Rascal Chuck Vanishes in the Country Store

      I'm going to call this Part II. If you remember from last week, Dan, Chucky and I left the supposedly deserted school, crossed the street, and now face the prospect of exploring The Country Store.

      We hesitate before even going in. The Country Store looks innocent enough. The store owner stands on the doorstep and waves us inside. Still, we're suspicious. We're supposed to be in a restored village from the late 1800's.  

    Dan, the voice of reason, tries to make light of it. "Maybe you just imagined what you heard." 

    Chucky looks at me and I look at him. 

    "We didn't imagine it." 

    We now think the school is haunted, but, we see two people coming out of the Country Store--unharmed and laughing. 

    "We'll only stay for a minute," I whisper to Chuck. "Stay close by." But who am I fooling? Chuck, otherwise known as Inspector Chuck Clouseau, now has his mojo back. He marches up to that store, determined to sniff his way through.

    "Welcome to the Landis Valley Country Store," the volunteer interpreter says, who's playing the role of store owner. He's dressed like he would from the turn of the century. Dan immediately engages him in conversation, and this guy is good. He never breaks out of his role. It's almost as if he believes he really is the owner. 

    "I see you brought the missus," he says. "Go on. Look around. But stay out of the post office," he warns, his tone darkening.  No explanation. Just--stay out.

    Chucky has, of course, begun sniffing. Dan continues to talk. I feel as if I've been dropped into some kind of time portal wonderland. I want to stop and pick up everything. Imagine what it would have been like to live back then, before electricity, tv, internet. This is a world that still revers George Washington as a hero.

   Most of the people who lived in this village grew their own food. This country store, for them, was like amazon is for us today. 

 

     

 

    

    I spot the old-fashioned operator phone in the corner and step over to have a closer look. I imagine this would have been the only phone available in the village. You came to the country store to make a call. You came to collect your mail. 

    Stay out of the post office. I turn to my right, remembering the volunteer/owner's warning. Chucky has sniffed his way through the store and is now feet away from the post office. I imagined an actual office, but it's only a section of the store with a sign and three walls with cubbies to put the mail. 

   "Chuck," I call out, trying to avoid the inevitable. 

   For years Chuck has suffered from selective hearing. He can hear his snack bag rattling from two floors away, but to hear his name being called out a few feet from him--for some unexplained reason, a sound barrier goes up. 

    "Chuck, stop."

    He doesn't. He sniffs his way into the Post Office. 

     I turn toward the front of the store. Dan is still talking, talking with the volunteer/store owner/and I can also assume postmaster about 1860 politics of all things. I have a few moments, I think, to make this situation right. I will run in, scoop Chuck up, before the postmaster realizes that Chuck is in the post office. 

    But Chuck has vanished. Totally. Desk, stool, cubbies. All there. No Chuck. What? I look around. Did he run past me? No. There is absolutely nowhere he can be hiding in this post office space. 

    

    Now I'm worried. Maybe there is a good reason why this guy wants us to stay out of the post office. 

    I have no choice now. Just confess everything. Get Dan. Then tell the volunteer/owner/postmaster what has happened. 

    I purse my lips and get Dan. He follows me to the back of the store. He reads my body language. He knows something is wrong. 

    "Where's Chuck?" he asks.

    I grab his arm, speechless, and point to the post office. 

    "Hey," Dan says in his calm, reasonable voice, "you're not supposed to be in there."

    Chuck is not a big talker, and for a rascal cat, he has a small voice, but I can hear him clear as day. Meow.

    "Chucky." There he is as if he were there the entire time. But he wasn't there. 

    I tell Dan the horrid truth. "There's something fishy about this place. I can feel it."

     "I don't know what to say." Dan picks Chuck up, and we say goodbye. 

    "Can we just go? Now?" I ask. Beg.

    "But what about the shoemaker?" Dan asks. "What can possibly go wrong at the shoemaker?"

                              TO BE CONTINUED - PART III

    
 

Chuck's New Brother--Adopted or Abducted?

               Adopting a cat is an adventure. Tabby's Place is a privately owned no kill shelter which houses over 100 cats. The cats live in suites, not cages. If things don’t work out, you can bring the cat back. That part is great. 

 

            But, you have to fill out an adoption form—mega pages long—and convince this wonderful shelter you will make decent enough cat parents. Tabby's Place sees these cats as precious as children. You sign a contract to treat them in a loving and humane way. 

 

            If you’re integrating a cat with another cat or cats, there is a protocol to follow. Don’t for a moment think you can bring the cat home and plop him in the middle of the living room and let him fend for himself amidst a menagerie of the dogs and cats you might already have living there. Oh, no. 

            And, then, there was Chucky. Did he even want another brother? Yes and no. He liked the idea of having a younger brother, but he was also afraid and nervous. He was number one cat now in the house. Would he somehow become number two cat when a younger, cuter cat arrived?

 

            Dan and I spotted Theo first online and then we had a meet and greet in Suite E, where Theo lived since March with about 15 other cats. He was rescued from an animal testing laboratory. 

            I was smitten from the first. Big eyes. Mostly brown tabby. Extremely shy. Which usually means hard to find someone to adopt him. Everyone wants a friendly cat!

 

          

         “Don’t worry. We’re naming him after Theodore Roosevelt. Calling him Theo for short. And pronouncing Theo the Italian way—Teo (the e is short). "If we believe in him, name him after a famous explorer and brave man, this shy boy will rise to the occasion."

 

            Bree, who is working Adoption that day, hands me meds—just in case he’s so scared he doesn’t eat. A giant alarm rings in my head--we might have a challenge here. 

 

            Bringing him home in the carrier is no trouble. He’s as quiet as a mouse. We decide to put him temporarily in our study--and it’s waiting for him with liter, water fountain, two cat beds, two feeding bowls, and toys.

 

            Twice, Chucky comes to the study door that we’ve carefully closed—giving Theo a chance to acclimate to one room. Chucky sniffs and sniffs. I know the question that Chucky wants answered.

 

            “Hey, mom, is he in there? How long is he going to stay?”

 

            “Theo’s in there. You new little brother.”

 

            “Can I see him?”

 

            That’s tricky. I know that more time should pass. It’s way too soon to let the two of them meet face to face. 

 

I’ve been advised that before they meet, we should do what is called a sniff exchange. Take something that has Chucky’s smell on it and give it to Theo and vice versa. Also, we should install a baby gate at the door so they can see each other and sniff each other with the gate between them. THEN if all goes well . . .

 

But Chucky is one of these mellow cats. And he’s very insistent.

Theo has his own version of the story: 

"I want to meet my older brother. But, basically, I was minding my own business, see, and you two came and abducted me, threw me into a carrier, put a blanket over it so I couldn't see a thing, brought me to a house, locked me into a room. And all you two want to do is pet me." Yeah, he kind of speaks like a gangster even though he looks as cute as pie.

"It's going to be okay, Theo."

"This other cat . . . do I know him? My older brother?"

"He wants to meet you, Theo."

 

I do the worst possible thing. When I open the door to the study, Chucky sneaks in. Theo is at the end of the room, squeezed in the tiniest space on a lower book shelf. Minutes go by as Chucky, like a cat version of Inspector Clouseau, sniffs the entire room. I figure he’ll head straight for Theo. But, no, he’s maddeningly thorough as he moves from object to object, space to space, until finally he manages to make it across the room. He comes face to face with his new little brother.

 

He stares for a second and moves even closer. I hold my breath.

 

         Theo does nothing. (Is that a good sign or a bad sign?)

 

          Chucky lets out a huge hiss which reverberates through the room and practically shakes the house down.

          Theo counters with a growl that sounds like it's coming from the throat of a lion, who must be hiding somewhere in our study because little Theo couldn't possibly have made that growl!

 

          Faster than a speeding bullet, I whisk Chuck away. All my beliefs that the rascal cat is the lover of peace and good will fly out the window. 

          But what did I expect? I know it's not Chucky's fault. He sees Theo as an intruder. "This is my house," he's probably thinking. "No cat--even if he is my younger brother--is going to come in here and take over, eat my snacks  . . ."

          Bree later explains that Theo has come to Chucky's house, not only with his own smell, but the smell of all 15 kitties who lived with him in Suite E. When Chucky was sniff, sniff, sniffing the study, he was registering all the smells and probably figuring there was a menagerie of cats lying in wait for him. Not just one scaredy cat.

          Now we understand. Patience. Chucky needs more time. 

           Days go by. Chucky stays in the hallway, on his side of the door, even though he does camp outside the door in protest. Theo examines every square inch of the study. He refuses to eat in the beginning, and I think he's going on a hunger strike, but he's just nervous. When we go into the study, we often find him camped out on the other side of the door, equally curious as to what's on the other side.

    

        So what's next? After many days, maybe even a week or two, we will try the sniff exchange and then install the baby gate and if all goes well, we might be able to make a proper introduction.  No hissing. No growling. 

            There is such a thing as brotherly love, right?