Home Again with a Gangster (Cat)

 Yeah! We're finally back home. Theo is re-united with his two rascal siblings Sienna and Mico (Michelangelo). As usual, unless they're eating, they're up to no good.

Their three cat heads are together. The room is exceedingly quiet which can mean only one thing. They're hatching some kind of plot. What do they want? Other than general mischief (which they call "playing") and "sniffing" the world around them, it's always the same thing--more food, more snacks, or the water fountain re-filled. 

Theo is the ringleader. Although he may be a bit snarky on the road, he is the gentlest of cats at home. He takes his job as big bro very seriously. He sees himself as a role model for the younger hooligans.

 But, even he's not immune to their antics. He's always watching. Somehow he gets drawn in.

If Mico is zooming around the house from living room to den, up and then down the stairs, careening around the corner towards the kitchen, jumping on chairs and then off chairs, Theo won't be too far behind. Where do they get all the energy?

If Mico jumps on the dining room table, spies the lovely basket filled with fruit (wooden fruit--so what's the attraction), and begins using his paw as a baseball bat, smacking the fruit out of the basket and onto the table, and then onto the floor . . . Theo will be right there--smacking the fruit with him. It's gotten so bad, we now have to put Saran Wrap around the basket to keep the fruit where it belongs.

Sometimes Mico is still. But his face tells you he's always thinking.

If Sienna is poised on the banister on the second floor that overlooks the dining room, then Theo is transfixed--can he jump up also and oh so precariously balance himself? Danger beckons. Once or twice Sienna slips, her paw dangling in mid-air, but she rights herself. We're afraid to approach her, afraid we'll spook her and she will lose her balance. 

We expect Theo to do the right thing. Meow at her to come down. 

"Why would I do that, mom?" he asks. 

"Because she's your sister and she might slip off and slam against the dining room table and break a leg or worse," I respond in even tones.

But Theo is Theo. A cat. He sees the world through a cat's eyes. He sums up the danger, the risk of possibility, and stands firm. On little cat paws. 

I reconsider. Will she tumble off to her death? Am I being over-concerned? Am I over-thinking? 

The night before last, Sienna is posed on our larger than life brown lounge chair, at the very top, her body kind of slanted with the pull of gravity. She's clearly catnapping. And she slips and is midway between falling to the floor or righting herself. I don't know how she does it. She saves herself in the end and, of course, returns to the exact same position. Theo barely blinks an eye.

His opinion--she knows what she's doing. She wasn't born yesterday. 

Then Mr. Squirrel appears. On our patio. Looking for an acorn that I guess he's hidden in the hibiscus tree in the planter. The hibiscus is on its last legs. Mr. Squirrel jumps up, smells something and starts digging. Dirt goes flying. Utterly intent on his job, he doesn't notice the three faces staring at him. 

Then the protective instincts of the three hooligans kick in. Sienna takes the lead. She bangs her paw against the screen. The squirrel doesn't budge. He is close to the acorn now and nothing is going to deter him.

Mico lets out a screech that I have absolutely never heard before. Yes, he sounds like he's being murdered. And he scares himself--he scoots backwards, slams against the sofa, and in a genuine state of panic, sets off across the room. Looking for safety? He disappears.

Suddenly the other two mesmerized cats unfreeze themselves and race after Mico as if their lives depend upon it.

Sienna runs upstairs and poses on a chair. Theo hides under the guest room bed. Where's Mico? Upstairs, underneath a chair in his comfy bed.

Meanwhile Mr. Squirrel finally unearths his acorn and holds it in his paws like a crowned jewel, totally oblivious to the ruckus he has caused. Fifteen minutes later, Theo and Sienna are fast asleep on a chair upstairs. 

And life goes on.  

Christmas Kidnapping - Who Done It?

 When you live with three rascal cats and something disappears, you can never be sure who did it. Let's call this case the mystery of the missing Christmas angel. Yes, what you're imagining is absolutely true. 

Here are the facts of the case:

We put our new artificial tree up in the beginning of December and put our beloved angel on the top. Now, this angel has been in the family a long time. She looks perfect on her perch on high. She stares directly into the living room. We love her and never suspect she will disappear like a puff of smoke.

We wake up on December 18 and at first, don't notice the angel is missing. But because we're so close to Christmas, we turn the lights of the tree on early in the morning. Something is wrong. We gasp in horror.

The Christmas angel is gone. 

Are we seeing things? Maybe our sweet angel is tilting backwards, and we can't see her. But no, the angel isn't tilting; she's gone.

Who would kidnap an angel?

Culprit one: Theo, our oldest cat, named after Theodore Roosevelt. Although he is affectionately called the gangster cat as current star of the family blog, he usually is an upstanding feline citizen in our household. He is the least likely to cause mischief. But . . . we have noticed on occasion that if something nefarious is in progress, he'll look on and not make a meow. He is becoming more like rascal Chuck everyday.

Culprit two: Sienna. The sister of the brother and sister duo we adopted a year ago. Sienna is wily and extremely smart. She seems to see everything. At the most unlikely of moments she is racing around the house, looking guilty of having perpetrated some crime, but we can never figure out what she did. She never admits to anything. Usually she's on top of our oversized brown chair in the living room, stretched out, one paw dangling like she plans to stay there forever, or is she just taking the opportunity to plot her next crime?

Culprit three: Mico. The brother of aforementioned duo who is named after Michelangelo. He is as cute as a button, but mischievous and was initially charged (last year) with removing the sink stoppers in our three bathrooms and hiding them. We never could figure out how he pried the stopper out of the sink. But he did.  We must ignore his cuteness, especially when he's pretending to be fast asleep.

We have to take drastic measures. For example, we have an oversized hibiscus tree in our living room. Usually it is outside in warmer weather. Now inside, the three rascals insist on climbing into the planter, digging the dirt, making a mess . . . we try covering it with aluminum foil, with dog pee pads--nothing works. 

 

Finally, inspired by a Facebook video, we put plastic forks into the dirt with the tongs facing upwards as a deterrent. It looks ridiculous but it works!

Dan and I confer on our recent tragic situation.  It's a matter of principle.

"Well, we know one of them kidnapped the angel. But which one?"

Dan smiles. "Based on past experience, it has to be Mico. I'll put my money on Mico."

I don't want to believe it, but the orange and white troublemaking cat does seem the most likely suspect. Perhaps, he swiped at her and she landed upside down, hanging onto the tree for dear life. My imagination is running wild.

But no, she isn't hanging off the side of the tree. 

"It will break my heart if we don't get that angel back. After all, who wants a tree with no topper?"

We decide that using the third degree is our only choice. I get the ultra bright light to shine in Mico's face. Dan prepares the questions. (As a last resort, we can always pull the other two aside and resort to bribery.)

Mico, of course, denies everything. He stares at the top of the three and shrugs his orange and white shoulders. "No, mom. I didn't do it."

"You didn't kidnap the angel?"

We cannot shake his story.

We move onto Sienna. She denies nothing but won't admit to anything. Her blasé attitude almost pushes us to the limit. She silently meows in protest. I'm a firm believer in one rule: Better to let a guilt party go free than punish an innocent party. 

We need proof. 

Our last suspect, Theo, is sleeping soundly on the back of the love seat on a horsehair blanket that he loves. Can someone sleep that soundly if they have a guilty conscience? 

"Theo, tell us who did it. No one will be punished. We just want our angel back."

Theo tilts his head as if considering, as if he would ever play the role of mole in his criminal organization. 

I spy them together on the couch, conferring, plotting. 

"This is ridiculous," I whisper to Dan. "They've obviously taken a code of silence. All for one, one for all."

"So all three were in cahoots together."

It's late. We make one final plea. "Delicious snacks for all if whoever kidnapped the angel, returns her to her right place."

The next morning arrives. It is now five days before Christmas. No Christmas angel. These are the stubbornest cats I've ever met.  

Two days before Christmas Eve. Morning arrives. Dan calls upstairs, "You're not going to believe this. She's back."

I race down the stairs. Sure enough, there the angel sits as if she were never missing. How did they get her up there? How did they get her down? Are they trying to gaslight us? And now they expect snacks.

"You did promise them snacks," Dan says innocently.

"Really."

"Let it go, Kate." 

And let it go I must for my own sanity. 

Happy Holidays! And . . . Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

Three Rapscallions And the Partial Eclipse

    I'm a big fan of eclipses. I've never yet seen a total eclipse--where the world around you turns totally dark--but I never miss the chance to see what I can see when the fateful moon lands in front of the heavenly sun. The area you're standing in darkens. You look up and that usually round sun is no longer round--now it has taken on the properties of a partial moon--that tiny sliver that sits so confidently in the sky.

     It's exciting. It's magical. Even though I know it's science, pure and simple. Back in the day my dad, an electrical engineer, ran a company to market his products, his inventions. Some of those electrical trancells and diodes ended up on NASA rocket ships. I have a fond memory of sitting in our living room, staring at the tiny television screen, when Neil Armstrong, an American astronaut, landed on the moon. I felt proud. My dad was helping make that possible.

     So I've always been infatuated with the planets, the moon and those things we strive to understand more about. And, yeah, I guess I did my fair share of talking about the eclipse.

     The three rapscallions, who usually only seem to be listening when there is talk of a snack, must have been tuned in. Because . . . just as the eclipse was launching a show, the three of them lined up at the patio door to look outside. Theo, Mico, and Sienna, the three rapscallions.

      I'd warned them they weren't going to see a full eclipse. I told them that New Jersey was not in the pathway that ran from Texas to Maine.  Still . . .

      Was it pure coincidence that they were lined up as if I were giving out snacks, patiently waiting, looking out over our patio and then up . . . 

       Clouds rolled in, but they didn't obscure the beauty of the moment. You could see the sun--that unusual sliver of the sun--as it fought to maintain its presence in the sky. The moon continued to move in front of it, but the sun fought valiantly to shine through. And then it faded from sight.

        

       Later, when the sun reappeared, I asked Theo why they wanted to see a partial eclipse. He's a pure tabby of few words. First, he jumped onto a table and glanced out the window. "I had to do it, see?"

        I understood exactly what he meant.