Rascal Chuck Meets The White Ghost

     "So what is a cactus plant, anyway," Chuck wanted to know. That was his first question. Then he wanted to see one. 

        Where do you have to go in this USA to see a cactus plant, and not just any cactus plant? A Euphorbia lactea. Better known as the White Ghost. In Arizona? 

      Dan, of course, has the answer: "Actually, there are six states that have cactus plants: Texas, California, New Mexico, Nevada, Utah, and . . . "

       "Arizona. Well . . ." I look over at Chucky. "Maybe this coming summer we can go in search of the White Ghost, but for now . . ."

        We reach a compromise. The Conservatory in Longwood Gardens, Pennsylvania, has a section filled with cacti. We confirm that they have the White Ghost--an  extremely rare cactus plant with a chunky trunk and an unusual pale ghost-like complexion to its skin.

        I am suspicious. I believe that the cactus plant is there, all right, but why name a plant the "white ghost"? I'm not a fan of cacti anyway. They're prickly, for one thing. Don't bang into one by mistake, or you'll be sorry.  And I'm concerned that Chucky in his enthusiasm to see the White Ghost will want to sniff it, get too close, and get his eye gouged out or get those prickly things lodged in his fur. Or maybe he'll try to climb it. And then he'll be stuck up there, literally STUCK.

       Dan has a completely different opinion. He finds them fascinating. Cacti can store enormous amounts of water. They collect CO2 at night, not during the day, like other plants. They have many medicinal purposes and have been linked to treating glaucoma, liver disease, ulcers, fatigue, and they contain antioxidant properties, minerals and vitamins. 

       I am reluctantly impressed, but still . . . 

        We hurry through the Conservatory, reach the cacti, and set Chuck down with a stern warning to BE CAREFUL! Look don't touch. But I know this kid. He barely listens when he's on a mission. He wants to see this White Ghost and there is nothing that is going to stop him.

            Luckily, there is no one else around. This is not a very popular exhibit. Everyone is looking at the fabulously beautiful orchids, which is where I wish I was. I'm determined not to like these cacti, but sure enough I stumble upon one that takes my breath away. Because this one is NOT prickly. What?

     I reach out and touch the leaves and they feel like velvet. This cacti is called Felt Brush. I try to steer Chucky over here. He gives them a glance, but it's no go.  I walk further on and now I'm in love with the Mexican Fence Post Cactus. Tall and lean. It looks exactly like its name.

       

      "Chucky, over here. Look at this." But Chucky is sniffing his way through the exhibit with only one thing on his mind.

      I then stumble upon something even more spectacular--Silver Ball Cactus. Frankly, I never knew cacti can be so interesting. Maybe, just maybe, I'm wrong. Maybe this White Ghost is not as threatening as I think. I take a few quick deep breaths. Smile.

        "Dan, where's Chuck? He's got to see . . ."

        I am too late. Chucky is across the exhibit. He has found the cactus plant he's been looking for, the cactus plant of his dreams. He's stopped a few feet away and is staring at it, most likely admiring it. I start walking towards him. So this is it--the White Ghost. The sun is shining through the glass roof, and the darned cactus plant is actually glowing, almost as if it's going to come alive and do something. It looks other worldly. But then . . .

        

        Someone turns off the lights. That's impossible because the light is the sunlight coming from outside. Still, the room darkens. I feel a chill course down my spine. This has got to be all in my head. I'm about to turn to Dan, the voice of reason, when I hear howling wind. What? An eerie background noise. A kind of groaning begins around me. I'm not going to get freaked out by this, I tell myself, as I run toward Chucky and scoop him up.

       Of course, he doesn't want to be scooped up--rescued--and starts to wiggle with all his might. He is a strong cat. 

       Now I hear  laughing. Dan?

                     "Sorry. Sorry. I couldn't resist."

                     "That was you?"

                      "Only the moaning. The rest is the storm outside." 

                      I've been so wrapped up in exploring the cacti, I don't notice the oncoming storm. Darned global warming. This crazy weather is getting ridiculous. "So this has nothing to do with the cactus plant. I'm an idiot." 

               I put Chucky down. He shakes off the humiliation and gives me that look that cats give you when they agree with you that you are an idiot.

              "Okay. Okay. Go look at your White Ghost." 

              All is well. Chuck scampers over to sniff the White Ghost. He's almost there when suddenly, out of nowhere, a bolt of lightning illuminates the space. We all look up. The raindrops that have been falling turn into big juice drops. Thunder crashes down.

             "That was dramatic," I whisper, staring at the White Ghost, which is still there, of course. BUT . . .

             Chucky is not. The bolt of lightning, the crash of thunder was too much. He is huddled, this rascal cat of mine, amidst the Felt Brush cacti. His long orange and white tail is the only part of him that is visible. 

            Ha. Ha. He must know what I've been suspicious of all along--this White Ghost cactus is not just your regular cactus. There's something funny going on in Cactus Land.

                

        

 

            

Chuck Tramples the Tulips

 

          To celebrate my birthday this past year, Dan, I, and, of course, Chuck decided to stay local, which means we wanted to travel somewhere by car and not plane so we went to Longwood Gardens in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, for the day. 

        Longwood Gardens began as a Quaker farmstead. Then Pierre S. du Pont (yes, the name sounds familiar because of all the du Pont products his company was responsible for--Lucite, Teflon, Lycra, Orlon, Mylar, Kevlar, Tyvek, and Dacron polyester) bought the property in 1906 and over the years transformed it into one of America's premier gardens. It boasts 200 acres filled with gardens and water fountains, a four acre conservatory, an historic house and the usual Visitor Center with Gift Shop. 

       

 

Of course, no pets are allowed. But Dan and I don't consider Chuck a pet. And, maybe, that's why we get into so much trouble.

        

        Longwood Gardens is open year round, and the garden displays rotate with the seasons. We were there in April. Tulips of all colors and shapes were in abundance. The displays were magnificent. For awhile Chuck seemed content to scamper around with us, sniffing the ground, enjoying the beautiful weather. 

        We know that cats see colors differently than we do. We also know, however, that their sense of smell is way more acute. So what happened next, well, we can only put it down to the fact that Chucky must have smelled something, something that he just couldn't resist. 

     

   

        Let me set the scene. These beautiful tulip displays attract many visitors. But it was late in the afternoon. Most of the visitors were gone and Dan, I and Chuck were basically by ourselves at the end of the tulip section. Everything was calm.

   

        That should have been a clue. A warning. That something was about to go amiss. 

        But, again, we were caught up in the moment. If you've ever been to Longwood Gardens, walked through the conservatory, seen the orchid display or been privy to the hundreds of tulips that were in full bloom, you could understand how we could become mesmerized and lose track. 

    

    Suddenly, the tulips began to dance on their own. They were moving. What the . . . At first, it seemed almost magical. Like in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy passes an apple tree, that comes alive and the branch has an arm and a hand that throws an apple at her. 

        These tulips were moving. I saw it first.

        "Look, Dan, those tulips over there."

        Our wonderful magical thinking lasted only a second. In unison we shouted out, "Chuck."

        Of course, it had to be Chuck. His orange and white fur was suddenly visible among the vibrant yellow tulips.

        Oh my God. This was serious. Chuck was ransacking through the tulips. 

        "You have to go in there and get him. Before he causes any major damage."

        But Dan had already assessed the situation. Carefully picking his way through these magnificent flowers, he stepped on solid ground, reached in and picked up the devil cat child. 

        "What was he thinking?"

        "He's just a cat," Dan said calmly.

        He was right, of course. Like curious George, I had curious Chuck who never for a moment thought that visitors to Longwood Gardens wanted to see healthy vibrant tulips, not ones trampled to death by cat paws.  

        Dan put Chucky on the ground near my feet. Then he went back into the tulip display and fluffed up the tulips Chuck had played havoc with.  See, no damage done.

            "Well, we almost had a perfect day." I sighed.

        "And what fun would that have been," Dan said. 

        Later, in the car on the way back home, I tried to get Chuck to explain why he'd bolted into the tulip patch. He only yawned, put his head on his paw, and fell asleep.

        "At least he didn't say anything about ravens," I said. 

STAY TUNED FOR MORE ADVENTURES OF CHUCK, THE RASCAL CAT. AND PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT. CHUCK WOULD LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. JUST CLICK ON "COMMENT." IT'S EASY.