Theo Glimpses Long Ago Alaskan Native Life

 How long can we string Theo, the gangster cat, along? We're still in the Anchorage Museum, but we've left the dog section, and I can see the expression on his face--what now?

Living in Alaska is very different than living in the contiguous United States. Living in Alaska hundreds of years ago was like living in a very different world--relying on the sometimes unforgiving and cruel natural world around you for food and clothing. 

We stroll through the exhibits. 

Boots for a wet, snowy and cold climate:

Gloves:

Decorated boxes to store things in that give us a glimpse into their world:

Baskets to carry things around:

Beatifully decorated pouches to carry personal items:

Handmade canoes to navigate the rivers and streams:

All these are practical day to day products that the native people needed to survive harsh wet snowy winters.

Then we stumble upon the objects that make their culture so special--masks and wooden carved animals:

Theo was trying to be an interested museum goer but for a cat it's all about sniffing and touching what you see with your paw. When interesting artifacts are behind glass, it's hard for him to make a connection. Once or twice he smacked the glass, hoping that he could  break through or cause what was stashed behind the glass to suddenly come to life . . . we're not sure. 

As we were about to leave, we pushed Theo to tell us if there was anything he liked.

He thought for a moment. Finally he pointed to the wooden carved figure of a seal. We were impressed. A cat "art aficionado"!

Theo is Inspired by Dogs in Alaska

 We have to be strategic. Theo, the gangster cat, loves the zoo, but he is not a fan of museums. Things behind glass. Written words explaining the history. But here we are--stuck in Anchorage for an extra day because of a flight delay--and decide to go to the Anchorage Museum.

It is massive and impressive. Our first thought--what will Theo like?

Dogs. We rush up to the exhibit which explains the pivotal role that dogs played in Alaska. 

They were part of the fur trade, mining, missionary activity and were the primary means of transportation between communities, pulling people, goods, and mail across vast distances. Like the mailman, weather was not a deterent. Dogs followed networks of frozen rivers and narrow trails through the mountains. 

During the Klondike Gold Rush of 1896-1899, dogs were considered more reliable than horses to haul goods and tools. At the turn of the 20th century, laws were passed in Alaska to protect the dogs. In the 1930's air travel and in the 1960's snow machines working dogs became less common, leading to dog racing in the 1970's. 

Balto is one such dog. When the city of Nome had a deadly diptheria outbreak in the winter of 1925, communities worked together to transport life-saving serum from Seward, 1,000 miles away. After the medicine was shipped to Nenana by train, twenty mushers and their dog teams relay raced the final 500 miles. Balto was the lead dog in the final leg of the serum run (in the midst of a terrible blizzard.)

Nanuq, a one month old Australian Shepherd, survived one month on the frozen Bering Sea in 2023, traveling over 150 miles, surviving on seals and birds. He had a polar bear or seal bite on his front paw, but made it home to his owner.

Theo loves every minute. We pick him up so he can get closer to the paintings and photos on the museum wall. 

"Well, what do you think?" we ask him. 

We hope Theo's been super patient, super interested and, we think, super inspired by all the stories. After all, he hasn't once meowed for a snack. Rather he glances at Dan and gives him a few eye blinks. Then he meows. Theo's way of saying, "All is good."

We high five each other. Life is good. Today is good. Then Theo meow whispers, "Felix."

Felix the Cat. We know exactly what he's trying to tell us--cats can be heroes too!

Can Theo Make Friends with his First Lynx?

 The Alaska Zoo is a big success. We're able to see animals that just aren't in other zoos. Before we arrive, we figure three hours to walk around. We end up spending the entire day here. 

I don't think Theo will ever want to go home. 

I'm a big fan of wolves. I can't explain why. In Yellowstone years ago I heard them howl. I often visit a wolf sanctuary in western New Jersey started by a wildlife photographer. You can see them rather clearly there. In Yellowstone you rarely see them except through high powered binoculars. In this zoo, they are a few feet away, which is a real treat.  

Magnificent. Four subspecies of wolves exist in Alaska. Most adult wolves weigh 85 to 115 pounds. They reach adult size by one year old. 

Theo watches from a distance. I point out that seeing a wolf this close is a kind of miracle. If Theo could snort, he would.

We move on to an animal I've never seen in another zoo. The lynx. They are part of the cat family (lions, snow leopards, etc.) but the distinctive horns on the top of their head give them an unusual look. The lynx can live up to twenty years in captivity. They weigh 30 to 40 pounds and they eat snowshoe hare. Lynx have been known to travel over 400 miles to reach their preferred food. The lynx are endangered in most the United States but their populations are stable in Alaska.

Theo, recognizing a kindred spirit, raises one of his paws in a kind of salute, but the lynx will have nothing to do with him. 

On to the short eared owl. We stand outside the fence trying to see him. He is well hidden in the bushes and plants. Finally Theo spots him, but no matter what we say, he won't come out.

"Maybe he's shy," I tell Theo, but I couldn't be more wrong. 

Like most cats, once Theo sees what he wants to see, he won't be deterred. As he stares, we talk and share some extraordinary facts about this owl.

Their life span in captivity is fifteen years. They weigh less than a pound but their wingspan is between 38 and 44 inches, which means they can fly 15 to 20 miles an hour. 

The greatest danger to owls are humans who shoot them or hit them with cars. Short eared owls are protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act which makes it illegal to harm or kill the owls.

What is most interesting is how one owl will court another owl. They will fly up to 1500 feet in the air and then dive at high speeds. They also sing, clap their wings, and motion erratically with their wings. 

Pure showoffs.

Finally, we're standing in front of two ravens. A raven can live 30 years in captivity. They weigh less than 3 pounds and are part of the crow family. Ravens are also in danger from humans who shoot, trap, poison or hit them by cars. They're also protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act. 

Ravens have been revered for centuries. Alaska's Native people saw the raven as the creator of the world and the bringer of daylight. Tibetans believed ravens were the messengers from the Supreme Being. The Irish thought ravens were all seeing and all knowing. 

They are highly intelligent birds who will hide their food and store surplus supplies and can even remember where other ravens hide their food and return to raid those sites. Ravens have over 30 distinct calls and can mimic other birds.

Ravens like to play. They harass wolves and steal their prey. They've been known to lead hawks to their prey and then chase the hawks away and eat the kill themselves. 

Ravens mate for life but if a mate dies, they will move onto another raven. Ravens have been found at high altitudes, even on top of Mount McKinley. 

I know of ravens from Edgar Allen Poe . . . quote the raven "Nevermore." 

I share all of these tidbits with Theo, but frankly a bird is a bird is a bird. He's interested. I warn him. "Don't mess with a raven. You're not going to win."

As we're walking towards the exit, Theo is moving slower and slower. Dan finally picks him up. "Can't stay here forever," he says. 

Theo meows. Our gangster cat had a very good day!

 

Theo's Zoo Visit-From a Falcon to a Reindeer

 Traveling with a gangster cat isn't easy. Sometimes we have to bribe Theo with treats, but not this time. From Theo's point of view, there's nothing that beats going to the zoo. 

Dan, Theo and I go to the Philadelphia Zoo all the time. We've visited the zoo in Washington, DC to see the elephants. We've hung out with the koala bears in San Diego. We've been to zoos all around the world--Rome, Beijing (to see the panda bears), Hawaii, London, and even the Schonbrun Zoo in Austria.  

Of course, since we're in Anchorage we must go to their zoo--founded in 1969 to conserve the Arctic species--and see animals we don't usually see up close and personal. How will Theo react to animals he's never seen or sniffed before? That is the question. Who will his favorite be?

The air is cool, and the sun is almost shining. It's the kind of day that when you take a deep breath, you taste the power of Mother Nature at her finest.

First stop is a Peregrine Falcon, which has an interesting history. Human have hunted these falcons since 2200 BC in China. Even William Shakespeare enjoyed the sport. The peregrine was always admired and reserved for hunting with royalty. These falcons themselves hunt all kinds of birds and are the fastest birds in the world (we're talking 238 miles an hour) when in pursuit of prey.

Peregrines declined in the USA due to DDT pesticide (banned in 1972). Falconers helped to breed and release over 5,000 peregrines from 1974 to 1999, when they were removed from the endangered species list. 

Theo is all agog. After all, the Peregrine Falcon is a bird. His fondest wish is to stalk, sniff and hopefully catch a falcon. Ha. Ha.  We literally have to drag Theo away from the falcon.

"There are other animals to see." 

We spot what looks like a buffalo but is really a Tibetan Yak and Theo is instantly mesmerized by this glorious animal with the funny horns. 

"Theo, this is a domestic yak. The males weigh up to 1200 pounds and can live for 25 years. In contrast wild yaks live between 14,000 and 20,000 feet in cold, oxygen poor air. They have extra red blood cells for carrying oxygen and two extra rib pairs for deep breathing. Less than 10,000 wild yaks remain alive as compared to twelve million domestic yaks who live on the Tibetan Plateau. Yaks fear hunters, cross-breeding efforts, disease from the domestic yaks and livestock grazing that push wild yaks from grassland habitats.

 

Theo has no comment. He wants to get closer to the yak and at one point reaches his paw through the fence. Unfortunately, the yak is conked out (mid-morning snooze) and doesn't react. 

A Bactrian Camel is next. This is the second time we've seen a camel in a zoo, but their wild brothers live in the Gobi Desert of Mongolia and China. The desert has harsh conditions--rain once every three years and sandstorms that can blow the paint off a truck. But the camel has long eyelashes, clear eyelids, ear hair and nostrils and lips that seal shut. They can survive temperatures of 40 degrees below zero to 120 degrees above zero, can drink salt water, and have survived nuclear testing in the Gobi Desert. 

The domestic camel can carry 600 pound loads for 30 miles a day. 

There is something intoxicating about a camel. Theo and I took a camel ride in the Sahara Desert and we met a baby camel in Morocco so Theo has no fear. He cat walks up to the fence and meows. "Just let me sniff you," he seems to be saying. But the camel prefers not to. 

Next up is a Caribou. "Look at those antlers, Theo."

Why does a Caribou look like a reindeer?

Answer: In Alaska caribou is a wild reindeer. In Europe all wild and domestic caribou are called reindeer. Geez. They can adapt well to Arctic conditions. Their fur is hollow and well insulating. Their hooves are hard for ice traction. They can live up to 20 years in captivity and 10 years in the wild. They weigh between 300 (females) and 600 (males) pounds. An adult reindeer can eat twelve pounds of plants a day. 

We can't resist talking about Santa Clause and the reindeer. Theo listens patiently, rolls his eyes only a little and as soon as we're finished, lobbies for a snack. One more thing--we talk about how climate change has affected the animals. 

By this time his cat eyes glaze over.

He's right. We need a break. As we're walking to the very small cafe/counter where there's food, I have to ask him. "What's your favorite so far?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "The falcon."

Of course. Birds on the brain always if you're a cat.

Theo--Love Struck by Octopus

 The SeaLife Center in Seward, Alaska, located on Resurrection Bay is special for a lot of reasons. It's literally home to hundreds of fish. You can watch them and in some places literally touch them. It is also the home to a giant Pacific octopus. 

When we visit with Theo, the gangster cat, we don't know the story of Oceana, the giant octopus that lives in a tank on the premises. But to see her is to fall in love with her. One of the staff tell us that she has a steady visitor (fan) who comes to see her everyday. Remarkably, as soon as he arrives, she knows who he is and she puts on quite a show. 

We stand in front of her awestruck. She is beautiful and graceful and so full of life. She twirls and floats and dances in her tank. As she moves from the top to the bottom, she changes color from a pinkish orange to white. Octopus are highly intelligent and sensitive creatures.

Usually Theo has a bit of a short attention span unless he's watching a bird or a squirrel. Then he's all eyes, stalker still. As soon as he spots Oceana floating by in her tank, he wants to get closer. We watch as he puts his paw on the tank, trying to reach out and touch her. Maybe Theo is in love with an octopus.

"She needs to be in the water", we explain. 

We learn that she was brought to SeaLife Center as a baby when she weighed only 1.5 pounds. Later in the summer she'll be released back into the bay--Resurrection Bay--into a safe spot because she's now fully grown and the good folks at SeaLife want to give her a chance to mate and have a baby. Octopuses can only have one litter so the timing is everything.

We stand in front of her tank for at least a half an hour, watching her. It is a unique experience--to see her so close up. The people at Sea-Life call her an ambassador of good will--hoping that in the real world, you just might act to protect her in the wild.

Oceana looks happy in her tank. She's well fed and healthy. 

"This is a special moment," I say to Theo. "Take time to appreciate that this is a once in a lifetime chance to see an octopus so close up."

Later, I watch a video on You Tube. Oceana is being released into the bay. She's in a large container that two SeaLife workers lower down into the water. She doesn't swim away right away. The men reach down and pet her, gently coaxing her into her new home--Resurrection Bay. 

https://youtu.be/q6an40yxe1M?si=qE4O2XiE9Io_c9Vz

And, of course, a new octopus is now in the SeaLife tank. She or he will stay for a while--serve as ambassadors--and then return back into the bay.

Life is good. 

 

Chuck Plays the Slots And . . . Almost Loses His Fur

I don’t talk about it much, but the Chuckster is a Jersey boy, through and though. That is why March will be devoted to my fair state of New Jersey and most specifically to Atlantic City.

Recently, Chuckie decided he would pay a visit to the Jersey shore AND no, not to see if he could catch a glimpse of SNOOKIE--get that thought out of your head.

He’s more sophisticated than that.

The kid had compiled a list of typical touristy things to do.

And number one on that list was PLAY THE SLOT MACHINES.

Yeah, I know the Chuckster is way under age to play the slots, but let’s face it, considering Chuck is a cat, age was the least of his problems.

And because the casino was sure to be mega crowded, we figured it would take some careful calculations to sneak the belly boy into a rather famous casino down in AC so that no one would know he was there. We had to think long and hard about how we would accomplish such a feat.

I mean, no one brings their DOGS, OR CATS, OR HAMSTERS, for that matter with them, when they gamble. So this was going to be a first. I felt sure there were cameras-what I would call spy cameras--all over the joint. If Chuckie dared to peek out of my smart bag, he would have to be wearing some kind of disguise--floppy hat, anyone?

We talked this out at length before we walked into our preferred casino (which will remain nameless.)

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” I said to the kid, while we sat in our luxurious room on the 43rd floor overlooking the beautiful Atlantic City ocean. “Getting you down to the casino is no problem. I can walk in there. You’ll be hidden in my smart bag, as usual. Then I’ll find the least crowded slot machine.”

Chuckie tilted his head as if he were listening intently. Which was a good sign.

I continued. “But you’ll have to wear some kind of hat. A disguise.” Suddenly, a panicked look shot into his eyes.

“I know. This is not the way you imagined it, but the casino folks have spy cameras everywhere. Once you peek your head out, if they see you, you’ll get kicked out. You don’t want that to happen, right?”

A casual shrug from the kid let me know he was following my argument even if he wasn’t totally buying it.

“You can sit on my lap, get an eye-view, and use your paw to . . .” But we had already discussed how to play the slots.

D-TIME was three o’clock in the morning. I wasn’t thrilled about gambling in the pre-dawn, but it seemed reasonable to play with the least amount of people wandering around. And sure enough, our trip down the elevator was uneventful.

We walked through the lobby area and into the casino and no one gave us a second glance. Chuck is very disciplined in such moments, and barely uttered a whimper.

I was making my way to the back part of the casino, having scoped out the place the day before, looking for the least busy area, but in all honesty, at three o’clock, one place was as good as the next.

I plopped myself down at a slot machine on the end and inserted my GOLD CARD. Oh, yeah, I’m a real professional and figured I might as well rack up time on the card with the Chuckster gambling.

The most amazing part was that the kid didn’t seem nervous at all. Maybe because he was playing with MY money. I had flipped him a $20.00, and we started at Coyote Moon, but quickly mover to Poker.

We were cruising along--losing at a reasonable pace, and I do believe Chuck was having a good time, when suddenly a man popped out from nowhere. Now, maybe, he had a bit too much to drink, but he didn’t seem too surprised to see Chuck sitting on my lap.

“Hey, there, little fellow,” he said. “Having any luck?”

Chuck, of course, engrossed in the game, completely ignored him.

I knew it was too late to shove Chuck inside my bag, so I acted as if it wasn’t unusual to have a cat playing the slots. I smiled. “He’s not very good at the slots, I’m afraid.”

The man careened closer. “If I can give you a word of advice. Does he have his own GOLD CARD?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, thinking was the guy kidding, but no, he seemed totally serious.

I smiled again. “No. He’s playing with my husband’s card.”

“How many GOLD CARDS do you have?” he asked.

“Two.”

“But do you have your own card? In your own name?”

I was trying to figure out what the guy was getting at--one GOLD CARD or two GOLD CARDS. What was the difference? Plus I was keeping a half eye on Chuck, watching his paw hit the button. “Why?”

“Because you can rack up points faster if you both play under one name. That’s the mistake me and my wife made . . .” And then he proceeded to tell me a long winded story about how his wife had insisted on two separate cards, which turned out to be A BAD IDEA.

When he finally finished talking, I thanked him profusely for the advice. By this time, Chuckie had gambled away every last cent. He was lucky his fur coat was attached, or he would have lost that too.

“Well, kid, what do you say?”

Before Chuck could say anything, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I whipped around, just in time to confront the same “advice man,” who now was rip-roaring mad.

“Well, I’m sure sorry I came over and talked to you and your cat,” he said, a bit too loudly. “Somebody ripped off my machine. While I was standing here talking to you, I was robbed. $500.00. Can you believe it?’

Mr. Advice Man turned and pointed to his slot machine across the aisle. That’s when I spotted two casino personnel drifting our way.

“Duck, Chuck. Into the bag. And don’t say a word.”

Mr. Advice Man sprinted over to his machine. I could just hear it now. “I was over there telling this lady and her CAT . . . and somebody . . .”

It was time to go.

With Chuck safely back into my smartbag, I remembered to remove my GOLD CARD and skeddadled back to my hotel room, passing a magnificent statue along the way, who reminded me of a certain Roman general.

“I’m thinking tomorrow,” I said to Chuck, “we can try walking the Boards or . . . ” and that’s when Chuckie came up with another brilliant idea.

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.