Chuck - The Biggest Fan of Mickey Mantle

        

Marsala, Sicily--one of the main streets

        We were immediately suspicious.

Why did Chuck want to visit Marsala, Sicily?

        Can you guess?

Was it because:

A.   Marsala is known for producing Marsala wine, which

              is like “port,” and used in Italian cooking, ie. 

              Chicken Marsala or the yummy dessert Tiramisu

              AND Chuck loves to eat  OR

        B.   Marsala is famous for the landing of Garibaldi in

              1860, Italian general and politician, who is best 

              known for the unifying of Italy AND Chuck is a 

              history buff OR

        C.  In the last 200 years, Marsala has recorded three 

             earthquakes of medium to high intensity range 

             AND Chuck likes to live dangerously OR

        D.  The Church of Purgatory is in Marsala AND Chuck

              wanted to see the paper mache statues the

              townspeople carry through the streets during the 

              procession on Holy Week.

             Well, as it turned out, Chuck had a more devious scheme in mind, but we didn’t discover his true intent until the end of our day in Marsala.  

The Church of the Purgatory

Close-up view of the lovely Baroque style architecture of this church

More lovely architectural details on display

      We arrived in Marsala and proceeded to the Church of the Purgatory to see the statues that our guide was raving about.  It seems that the townspeople had constructed near life-sized statues out of paper mache, which they carry through the streets in what we would call a parade or procession during Holy Week.  It's a big deal.  

You can see the paper mache statues that are carried through the streets during the Procession

The Church of the Purgatory

The statues were magnificent.  And even though Chuck did not, at first, appear interested, once he heard the story, he seemed interested in the concept.  Did he see himself walking through the crowds, carrying a statue in his paws?  As crowds of people lined the streets and waved?

The elegant city gate the Garibaldi and his volunteers wearing red shirts marched thru to unify Italy

We left the church and made our way to Porta Garibaldi, walking along Via Garibaldi, through the elegant city gate, which was constructed in 1685 (one of three which enclosed the city) and named after Garibaldi after he made his entrance into the city through the gates in 1860.  To honor Garibaldi, his picture was hung on the gate, because Italians will never forget the part he played in making Italy a country. 

Close-up of Garibaldi in all his glory

   

We then crossed the city and decided to visit the Pellegrino factory, where they manufacture not only the Pellegrino water, which we know so well in the United States and drink incessantly, but also the Marsala wine.  

The Pellegrino Factory in Marsala

Finally, Chuck looked like he wanted to be there.  He began to eagerly listen to our guide, who spoke perfect English.  She explained the history of Marsala wine and the process of manufacturing it.  

Inside peek of the Pellegrino factory in Marsala, Sicily

And then it happened.  It all became clear.  Why Chuck had been so eager to come to Marsala.  It wasn’t for the wine.  It wasn’t for the water.  It wasn’t for the paper mache statues, and it certainly wasn’t to see a photo of Garibaldi and walk through the gates. 

Chuck’s a baseball fan.  He loves the Yankees. He loves to sprawl out in our Rec Room and gaze up at the screen and watch the guys in their uniforms swing at that tiny ball as it comes whizzing by.  

Mickey Mantle, famed NY Yankees baseball player, signed the cask in 1977

It seems that Mickey Mantle had been to Marsala and signed a wine cask and Chuckie is such a fan, such a groupie, he wanted to touch that cask, and, of course, SNIFF around it.  For Chuck, the rascal cat, it was a thrill just to be where the Mick had been . . . once upon a time. 
       The mystery was solved!

Chuck is such a CAT!
       To read more about Chuck and his adventures, log onto www.katelutter.com 
       My paranormal romance, Wild Point Island, is now available in ebook format and mass market paperback at Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com  

Chuck In Sicily - Becomes Sicilian Style Tuna Fish

The hotel where we stayed which was once a tuna factory

          After a short respite at home, Sicily beckoned.
       When you think of Sicily, especially if you are a “fan” of the Godfather movies or if you watched the recent phenomena on HBO--The Sopranos--you may equate Sicily and the capital city--Palermo--with the Mafia, and it’s true that Sicily has a long and not so pretty record of Mafia involvement, partially owing (I think) to its poor economy over the years and the desperation of the people to survive.
        Or, perhaps, when you think of Sicily you think of the fancy resort-like cities of Taormina on the eastern side where thousands of visitors flock for the sun and shopping and food.
        But the “rascal cat” and I wanted to see another side of Sicily. We’d heard that Sicily was also the home of ancient villages and caves and medieval towns and bell towers and salt roads and windmills. (No, we didn’t expect to veer off course and somehow land in Holland.)
        We decided to spend our first few nights outside of Palermo in a hotel located in a former tuna factory in Piazza Bonagia. Yes, you heard me correctly. We’re talking about a factory that dated back to the 1600‘s, located on the water, of course.

View of the water from the rooftop

         Better than that, John Marie, a tuna fisherman for many years, was going to explain how tuna fishing worked and how the fishermen who caught the fish--even up to now--use the oh so ancient technniques of his ancestors.

John Marie, a tuna fisherman wearing stripes, explaining the ancient ways

         I was excited because I knew that fishermen in other countries used ultra-modern techniques, but not the Sicilians.       They’ve stuck to their old ways and using an intricate system of nets and levels, they’ve managed to not only lure but trap and then kill the tuna, enough tuna for them to sell and make a living off of.
John Marie, who only spoke a Sicilian dialect of Italian, explained the process through an interpreter.

An old anchor from a tuna boat

        During May and June the fishermen use dense nets to capture the bluefin tuna in a process called “mattanza” which means “to kill.” The key to the process being successful is organization and technique. A series of nets are lowered into the ocean. The tuna are captured in successive nets which are reduced in size and raised to the surface. The fish are speared and killed. This technique requires the effort of many fishermen working cooperatively together.

One of the boats used in tuna fishing

         The fish struggle for survival, but they are no match for the fishermen’s spears. That’s the reason why the word “mattanza” also means “massacre.”
        And where was Chuck during this entire lecture? Squirreled away in my smart bag, but listening intently. Anything concerning food, especially fish, has his rapt attention. Quickly, he got the concept that the place we were staying in USED TO BE A TUNA FACTORY.
       Darn it.
       Key operative word--USED TO BE.
       Now, however, he was enthralled with the notion of how the nets caught the fish. While the other people ascended the narrow stairs to the rooftop to see the view of the water, we stayed behind because Chuck insisted on seeing the nets more closely.

John Marie on the rooftop, answering questions

       He hopped out when the coast was clear and sniffed the nets.
      And then it happened.
      Without warning, he jumped up and into the nets themselves.

A "model" to illustrate the intricate nets used to capture the tuna and CHUCK

      Whatever possessed him to do that?
       Immediately, his weight pulled the netting inward and he was completely encased inside, trapped.
       He panicked, of course, and began flailing around.
       If you know anything about cats, they like their paws on solid ground. The more he tried to get his paws down on the net, the more it swayed this way and that, and the more he struggled, and then he began to whimper.
       Of course, we tried to come to the rescue, but he was in such a panicked state that he wouldn’t be still for even a moment, and it became impossible to extricate him from the net.
       To make it worse, any minute people were going to begin coming back down from the rooftop.
      “We need organization and technique,” I whispered.
      Bob nodded. “You grab the net and open it up. I’ll grab the cat.”
      I grabbed the net.
      He grabbed the cat.
      Chuck was rescued.
      In the nick of time.
      Ten seconds later everyone began descending the stairs from the rooftop, and that was our clue to go up on the roof--just to readjust ourselves. The view was magnificent.

The view

The view of our hotel from the roof

        And if you’re wondering if the nets were damaged during the incident--no--those nets are incredibly strong. It’s conceivable Chuck could have been caught in them forever!
        The poor kid--a Sicilian style tuna fish!

To read more about Chuck and his adventures, log onto www.katelutter.com 

Wild Point Island, my paranormal romance, is now available in paperback and ebook formats at amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com.  

Chuck Eyes the Bikini Girls at the Villa

How does a cat gain the reputation of being a rascal?

It can easily happen when it has something to do with bikini girls.

I am often amazed at what Chuck knows and yet pretends not to know--when directly quizzed. For example.

In the middle of Sicily, in the middle of a green valley, sits a Roman villa by the name of Casale near a town called Piazza Armerina. This villa has 63 rooms and some believe it was originally designed as an imperial hunting palace, outfitted with an intricate heating and cooling system, indoor plumbing, swimming pool and 42 colorful floors of mosaic tiles estimated to have taken 21,000 days of work (if it’s true that a worker needs six days to complete a square meter of mosaic tile.)

Now you might be thinking--so? I am sure that Sicily is chock filled with villas, but this villa is special. Why?

Well, for one thing the floor tiles in this villa depict scenes from a lifestyle that no longer exists--a very comfortable middle class Roman family life of over 1500 years ago--and the only reason the villa still survives today is that it was destroyed by an earthquake and then covered (and thus preserved) by a landslide.

The earthquake occurred somewhere around 346 AD. The landslide in 1161 AD.

Chuckie decided--when we were in Sicily--that he wanted to see this villa. Was it because it was recognized as a UNESCO world heritage site? Was it because it was considered a “famous archaeological site of cultural tourism”?

When I mentioned these facts, of course, the Chuckster nodded in agreement, a kind of yah, yah, yah. But I know Chuckie. I know how he thinks.

It seems that the truth was a lot more interesting. Chuckie had seen somewhere, I suspect on the History Channel, that this villa had a floor mosaic of BIKINI GIRLS, and he wanted to see those girls for himself.

Now, we’re not talking Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue, but we are talking about a mosaic that depicted women in bikini bathingsuits that went back over fifteen hundred years ago. Could it be true?

The security at The Roman Villa of Casale is very strict. Several years ago tourists were allowed to wander from room to room and actually throw water on the tile floors so they could more clearly see the mosaic tiles which sprung to seeming life when the outer layer of what appeared to be dust was washed away. One day a tourist threw acid, not water, on one of the floors--irreparably destroying that particular floor--so tourists are no longer allowed to throw anything down on the floor. As one wanders from room to room, it is difficult to imagine what the floors must have looked like so many years ago.

Chuck and I kept a very low profile. Luckily, we arrived toward the end of the day. It was in November and as we began to lose the sun, I figured it would be easier for Chuck to peer out of my backpack, where he was hiding, and catch a glimpse of tile floor he wanted the most to see without being seen himself. I was nervous that if one of the Italian guards spotted us, we would be booted off the villa’s property.

Finally, we made it into the Bikini Girl Room, one of the rooms which surrounded the built in swimming pool area that was in the center of the villa. For a moment we were alone. Chuck popped his head out and snuck a peek at the mosaic floor. He remained absolutely still, and I could tell he was impressed.

“There they are, Chuck,” I said. “The bikini girls. Over 1,500 years old.”

He pointed to the girl in the red suit. She was obviously his favorite.

Just as I was snapping the photo as a keepsake, I heard noise from the hallway. A guard appeared. “Signora. Signora.”

It was easy to tell by the frown on his face and the multitude of hand motions that he was ushering me--I mean “us” out of the room.

Luckily, Chuck had ducked back under cover.

As we sauntered outside, I listened for the usual purring that I expected to hear--but this time there was no purr, only a kind of snore.

The kid was already in “dream land,” no doubt, sunbathing on some Italian beach somewhere, flanked on either side by the BIKINI GIRLS.

Chuck Pays Tribute to the Cyclops

In some ways cats are like little boys. When Chuck first heard about the Cyclops--that mythical creature who captured Ulysses and trapped him in a cave until he devised a way to escape--my rascal cat became enthralled with the idea of a Cyclops. He wanted to know more. He wanted to see a real Cyclops. And when I explained that Cyclops didn’t exist anymore--that he was part of ancient lore--he wanted to see where he had lived.

Which meant that after we trekked up Mt. Etna to see the flowing lava underneath the earth, we took a side trip to a small but beautiful town called Accitrezza in Sicily. According to myth, this is where the Cyclops lived. Near the sea. This is where Ulysses met him and this is where the cave sat where Ulysses was imprisoned.

Chuck knew the entire story.

He’d heard the tale of the Cyclops, the creature who had only one eye in the middle of his head. He knew that Ulysses and his men had finally escaped imprisonment by flinging rocks at that eye and blinding the Cyclops. That’s why we had traveled to Accitrezza--to see the boulders in the sea--the same boulders that Ulysses and his men had thrown on that fateful day when they had hurled them through the air at the Cyclops and regained their freedom.

When Chuck and I arrived on the spot, we stood there in awe and fascination. Sure enough, if you stand on the shore’s edge, you can clearly see the boulders. Thousands of years later, you can still see them resting there as a testament to the cunning and the brute strength of Ulysses’ men.

“Okay, then,” I said to the Chuckster. “Now you’ve seen the boulders. You know the story. I know you’re impressed. What do you say to a nice gelato at that store over there.” I pointed behind us to a nice mom and pop gelateria.

But Chuck did not glance behind. He waited, perched like a bird on a rock, staring into the sea, at those boulders.

This was not a good sign.

I know the Chuckster.

When he puts his mind to something, he is rarely dissuaded.

“What is it, Chuck?”

Now, of course, cats can’t talk, but this cat of mine always seems to find a way to let me know exactly what he wants. I crouched next to him and followed his line of sight. He was staring directly at those boulders. That’s when I felt sick. I had to hope he wasn’t thinking that he could somehow leap onto one of those treacherous rocks. For what reason, I didn’t know, but it was such a Chuck thing to do.

And sure enough, the moment the thought popped into my head, I could see his hind legs bounce as if that was exactly what he was thinking.

“NO!” No, you don”t, I thought as I grabbed hold of him. If he jumped out there, all I could imagine was him being swept away by a wave and that would be the end of Chuck and my weekly blogging.

When I reached hold of him, I seemed to break him out of some kind of trance. Or did I break him out of the siren’s call?

Chuck meowed.

I held him close.

“Let’s go get that gelato,” I finally said.

Later that evening, back in our hotel, I caught Chuck in his usual meditative position--on his back, his paws curled forward, eyes closed, but just as I went to snap the photo, his eyes shot open.

What was he thinking about--Ulysses and the Cyclops?

Poor Chuck.

The kid needs more adventure in his life . . . or more girls.























Chuck Watches the Lava Flow

I should have known that when Chuck started watching the History Channel, we were all going to be in trouble.

Fast forward. We are in Sicily on the Taormina side, and if you know anything about Sicily, you know that they have an active volcano that seems to be forever erupting--Mt. Etna.

Now, relax, they tell me, because there is no chance of a full-fledged eruption like the one they had back in the 1600’s when the lava flowed down for thirteen years straight, reached all the way to the town of Catania, completely destroying it, and well . . . you can imagine the rest of the story.

These eruptions--which occur practically on a nightly basis--are baby eruptions. And, I have to admit, when we stayed at the Villa Diadora, we would go up to the rooftop at night and gaze over in the direction of Mt. Etna and watch the lava flowing down the mountain. Pretty cool sight.

But Chuckie wasn’t content to watch the lava from afar.

He wanted to see the lava close up.

And, yes, it was possible. But you needed to get to the top of the mountain.

Were we crazy??

First, we boarded a bus which could only take us so far. Then we hopped on a cable car, the kind people board who plan to go skiing, and up we went--higher and higher. Now, at this time, Chuckie had his eyes plastered shut, because if you read my blog faithfully, you know my rascal cat has some trouble with heights--does anyone remember the Eifle Tower incident?
Finally, we climbed into an all terrain vehicle which proceeded even further up the mountain.

When we arrived, we were assaulted by the terrible odor of rotten eggs.

But we weren’t there yet. Oh, no. We had to hike for another 25 minutes across what appeared to be a moon scape. We were hiking across a wind blown, freezing landscape, covered with lava which had hardened.

Finally, we reached the spot. A crack in the earth where we could peer down and see FLOWING LAVA INSIDE THE EARTH.

Now the earth beneath our feet was like black glass.

“Be careful,” they said to us in Italian. “If you fall, you will cut your hands.”

Ha. That was the least of our problems.

The crack in the earth was located on a precipice, which you had to climb to the top of in order to see anything.

When it was my turn to peer over and look down into the hole, there I was, camera in one hand, CAT peering over my shoulder, and one too casual Italian Mt. Etna worker grasping my other hand, as I leaned over and tried to snap a photo.

The heat from the hole was so intense, my make-up melted off my face.

The surface of the earth was like black glass.

The whiskers on Chuckie’s face were singed.

For one horrible moment, I imagined everything going wrong--dropping my camera into the pit, dropping my CAT into the pit, slipping into the pit MYSELF.

As I stumbled away from the cauldron, I slipped, of course, and my hands smacked against the black glass-like ground. Ouch. Blood ooozed out.

But this time I couldn’t blame the Chuckster.

Yeah, he had egged me on to see the flowing lava, but the sight of that red hot liquid mass flowing along, inside the earth, was breathtaking.

As we tramped back to the all terrain vehicle, Chuckie snuggled close to me, and I knew what he was trying to say--this trip had made up for that other one--where I had tried to ply the kid with a bit of culture--you know, the Vincent Van Gogh semi-tour/almost cemetery one.

Oh, yeah and even I had to admit--this was way cooler!