfall and/or the sound of chimes playing music as you make your way along the path. It is an enchanting place. 

    Now I forgot to mention that Theo is a musical cat. When either Dan or I are practicing piano, he is usually perched on the rug nearby, listening. It doesn't matter if we're playing Bach or the Beatles. Occasionally, he jumps up and plays the keys himself.

    For now, though, all we can hear is the waterfall. The chirping birds, the usual rustle of the leaves falling--nature at her best in the fall is drowned out, literally, by the magnificence of the water as it cascades down, never-ending, propelled by some hidden pump. The sound is both captivating and mesmerizing and it lulls you into a different world.  

    Dan and I walk along the path. Theo is listening and sniffing. He can both hear and smell the water, but I think he's standing a little too close to the edge, gazing out at the water.

    "You think everything is okay, right?" I say to Dan.

    "Sure, why not?"

    We are totally alone. We don't for a minute think that Theo is a suicidal cat. We don't for a minute think that Theo would ever jump off the bridge into the frothy, turbulent water below. 

    "You don't think he looks a little too interested in that water?"

    "Well." Dan shrugs. "He is a cat, after all. They tend to be curious about everything."

     That comment unnerves me. I stare at the water. It's a big drop down. 

    "Call me crazy, but I'd feel a hundred percent better if you pick Theo up. Just in case. Who knows? He might just impulsively do something crazy."

    Dan knows me by now. He leans down to retrieve Theo, and it's at that very moment that the chimes go off. Now they're on a schedule. They chime about every quarter of an hour. And they're loud. If you've never heard them before, if you're not expecting the sound of a very loud chime to resound through the air, to even overtake the cascading waterfall . . . you'll be taken back. 

    You might even lose your balance temporarily. "What's that?"

    Later, we realize that that's what must have happened. When Theo hears the chimes, he freaks out. He's used to the sound of the waterfall. He's into all the water gushing downward. But the chimes are just too much. 

     So, imagine Dan is grabbing Theo by the middle. Theo tries to get away. There's a bit of a skirmish. 

     I'm afraid that if Theo breaks loose, he might skedaddle off to who knows where. 

     Maybe Theo thinks Dan is trying to throw him into the water. 

     Later, back at the ranch (well, it's actually a townhouse), Theo tells the story, leaving the part out about the chimes, the misunderstanding and the skirmish. His version to Mico (Michelangelo) is more like: "I see the waterfall, see, and it's big, see, and I'm going to go for a swim, see, but . . . mom and dad wanted to go home."

    "I wish I could see it," Mico said.

    "Maybe someday, kid," Theo says, in his best big brother meow voice, not giving away a thing.

    

    

Theo Horses Around

     I discover later, after we're safely home, that Theo got the idea from YouTube. A horse on a farm--location unknown--fell for a cat. An unlikely pair, to be sure. They became fast friends, so much so, that the cat would jump on the horse's back and go riding. 

    That image of a cat on the back of a horse was the inspiration for Theo. 

    That's why when we're in Pennsylvania, riding around on a very beautiful day, Theo decides he wants to go horseback riding. 

    "Out of the question," is my first response. A horse and a cat? No way. 

    Theo, who is quickly developing a reputation as a little gangster cat,  gets that look on his face which essentially means he's not budging. At least, not yet. 

    We're riding past a pasture, and there are horses, of course, that are right there. And there is a place to park. 

    Dan smiles. "Come on. Let's humor the kid. It'll take five minutes."

    Now, I love horses myself. And if there is anyway I can get out of the car and jump on the back of a horse and go riding . . . like if this is a fantasy movie, and we just happen to have saddles in the back seat . . . and the horses are friendly and love to be ridden . . . and there's no fence or maybe one of of those low split rail antique numbers that we can easily hop over . . . and nobody's going to suddenly show up and have us arrested.  

    This is reality. There are no saddles in the back seat. And there is a fence, shoulder height, that no one is jumping over. And the horses are looking at us with suspicion in their eyes.

   

     I'm thinking--this is an impossible idea on Theo's part. 

    Theo comes waltzing up--every bit like a gangster would. He's got a certain style. A kind of confidence that I would not have if I were a cat facing at least ten equine beasts.

     But if I look closely, Theo's not looking at ten horses. He's looking at only one horse. And one horse is looking at him.

      

    Theo's eyes grow wide. He marches up to the fence. His nose goes high. He is sniffing. The horse moves even closer. And then she does something quite extraordinary. She lifts her foot off the ground, her knee bends, and she stomps it down. Once. Twice. She does the same thing with her other leg.                         

   Theo does the exact same thing. He lifts his tiny paw off the ground, kicks it forward and stomps it back on the ground. He does it again.

    I push any traitorous thoughts out of my head. For example, that this stomping horse could crush Theo's skull with a single kick.  

    Dan practically reads my mind. He shakes his head. "I think they're communicating. She wants to meet him. She's not going to kill him."

    "He's not going in there," I whisper. "Theo can stomp all he wants."

    But . . . I do pick Theo up and bring him closer to the fence. The horse does saunter over and they get a chance to go nose to nose and sniff each other. It is a close encounters of two different species who interact with each other moment. 

    When Theo wriggles to get free (no doubt he has visions of jumping on the horse's back and riding into the sunset), I hold him closer. 

     Later, when we're all safe at home, he is retelling the almost adventure to Michelangelo and Sienna, the two younger nine month old kittens we recently adopted, but in Theo's version the almost adventure sounds like it was an adventure.

    Mico's eyes are bigger than quarters. "Did you ride her, Theo?"

    "That was the plan, see?" Theo says in his usual Brooklyn style accent. "To ride across the fields. Bareback." He puffs his chest out.

     "Wow." Mico is impressed. He takes a few steps closer to Theo, maybe hoping that Theo's bravery will rub off on him.

     "Don't get so close, kid," Theo says. "I need my space."

                            https://youtube.com/shorts/Kug17lpcxP4

       

    

    

   

Theo, the Little Gangster

    Theo won't say a word. He will neither confirm or deny. Can he see or hear Chuck? Is he taking orders or acting on his own? As I flip through photos, I find yet another photo of Chuck about to confer with Theo in that last week before Chuck passes to the other side.

    Dan says, "Chucky knew. He was cementing his legacy."

    My eyes well up with tears. "How brave can one cat be?" 

    We are on our way to see an exotic plant called the Bird of Paradise, an exquisitely beautiful flower that looks like a bird and even moves like a bird in flight when the wind hits it. That small detail, that a plant can imitate a bird, is what causes poor Theo no end of humiliation on his first travel assignment. Because he thinks we are going to see Birds of Paradise. Which are actual birds.

    Like Chucky, Theo has a bucket list. Where Chucky loved the History Channel, Theo loves animal shows and mafia movies. He even talks like a little gangster. And he does his research.

    Dan says, "The Bird of Paradise is a perennial plant from South Africa. It's also called the crane lily. It causes no allergic reactions--" 

    We are on the way to the conservatory, and Theo is listening intently, but he begins to shake his head, disagreeing with everything Dan is saying.

    But we can't stop and argue. Sneaking Theo into a place like this will be tricky business. A bird of paradise is a rare plant. We suspect there will even be someone watching--a kind of plant guard. Sure enough as we move closer to the plant, I feel eyes on me.

    "Be careful," I whisper, "there are spies all around."

    The Bird of Paradise is beautiful and looks exactly like a bird who has been, unfortunately, attached to a plant. 

    "Stand and block the view so I can let Theo see."

     That's the plan, but the plant guard comes rushing over. He's a nice guy who offers to take our photo, posing with the plant. We pose.  At this stage we'll do anything to get rid of him.

   

    I then pretend to admire the plant while Dan lets Theo peek out and see the plant. (Which, of course, we find out later, he sincerely believes is a bird.) 

    No one can anticipate what will happen next. Or how strong Theo is. We're used to traveling with Chucky who was a rascal but he'd never, ever have been able to leap out of a backpack in a single bound. Somehow Theo is able to get traction with his tiny paws and do just that. He leaps out of the pack, onto Dan's shoulder, intent on . . . well . . . if you were a cat and you thought you were that close to a bird.

    I am taken completely unaware.

    Dan is one step ahead of me and two steps ahead of Theo. As Theo readies himself for the final leap (no doubt harboring images of bird of paradise served up on a serving platter with delicious gravy dripping off its wings), Dan catches hold of him and reels him back. 

    Theo grunts. 

    "Oh my God." That's me in total shock.

    It is a miracle that the plant guard sees absolutely nothing. Mainly because at that very moment a bevy of children have come in with their mom and they are running wildly through the place, as if they've consumed too much grape juice. The plant guard's attention is diverted. We are saved. 

    Later, at home, we have the discussion:

    Dan: "It is a Bird of Paradise. A plant."

    Theo: "I did my research, see. I know it was a bird." Is it my imagination or does Theo talk with a Brooklyn accent?

    Dan: "I know it's confusing, Theo. But we went to a conservatory. No birds. Only plants."

    Theo: "So, you took me to see a plant?"

    We have nothing to say to that. I take out my iPhone and show him close up two shots of the Bird of Paradise. 

 

 

    "Now do you get it? Birds of Paradise are birds. From Indonesia and Australia. They're known for their plumage and feathers. They live in rainforests." I take a deep breath. "Still, Theo, you can't go into a conservatory and eat the plants."

      Dan taps me on the shoulder and points. Theo, like Chuck, closes his eyes when he's heard enough. 

     "We'll do better next time," I tell my little gangster cat, rubbing the top of his head gently.

      One eye pops open. I could say he's got the cold hard stare of a killer. But beneath that gangster exterior is a mama's boy. I just know it.

    

   

Rascal Chuck and the Heliopolis House Adventure

             The gig is up, as they say. We have no option but to tell Noah the truth. Especially after Chuck lets out another BIG MEOW.

 

         “Yes. He’s our cat. Chuck.”

 

         Noah opens his mouth to say something. Probably, the usual. Cats aren’t allowed in . . . but he doesn’t. We’re long gone from the seminary and finally heading toward Dan’s house in Heliopolis. We all know that getting into the house, at this point, will be a long shot. There are always complications in Egypt. So, Chuck being there, amazingly, is less of a threat.

 

         Which is super good news because finally Chuck is interested in what’s going on. He wants to see the house. We have no idea why except that maybe we’ve been talking about it for the last year or so . . . Chuck maybe imagines it to be some grandiose structure, surrounded by catnip gardens.

 

         Anyway, all Noah does is nod and then the focus is on finding the house. Dan still remembers his address after many years. He’s said it out loud every so often. It always sounds totally incomprehensible to me. Luckily, he can spell it—in Arabic—and Noah has put it into his GPS so we find this illusive house without too much trouble. We park the car and hit our first obstacle.

         The gate keeper. Now, in America, you encounter a gate with a guard (and clipboard) only when you want to meet a very wealthy or very important person, and you usually have an appointment. Here, in Egypt, we have no appointment. The gate keeper only speaks Arabic, and Dan’s house now belongs to a church. 

 

         Dan’s Arabic has slowly been coming back since we arrived in Egypt, but it’s not nearly good enough to explain why we want to get inside the gate and see the house. Noah tries to explain in his faltering Arabic. For some odd reason, the gate keeper gets it and lets us through. Miracle #1

 

         He doesn’t even blink when he sees Chucky. Miracle #2

 

         But the house is locked. A phone call has to be made. To the head church guy. Who has to agree. He does. And then he has to find the grounds keeper who has the key. As we’re waiting, we’re offered a soda. It seems the idea that Dan grew up in this house enthralls everyone. In fact, a guy shows up out of nowhere insisting he used to play baseball with Dan. The guy with the key shows up and unlocks the house. Miracle #3

         

            We’re in. Chucky’s in. It’s only polite to wait for a tour. Dan is looking around trying to remember which room is which. The house is now a kind of meeting place for church officials, fund raising projects, etc. There is no sign of anything from when he lived there—only the  rooms are the same and yet different—the kitchen, dining room, the bedrooms and the porch out back. 

 

         Chucky, however, has taken a different view. He’s going to sniff out the entire place. Leave not a corner unsniffed. He is determined to get his fill as if he’s been comissioned with writing a report on this house once we’re back in America. He's also being very secretive about it. 

          We begin walking room to room. Dan is enjoying this trip down memory lane, gleefully recounting stories of how they belonged to the local swim club during the summer. Of how he used to take the local tram across town to take piano lessons when he was ten. 

 

         “Where is Chucky, by the way?” Dan suddenly asks.

 

         “Somewhere sniffing.”  

         Dan doesn't look surprised. 

         "What's going on?"

      

         "Well, I might have implied that there's a small garden of . . . " 

         Sure enough, Chucky has somehow found his way outside and is sniffing the perimeter of the house, in search of the supposed garden. Outside a bunch of boys are playing ball.

          "Is there any catnip back there, really?"

          "I had to find someway to keep him happy."

           "You're right. He was moping around. But you know, you gave him mission impossible." 

            "He should be thanking us."

           Now, of course, we feel incredibly guilty. 

           But all is well. The boys spot Chucky and run over to pet him. He is the center of attention. Which he loves. They decide to make him the mascot for their team.

            Chucky never finds the garden or the catnip. But the rascal cat is purring away and that makes all the difference. 

 

 

Rascal Chuck--a Missionary Cat

 

 

         We feel so bad for him. Chuck has had enough of Egypt. Enough of mummies. Enough of churches and mosques. He wants to go back to the hotel and veg out. 

        The problem is—we haven’t yet seen what we came to see. When we say to Chuck, we still have to see Dan’s house, we don’t mean the one in the states. We mean the one in Egypt. The one he grew up in. In Heliopolis. 

         When you have missionaries for parents, you can live just about anywhere. Dan, his two sisters, and one brother lived in a rather large house. They had a cook, a gardener/gatekeeper, and a governess. That house still exists and now belongs to the Egyptian Evangelical Church. We want to see it, and we want to go inside.

Unfortunately, Chuck has to come with us. We try to explain all this to Chuck, but somehow he gets the wrong idea.

         I think it starts when we meet up with two missionaries who have agreed to help—Noah Park and his wife. They live in Egypt, and they have a car, which is a big bonus. We’re eager to find the house. But they have their own agenda.

         “Don’t worry,” Noah says, “we’ll find the house. But first, we have to go to the seminary.”

         That’s where Dan’s father worked while Dan’s family lived in Egypt.

         “You want to see the seminary, right?” Noah asks.

         The real answer is no. Dan doesn’t really want to see it, but he’s caught. If he says no, it won’t look good. Truth is—he wants to see the house. And Chuck wants to go back to the hotel. So he's immediately suspicious. His eyes get big and his ears are twitching back and forth. Seminary?? Why are they taking me to the seminary?

         How exciting can a seminary be, you ask? I have no expectations. I want to see the house. BUT we’re in for a big surprise. 

         It’s a nice brick building, all right, and still to this day, the center of the missionary efforts that are going on in Cairo. Noah leads us inside. You must traverse a long hallway. There are photos posted on the wall to your right.

         Dan spots his father in one of the group photos immediately. He's in the front row, last man on the right side, wearing glasses. The photo is dated 1964. That’s cool. He’s part of history.

       Politely, we look at the other photos. At this point, I’m in charge of Chucky. He is not being a cooperative cat. He doesn’t want to be here, and he doesn’t want to be carried around as if he’s an invalid. 

At least I think that's what the problem is.

         His position is clear—if I have to be here, let me at least walk around and sniff the place out. I can’t smell anything up here. And I can’t really see anything.

         But, it’s tricky. I know for a fact Noah wouldn’t approve. Cats in a seminary?

         “Wow.” Now Dan is pointing to an older photo on the wall. Dated 1863. His great grandfather, J.R. Alexander. He was a missionary in Egypt, too. There he is, long beard and all, posing with a group of all missionaries.

         Noah gets excited. Now, we’re more than two Americans looking for a house in Egypt. We’ve been promoted to royalty. He wants to pull us into meet the head guy who is in charge here at the seminary.

         Dan follows him. I make a rash decision. I put Chucky down. “Stay here. Sniff all you want. But do not leave this room. And try to make yourself inconspicuous.”

        But Chucky looks like that's exactly what he wants to do--leave the room. Leave the seminary.

        "What's the matter?" 

        He looks around as if he's going to be abducted at any moment.

        "Chuck, you don't think . . . no, that's not why you're here. We're not signing you up to be a missionary cat. No. No."

        Chucky heaves a big sigh of relief. 

         "You poor deluded boy."

         Then I run after Dan and Noah.

         “Do you know who this is?” Noah is already introducing Dan to his boss.

         Now everyone wants to shake our hands. Get to know us. Give us the ten cent tour. Unfortunately, they have a museum upstairs—all of one room. Dan goes up to see it. I beg off, thinking this is crazy. All we want to do is see the house. Plus, I’m worried that Chucky left to his own devices too long is bound to get into some kind of trouble.

         We are on our way out of the seminary. Chucky is waiting by the door.

         I hurry ahead and scoop him up. “You're supposed to be inconspicuous,” I whisper as I slide him into the backpack. The poor rascal cat looks exhausted or rather traumatized.

         We pile into the car. Dan gives Noah the address. Finally, we are on our way to the house.

         For some unexplainable reason, Chuck lets out a skin curdling MEOW.

         “Is that a cat?” Noah asks.

 

         TO BE CONTINUED . . .