Chuck Spots the Eighth Natural Wonder of the World

 

      It seemed a shame to go all the way to Virginia, visit Monticello, and not visit Natural Bridge State Park and see the Natural Bridge. It was 500 million years old. Made of limestone. And it had an interesting history. In 1774 Thomas Jefferson--yes, that Thomas Jefferson-- purchased the Natural Bridge from King George III of England for twenty shillings. Jefferson liked to take his family and friends there to see this natural phenomenon. Plus, my sister Caroline had just purchased an Amish house nearby and told me the Natural Bridge was a cool thing to see.

        Strangely enough, Chuck wanted to see this amazing geological formation, the main focus of the park. But we couldn't figure out why. We, of course, smelled a rat. It wasn't long before we discovered that--believe it or not--cats have bucket lists like people, and the Natural Bridge was smack at the top of his list. 

        But why? Did Chuck only want to see the bridge? Or did he plan to climb the bridge to the top? Even though Chuck can't climb trees, he's always wanted to climb mountains. And climbing that natural bridge to the top, and then looking down, privy to an amazing view, well . . . we had no intention of letting Chuck face a challenge that would only lead to disappointment. And a disappointed Chuck is more than anyone can bear on vacation.

        "If he thinks he's going to climb up that bridge . . ."

        "Are you going to tell him now or later?" Dan asked.

         "Here's the plan," I said confidently as we drove to the park. "I figure once he sees the bridge, sees how tall it is, I mean seriously, he's not going to want to climb up there."

          Dan shook his head. "Listen. I wouldn't want to climb up there. You wouldn't want to climb up there, but Chucky--"

          "And I'm sure it's against park rules," I interrupted.

           "But Chucky is a one of those cats . . ." He didn't finish his thought, but he didn't have to. We both knew the truth. Once a rascal cat, always a rascal cat. And Chuck had a terrible reputation for always doing the thing you shouldn't do, wouldn't dare to do.

            We were here now, in Natural Bridge State Park. It was beautiful, and sure enough you couldn't miss seeing this immense geological formation. The guidebooks said it was 215 feet tall. You had to crane your neck all the way back to see the top of it. 

        

          We leisurely walked along, following the flowing water that seemed half stream, half river beside us. The weather was perfect. Chucky seemed to be enjoying himself.

           After awhile, we became convinced Chuck had completely forgotten about his maybe plan to climb the bridge. We weren't going to bring it up. 

            Unfortunately, the path we followed took us under the bridge, but we weren't worried. Chuck scampered beside us. 

             "You see,"I said to Dan, "you were worried for nothing."

             

             No sooner were the words out of my mouth when Dan pointed. Chuck had started to scamper faster, then break into a run, towards the bridge, as if he did intend to go bridge climbing . . . in fact, he was now directly underneath the massive arch, inspecting the sides of the bridge. Did he intend to make a stab at climbing up? 

              

 

            "You have to stop him."

            "I'll talk some sense into him," Dan volunteered.

            "Maybe talking won't be good enough," I cautioned. "You might have to grab him."

      When Chucky puts his mind to something, it's not easy to talk him out of it or restrain him. He has an amazing amount of energy. 

            I crossed my fingers as Dan jogged towards Chuck. They remained in intense consultation. What could Chuck be saying?

        When I got there, Dan took my arm and maneuvered me over to a picnic table a few feet away. "No worries."

        "So, what's going on?"

        Dan laughed. "Chuck came here with a mission, but it's not to climb the Natural Bridge. He wants to sign a petition to make the Natural Bridge the Eighth Natural Wonder of the World."

        "What? How can a cat know anything about the Seven Natural Wonders of the World?" 

        

        Dan shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Chuck says he wanted to see it for himself first."

         I marched over to where this belly boy was sprawled out, eating his snack in the shade of the bridge, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world.

          I figured if he wanted to sign a petition to add the Natural Bridge to that illustrious list, he should know the Wonders that were already on that list. And, I was curious if my smart aleck cat could name even one Wonder.  

         "Chucky, can you name the Seven Natural Wonders of the World?"  

          "The Grand Canyon," my snarky cat immediately replied.

          Well, lucky guess. Everyone knows the Grand Canyon. So I waited. Could Chucky name any others? 

          Silence.

          "The Northern Lights." That was Dan.

          "I asked Chucky."

           "Victoria Falls." Dan again.

           "Stop." Dan, sometimes, can be such a show-off with his incredible brilliance. "I want to know if Chuck can name--"

            "Mount Everest in The Himalayas." Dan was on a roll, and Chucky was going to let him go on and on. It was becoming clear Chucky knew only one Wonder, and Dan was swooping in to save him from embarrassment. 

             "The Great Barrier Reef, which is made up of 2900 individual reefs-" It would have been lovely if that were Chucky's soft purry voice, but it wasn't. I rolled my eyes at Dan.

              "Okay. Okay." I turned toward Chucky. "So all these Wonders are pretty spectacular. There's a reason why they are on the list. Wouldn't you agree?"

               We waited for Chuck to say something, to realize that as wonderful as the Natural Bridge was, it didn't quite match the awesomeness of the Grand Canyon or the amazing height of Mount Everest, the tallest mountain on the Earth. We admired his initiative but for gosh sakes one had to be realistic. 

               Chuck finished his snack and gazed up at me. He then looked up at the Natural Bridge.          

           "Did you hear me, Chuck?"

                

               Chuck huffed, still looking up admiringly at the Natural Bridge. 

               "Don't forget Paricutin, the cinder cone volcano in Mexico." Dan just couldn't resist. "That's the seventh natural wonder and for good reason. Most people don't know--"

               "Really!"

               Chuck was still looking up. And I knew that look. No matter what we said, he was going to paw print that darn petition. He'd made his mind up. 

               Finally, he glanced over and blinked. I had a small hope that maybe I'd gotten through to him. 

               "Well?"

                "Got any more turkey, mom?"      

               "Unbelievable."

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Chuck Snoozes on Jefferson's Bed

        I've always wanted to go to Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's home in Virginia, the one he renovated over and over again, throughout his entire life, both before and after he became our third president. I read a book that posited the key to Jefferson's personality rested in his house renovations. It was his obsession, his love, and it literally bankrupted him. 

      Do you remember the movie The Money Pit? Tom Hanks and Shelley Long buy what they think is the perfect house. They begin renovating. Things continually go wrong. They go deeper in debt. They've bought a money pit.

      Okay, some awkward disclosures:

      Most historians believe our third president had an obsessive compulsive personality that literally drove him to continually change the configuration of Monticello. This is neither good nor bad. You can see his personality, his likes, and his creative inventions reflected in every room.

       When I suggested traveling down to Virginia to visit Monticello, as part of our president house tour, Chuck was interested. I was intrigued. It wasn't for the food. This time. No, his wanting to go existed on a deeper level. Chuck is a fan of cozy, well-built houses. He'd listened carefully as I shared what I'd learned about Jefferson's constant re-doing of his house. 

        Chuck wanted to see Monticello for himself.

         Immediately, I suspected Chuck had an ulterior motive, a plan he intended to put into operation. I knew I had to be on my guard.

         There is no way to describe how spectacular Monticello is, both inside and out. It sits on a mountain. Surrounded by land. When Jefferson was alive, it was acres of farmland.  

          

                                            Monticello

         When you first step inside Monticello, she is both grand and unusual.

          As we moved from room to room, studying the artifacts Jefferson had collected that were now hanging on the wall,

seeing in person the copying machine that Jefferson invented that duplicated letters that he wrote to preserve a copy for history,

his chest set,

his harpsichord, which he not only knew how to play but also to tune,

nothing interested Chuck more than Jefferson's bed.

       We were lagging behind the group we were with, and therefore, alone in the area. Chuck, in our backpack, wriggled to get free. It didn't take a genius to realize Chuck wanted to get closer to Jefferson's bed, his "bedchamber."

        "Don't touch the bed. It's an historical heirloom," I explained.

        Chuck literally bounced over. Sniffed. Noticed it was a kind of built-in bed chamber. Chuck reared on his hind legs, admiring the red silk curtains. Plopped down on the floor.

        I turned my gaze for a second to make sure we were still alone and in that moment . . . from the corner of my eye, without really seeing, but knowing exactly what this rascal cat would do, Chuck leapt up on Jefferson's bed. 

        I couldn't believe it. 

        And he relaxed as if he were in his own private suite. As if he were suffering some grand delusion that he was President Chuck, about to take a snooze in the middle of the afternoon. 

         Time stopped. But it didn't.

          I was the one who froze in horror. Luckily, Dan took two steps forward, scooped Chuck off the bed and safely ensconced him inside the backpack. 

          Our guide reappeared at that instant. 

          Dan smiled. "We were admiring Jefferson's bed chamber," he said, without missing a beat. 

          I glanced over to the bed. In full view were several of Chuck's orange and white cat hairs on prominent display.

          Would she look over and see them? And how would I begin to explain . . . Our guide smiled, totally oblivious to the travesty that had just occurred. "Yes. Very stylish. Imported from his house in Paris."

           As she turned to leave, I shooed the cat hairs off the bed, and thought to myself--my Chucky may be a rascal, but he sure has taste.

STAY TUNED FOR MORE ADVENTURES OF CHUCK, THE RASCAL CAT. AND PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT. CHUCK WOULD LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. JUST CLICK: NO COMMENTS. IT'S EASY.