Chuck Sets His Sights on a Ruined Medieval Castle

I will admit that at times it’s difficult to understand the mind of my rascal cat, Chuck.  While we were traveling around France, in the Upper Normandy region, near the Seine River, one day I happened to mention the ruined medieval castle of Chateau Gailiard because I found the history of the place fascinating and thought that Chuck might like to sniff around a place like that . . .  

After all, Chuck knows a bit of history. He’d heard of Richard the Lionhearted, who was both the King of England and the Duke of Normandy, and how he wanted to build this castle in France to protect his interests even though he promised he wouldn’t. Nevertheless, despite the expense, it took him only two years to construct this castle which sported quite an advanced design from a fortification perspective.

Chateau Gailiard had what was known as a concentric fortification, which consisted of three enclosures and a moat. It also boasted a system of defense--very modern--where the floors could open so rocks and stones and other materials could be dropped on attackers.  Just in case there were attackers, which Richard the Lionhearted suspected there would be.  The battlements were made of stone, a vast improvement over the wood used in most castles, and this meant they were practically fireproof. 

Well, this design would have worked, but unfortunately, even these improvements couldn’t prevent Chateau Gailiard from being captured in 1204 by King Phillip II, the French King, after a lengthy siege. Not for the obvious reasons but more for humanitarian ones. The locals nearby begged to be let into the castle for protection against the French soldiers.  Their admittance was the downfall of the castle. They literally ate up all the stores.

The castle suffered much in later years and eventually was deliberately destroyed as a precaution. Nevertheless, what is left of it is a marvel.  

I walked around and thought about life over one thousand years ago. It would have been cold and drafty inside. Chuck trotted alongside me, and I guessed he was busy picking up all the smells, probably able to get a much better idea of the history than me.

I was taken with the beauty of the old stone against the gray sky and wasn’t really paying much attention to him, which explains how one minute he was there, and the next, he was gone.

Up to his old tricks.

Not on purpose, of course. Chuck follows his nose. But this castle ruin is an extensive place; and it wouldn’t be easy to find the kid. 

He is a bit of a meanderer, and he couldn’t have gone too far ahead, unless he was spooked by someone or something. Then he can run, and he could be on the other side of the historic site.

I quickened my pace and followed what seemed to be the logical way around--looking down, not up, missing what I should have been noticing, on the look-out for . . . and there he was.

At some point he’d realized that he’d lost me so he’d stopped in a  frozen position and waited for me to find him. 

I scooped him up in my arms and held him close. “It’s alright. No wandering off, okay?”

Within the next minute or two, he was his old self again, sniffing the ground and the walls. 

MY PARANORMAL ROMANCE, WILD POINT ISLAND, IS NOW AVAILABLE IN EBOOK AND PAPERBACK FROM AMAZON.COM AND BARNESANDNOBLE.COM

Chuck Almost Meets Vincent Van Gogh

As my rascal cat and I travel around the world, there are times when I am forced to say, “Chuck, we are going here. For culture. For enlightenment. We can’t always go to places just for fun.”

While we were in France, sailing down the Seine River, we stopped in a lovely riverside town--Auvers-sur-Oise--which just happened to be the last place that Vincent Van Gogh, the famed artist, lived and painted. I knew this and Chuck didn’t. But I had noticed that recently Chuck had shown a modicum of interest in art. He had stared at, if briefly, one of Van Gogh’s paintings--his most famous one, in fact, “The Starry Night.”

The opportunity, therefore, had presented itself.

If the kid liked the painting, if he seemed interested in it, why not shove a bit of culture down his throat and acquaint him with Van Gogh’s life and struggles. After all, I figured, Chuck, my very privileged and now pampered cat, had come a long way from his once homeless situation, and I didn’t want him to forget that life can be hard.

Vincent Van Gogh led a tortured life.

My plan was this---do the typical tour and share Vincent’s struggles along the way.

We began with the house where Van Gogh rented a room and painted. We passed the local church. As we walked, I talked. Chuck listened, or seemed to be listening, but you never know with him. Then we headed out to the cemetery, where Van Gogh is buried with his brother by his side, which is a bit outside of the main area of town, up a hill and through a field. Because we were alone, I let Chuckie out of the backpack, and he scampered beside me, enjoying his romp. The cemetery is to the right. But when it came time to make that right, Chuck kept on going.

“Chuck, the graves are over here.”

He pretended not to hear me.

“Chuck.”

Laughter bubbled up behind me. I had company.

Now, in all honesty, I try not to advertise the fact that I have a cat with me. I stopped walking and pretended to be fiddling with my backpack. The couple passed by enroute to the cemetery.

“Chuck,” I called into the tall grass, but he had disappeared.

That darn cat.

It was clear to me now that the Chuckster had no interest, whatsoever, in seeing Vincent Van Gogh’s gravesite. So I popped over, admired the gravestones myself, took a photo, and returned for my recalcitrant cat.

“All right. We don’t have to go see them. I get your point.”

Like magic, the bellyboy re-appeared as if nothing had happened. Cool as a--you guessed it--cat. Grooming himself the way cats do when they’re pretending nothing is amiss.

We headed back to town and even poked our heads into a local restaurant that pays tribute to Van Gogh in their own way by sporting a mural on their wall of Kirk Douglas, who played Vincent Van Gogh in the Hollywood movie. I thought the mural was great. Chuck, of course, was not impressed. Oh, yeah, he glanced at it but seemed more interested in sniffing the peanuts on the counter.

And when the shopkeeper told us that there is a festival every May in honor of Van Gogh, Chuck snorted.

But to keep the record straight, Chuckie still likes “The Starry Night.” He just doesn’t give a fig about Van Gogh, the artist.