Rascal Chuck's Destiny

  We go to the shoemaker because we believe he will have all the answers.  Is this place only a restored village? Why did Chuck suddenly disappear and then reappear in the post office of the Country Store? 

    In other words, what the heck is going on?

    "You can't just barge in there and start asking him all these questions," Dan says. 

    "Why do we even think he has all the answers, anyway?"

    "Because he's been here from the beginning."

    "The beginning?"    

     Now even Chucky is intrigued. He's been plodding along beside us as we walk down the main road of Landis Valley, headed toward the shoe maker. I glance over. Chuck looks different somehow. As if he's fading in and out. More ethereal. As if he's not really there. Even though I know he is.

    "Are you feeling okay, Chuck?" I ask.

    "I'm ready," he meows.

    What the heck does he mean by that? 

  

      Dan is ahead of us, already walking into the shoemaker's house. I scoop Chucky up and give him a big hug. "You know I love you to bits," I say. 

    "Another adventure always awaits," Chucky meows back as he leans his head into mine. 

    I get the sneaky feeling that Chuck already knows what's about to happen. That somehow he has already figured all of this out.  Why he suddenly disappeared and then reappeared.

    "Can you tell me," I ask my super wise cat.

    "It's destiny, mom," he whispers.

    I get a lump in my throat, guessing I must cherish these next few moments. 

    The shoemaker looks exactly the way I expect him to look. He's making a pair of shoes from real leather, of course, that he has cut and shaped. He has already begun to explain the process to Dan. 

    I stand in the background and listen. Chucky, of course, is sniffing his heart out. The smell of leather and sawdust is everywhere. It is a good solid smell that for some reason makes me think of my childhood. And Chucky looks happy, happier than I have ever seen him.

    I learn something from the shoemaker that I didn't know. Back in the day, before people bought ill fitting shoes from the shoe store, they had their shoes made from a shoe maker. But going to the shoe maker was step two in the process. Step one was having a carpenter make a last for you--a wooden form in the shape of your foot. You paid for and owned the last and then gave it to the shoemaker who used the form to make your shoe. 

    Shoes back then fit very well. They conformed to all the quirks and inconsistencies of your foot. 

    Finally, the shoemaker looks at us, I mean really looks at us, looks at Chuck and asks us why we are really here. "You are not here for the shoes," he says.

    "No." We tell him what has happened as we have walked around the village, and ask him if he can explain. 

    "I am not surprised. You are not the first. Yes, this village is special because we are unchanged from the past. We are half in and half out of where we used to be. The cloakroom in the school. The post office in the Country Store. And, even here."

    I look around and notice that Chucky has stopped sniffing. 

    Suddenly I understand what the shoe maker is trying to say. "Doorways to the past?"

    "Yes."

    "But where is this doorway?"

    The shoemaker points to just beyond where the half made shoes are on the table. There is a corner in his shop. "He knows. He will find his way if he is meant to go."

    "But he'll come back?" I ask.

    "Not this time," he says. 

    "But why must he go?"

    It is the hardest thing to let destiny take its course. You want to make time stand still. You want to stop the future from happening. 

    I cannot describe how we love and hold and hug our Chucky at the end. But then we must let him go. We are so grateful to have shared his journey for 14 years. 

    We watch him march toward that doorway with confidence and curiosity, the way he has always faced life. And then he is gone.

     

  What really happened . . .

    

  I have had the great honor of living with 13 cats so far in my life. They've all been special in their own way. Chuck, the rascal cat, was one of a kind. He literally bounced into my life as a kitten, inspired me to begin Hot Blogging with Chuck with his always curious and adventurous personality, and gave me oodles of love over the years. 

    It is with great sadness that we recently discovered Chucky had an inoperable tumor in his stomach/pancreas. We made the very hard decision to let him go and send him over the Rainbow Bridge to join his sisters Ella and Molly and his brother Jack. 

    We miss him each and everyday. He had a strong personality, loved to go outside and raid the neighbor's catnip garden when he was home and truly was an ambassador, eager to make friends with the neighbor cats. 

    I have to admit I feel Chucky's presence around me even now. 

    When I wanted to give up the blog and retire, he meowed--No, Mom. Let Theo take over. He can do it. I know he can. 

    When I wanted to hide away in my sorrow, he reminded me that I've always adopted cats who needs homes. It's the cycle of life. He led me to our newest two kittens--9 month old brother and sister, Michelangelo (Mico for short) and Sienna. They were rescued as feral cats from a farm, so I guess they're a bit rascally too. 

   

    Theo looks forward to introducing himself and taking you on the next adventure, but one thing we've decided--we're holding fast to our blog name: Hot Blogging with Chuck. Because you never know with Chucky, he may be back!

    

     

    

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