Theo's Hideout

    Antigua may have a rich history but it's not a fairytale history where life was beautiful all the time. 

     As we stand out our balcony gazing at a rapturous view . . .

     . . . an object from the past looms to the right of our villa. It is an ancient stone building that dates back to when Antigua was home to huge plantations that processed sugar and whiskey. With the forced labor from the enslaved Antiguans on the island.

      These ancient leftover structures dot the island--remnants of the past--reminders that when Antigua was a British colony, native Antiguans toiled on sugar plantations.

       We decide to visit on of those plantations--long since inoperative-- and now a memorial to the world that was. Betty's Hope documents a plantation that existed for over 200 years. Owned by the Codrington family, it was one of the richest plantations on the island, producing sugar and whiskey. The family rarely lived on the plantation. They hired an overseer to handle the business.

        The land is now barren. Two windmills still stand to greet us as we enter this place. In those days, wind power was key.

          Inside the Visitor's Center, there's a model of what the plantation used to look like in the 1800's and placards documenting the history.

         How much do we tell Theo, who is happily roaming the grounds, sniffing everything in his past? The story of what happened here is a near tragedy. Is he ready to hear how cruel mankind can be to his fellow man? 

          I keep a careful eye on Theo, but I'm not too concerned. There's little danger here. 

         On the grounds themselves, what remains of the great house (pictured on the placard below) stands on a hill. A fire destroyed most of it in the 1930's. The building stones were recycled to build an Anglican rectory. 

          

         

          Domestic and skilled workers hired to work on the plantation lived in smaller houses, made of stone. 

          Enslaved people were not so lucky. They lived in tiny huts made of perishable materials--mainly Wattle and Daub, which in layman's terms mean mud, manure, sticks and dried grass. There were hundreds of these huts at one time. Windows with no glass. A dried grass roof that has since deteriorated. We see one in the distance. Preserved so that we can see the bare bones of how most of the people who worked this plantation lived.

          The enslaved people who lived in these huts labored in the fields and the boiling house (where they made the sugar or whiskey). I try to imagine what their life must have been like. Cramped living quarters. Too hot in the summer. No privacy. 

           I want to see this hut more closely. I can't quite believe that a family could live in a hut like this. As I move towards it, Dan stops me. 

           "By the way, where's Theo?"

           I don't panic. On this plantation, dotted with ruins of a life that used to be, I should be able to spot this gangster cat in no time--sniffing the great house or the windmills or any of the other leftovers from over 200 years ago.

           We retrace our steps, examining everywhere we've already been--the great house, the worker's house. Dan runs back into the Visitor's Center. No Theo.

        We're in Antigua. The day is getting warmer. I think like a cat. "Where would he go? We know he loves the heat."

            We gaze around.  

            "You don't think . . ." The Wattle and Daub house. Theo has to be there. I'm spurred on by the realization that this house had to be so hot most of the year. Theo would love it.

           We take off briskly toward the Wattle and Daub hut, full of anticipation. As I'm racing towards it, I expect to see him. I know he's there. 

          I peek in. No Theo. What? Then I have a vision, an inspiration.

          There, behind the hut in the tall weeds, curled up and practically fast asleep, Theo is napping. Totally oblivious to the tragic history that surrounds him. He looks so content, I hate to disturb him.

                 

       But I do. "Theo, we were worried. You disappeared. For a nap."

          Theo rubs his eyes, clearly not happy he's been woken up by two overly protective parents. 

           "I did what I have to do. See?"

 

            I whisper to Dan, " He sounds just like a gangster." 

         Then aloud, I say, "I'm glad this place is here--to remind people where we are and where we've been."

          We meander back to our hired car, feeling blessed and so lucky.

Antiguan Adventure #1:Theo and the Grackle

             This is my third time visiting Antigua, a small Caribbean island, and Dan's first. I love the warm climate, blue skies, beautiful vistas, palm trees, infinity pool and beaches. Dan does too, but his obsession is to play tennis. Theo, the gangster cat,  . . . well,  I promise him sunny days on the veranda and lots of snacks. And, of course, an adventure.

         We arrive. The scenery is stunning. The ocean is so close you can smell it. The houses are pink, yellow, green and all shades bright and cheery. 

          Dan, as usual, shares some history of this delicious island with Theo. "Antigua was originally a British colony. The island was dotted with sugar plantations. The British also made rum. The native Antiguans who lived here, mostly slaves, had a terrible standard of living."

          We're not sure if Theo is listening. He's gazing out the window of the taxi, seemingly lost in thought. Is he more impressed by the beautiful scenery and less by the history of Antigua? 

       

          "Antigua gained its independence in 1981."

           Still, no response from Theo.

           "There are  365 beaches. Mostly all public beaches. And the island is only 108 square miles."  

            "That's a lot of beaches," I add. 

            Still, Theo hasn't said a meow. 

            We arrive at our villa and immediately change into our bathing suits. From our veranda, the lovely pool awaits.  The sun is shining. 

           "Come on, Theo." I figure what harm can he get into hanging out by the pool? Sure enough, he spots a lounge chair and hops up. 

            "Time for a nap," I suggest.

            I often wonder what the world looks like from a cat's point of view. As Dan and I admire the scenery and the architecture of the houses AND long to jump into the water, what is Theo thinking? 

            I glance over and he's closing his eyes, about to drift off. Purrfect. 

            Well, best laid plans. You know what they say. In our defense we are lulled by the Caribbean breezes and, perhaps, dulled by the two glasses of Rum punch that we find in our suite. The water is so refreshing after the usual nonsense plane ride that we lose ourselves in the moment.  

            A bird lands on the tile surrounding the pool. From a distance it looks brown with some purple plumage.  Could it be the Carib Grackle? I've heard things about this bird. Highly aggressive. Smart. They're excellent at foraging for insects on the ground and not above flying into restaurants and stealing food right off the tables. 

            I grab my iPhone and figure, if this bird is up to no good, I'm going to catch him in the act. 

            The problem is I'm so intent on capturing the video, I miss the possibilities. Theo. He sees the bird, too. His mouth opens, and I hear Theo making those sounds that cats make when they're envisioning a full course meal--ch, ch, ch. Suddenly he's sitting upright. His tail has fattened, and it's waving like mad. He's crouching. NO . . .

           Theo jumping off the lounge chair and lunging for the bird plays like a scene in a disaster movie. 

           "Stop," I scream.

            The bird doesn't even turn its head. But I suspect the so far innocent bird can sense danger coming its way. 

             Theo, our little gangster cat, is in mid air when the bird moves, an elegant side step that catches Theo unaware. Theo crash lands onto the very wet deserted tile and with so much momentum pushing him forward, begins to slide toward the edge of the pool. 

            I can see it all clearly. Theo careening into the waiting water. Splashing about. I can't think. Can cats swim? There's the doggy paddle, but what about cats? Theo actually likes water, but swimming?  

             "Get Theo."

             But, no, he doesn't slide into the pool. Later, when we discuss the incident, I ask Theo pointblank. "What were you planning to do?"

             Theo shrugs. "I only wanted to sniff him."

              I narrow my eyes. "You can not commit murder near the infinity pool."

              Theo shrugs. "I do what I have to do. See?"

               That is not the answer I'm hoping for. "I mean it, Theo."

               Dan interrupts, "You know the bird we saw near the pool--it  wasn't a Grackle. I think it was a pigeon."

               "What?"

              Little do I know, this eternal struggle between cat and bird will continue. See you next week for Part 2.

               

             

               

Cats--Only Kids in Disguise?

      It used to be so easy to go on vacation. It used to be so easy to leave them behind. Hire a cat sitter. Clean the liters. Leave detailed instructions. Arrange their food on the counter.  There were days when I left five furry cat babies behind. 

       Then, when Chuck traveled with us, we left three cats behind . . . and therein lies the problem. Not with Theo who knows the drill. 

        But . . . that we're planning to leave Mico and Sienna behind. 

        Because something strange has happened in the last few weeks. They have become less like cats and more like kids. It is as if they are reincarnated small kids who have somehow found their way into our cat's bodies. 

         Is it me? I don't think so. After all, I see plenty of evidence of this phenomena on Facebook: Cats dressed up in outfits (it used to be only dogs but now cats are wearing little jackets, booties and hats). Cats treated to spa days--wearing robes, getting massages, and having cucumbers placed on their eyes. Cats talking or they seem to have some kind of human voice that is projected onto the video as if the owner feels sorry for them and feels the need to turn their meows into words. 

          I can identify with treating your cats like kids, but I'm talking about when your cats actually start acting/looking like kids. 

         Here's my evidence:

         Sienna sleeps on our bed now and puts her head on our pillow. Just like a kid would. She hangs out by the stairs, listening into conversations just like we used to do--as kids. And she's always looking out the window to see if her friends are outside playing.

   

      Theo, the little gangster cat, pitifully moans or whines (like a kid in pain) when he wants more snacks. He's already put his toys on top of my suitcase for the trip. And his paws look more like fingers--kid's fingers.

        

          Mico uses his golden eyes. He trains them on you whenever he feels like he's not being treated with respect. He eats the plants as if they were candy, like a kid. And he sulks like a kid, sometimes hiding under the guest bed for hours. 

           Dan said, "Are you sure you really want to go?"

          "Are you kidding me?" (But I was thinking the same thing.)

          "I'm going to miss them."

          "Shsh. They'll hear you." I pause, wondering if this could be some elaborate plan on their part, orchestrated to make us feel guilty. Did Theo watch some program--how to act like a kid to get what you want?

          "Do you think they're acting this way on purpose?"

           "You mean like kids?"

            We stare at each other.  He gulps or I gulp. Why are they so darned cute? We both look back at the suitcases. Soon, we'll begin packing. 

            Then it happens. We walk into the guest room and find Sienna, all curled up and fast asleep--no, not on our master bed but on top of Dan's suitcase. 

             "Maybe we can take all three with us," Dan says as a solution. 

              For a minute, we both smile. Yes. But then reality reasserts itself. They're only cats. Not kids. Repeat after me. Cats. Not kids. Cats.

              Who are we kidding? These cats are our kids!!

             In honor of Chucky, the rascal cat. Gone but never forgotten. We miss him everyday.

   

Theo Horses Around

     I discover later, after we're safely home, that Theo got the idea from YouTube. A horse on a farm--location unknown--fell for a cat. An unlikely pair, to be sure. They became fast friends, so much so, that the cat would jump on the horse's back and go riding. 

    That image of a cat on the back of a horse was the inspiration for Theo. 

    That's why when we're in Pennsylvania, riding around on a very beautiful day, Theo decides he wants to go horseback riding. 

    "Out of the question," is my first response. A horse and a cat? No way. 

    Theo, who is quickly developing a reputation as a little gangster cat,  gets that look on his face which essentially means he's not budging. At least, not yet. 

    We're riding past a pasture, and there are horses, of course, that are right there. And there is a place to park. 

    Dan smiles. "Come on. Let's humor the kid. It'll take five minutes."

    Now, I love horses myself. And if there is anyway I can get out of the car and jump on the back of a horse and go riding . . . like if this is a fantasy movie, and we just happen to have saddles in the back seat . . . and the horses are friendly and love to be ridden . . . and there's no fence or maybe one of of those low split rail antique numbers that we can easily hop over . . . and nobody's going to suddenly show up and have us arrested.  

    This is reality. There are no saddles in the back seat. And there is a fence, shoulder height, that no one is jumping over. And the horses are looking at us with suspicion in their eyes.

   

     I'm thinking--this is an impossible idea on Theo's part. 

    Theo comes waltzing up--every bit like a gangster would. He's got a certain style. A kind of confidence that I would not have if I were a cat facing at least ten equine beasts.

     But if I look closely, Theo's not looking at ten horses. He's looking at only one horse. And one horse is looking at him.

      

    Theo's eyes grow wide. He marches up to the fence. His nose goes high. He is sniffing. The horse moves even closer. And then she does something quite extraordinary. She lifts her foot off the ground, her knee bends, and she stomps it down. Once. Twice. She does the same thing with her other leg.                         

   Theo does the exact same thing. He lifts his tiny paw off the ground, kicks it forward and stomps it back on the ground. He does it again.

    I push any traitorous thoughts out of my head. For example, that this stomping horse could crush Theo's skull with a single kick.  

    Dan practically reads my mind. He shakes his head. "I think they're communicating. She wants to meet him. She's not going to kill him."

    "He's not going in there," I whisper. "Theo can stomp all he wants."

    But . . . I do pick Theo up and bring him closer to the fence. The horse does saunter over and they get a chance to go nose to nose and sniff each other. It is a close encounters of two different species who interact with each other moment. 

    When Theo wriggles to get free (no doubt he has visions of jumping on the horse's back and riding into the sunset), I hold him closer. 

     Later, when we're all safe at home, he is retelling the almost adventure to Michelangelo and Sienna, the two younger nine month old kittens we recently adopted, but in Theo's version the almost adventure sounds like it was an adventure.

    Mico's eyes are bigger than quarters. "Did you ride her, Theo?"

    "That was the plan, see?" Theo says in his usual Brooklyn style accent. "To ride across the fields. Bareback." He puffs his chest out.

     "Wow." Mico is impressed. He takes a few steps closer to Theo, maybe hoping that Theo's bravery will rub off on him.

     "Don't get so close, kid," Theo says. "I need my space."

                            https://youtube.com/shorts/Kug17lpcxP4

       

    

    

   

Theo, the Little Gangster

    Theo won't say a word. He will neither confirm or deny. Can he see or hear Chuck? Is he taking orders or acting on his own? As I flip through photos, I find yet another photo of Chuck about to confer with Theo in that last week before Chuck passes to the other side.

    Dan says, "Chucky knew. He was cementing his legacy."

    My eyes well up with tears. "How brave can one cat be?" 

    We are on our way to see an exotic plant called the Bird of Paradise, an exquisitely beautiful flower that looks like a bird and even moves like a bird in flight when the wind hits it. That small detail, that a plant can imitate a bird, is what causes poor Theo no end of humiliation on his first travel assignment. Because he thinks we are going to see Birds of Paradise. Which are actual birds.

    Like Chucky, Theo has a bucket list. Where Chucky loved the History Channel, Theo loves animal shows and mafia movies. He even talks like a little gangster. And he does his research.

    Dan says, "The Bird of Paradise is a perennial plant from South Africa. It's also called the crane lily. It causes no allergic reactions--" 

    We are on the way to the conservatory, and Theo is listening intently, but he begins to shake his head, disagreeing with everything Dan is saying.

    But we can't stop and argue. Sneaking Theo into a place like this will be tricky business. A bird of paradise is a rare plant. We suspect there will even be someone watching--a kind of plant guard. Sure enough as we move closer to the plant, I feel eyes on me.

    "Be careful," I whisper, "there are spies all around."

    The Bird of Paradise is beautiful and looks exactly like a bird who has been, unfortunately, attached to a plant. 

    "Stand and block the view so I can let Theo see."

     That's the plan, but the plant guard comes rushing over. He's a nice guy who offers to take our photo, posing with the plant. We pose.  At this stage we'll do anything to get rid of him.

   

    I then pretend to admire the plant while Dan lets Theo peek out and see the plant. (Which, of course, we find out later, he sincerely believes is a bird.) 

    No one can anticipate what will happen next. Or how strong Theo is. We're used to traveling with Chucky who was a rascal but he'd never, ever have been able to leap out of a backpack in a single bound. Somehow Theo is able to get traction with his tiny paws and do just that. He leaps out of the pack, onto Dan's shoulder, intent on . . . well . . . if you were a cat and you thought you were that close to a bird.

    I am taken completely unaware.

    Dan is one step ahead of me and two steps ahead of Theo. As Theo readies himself for the final leap (no doubt harboring images of bird of paradise served up on a serving platter with delicious gravy dripping off its wings), Dan catches hold of him and reels him back. 

    Theo grunts. 

    "Oh my God." That's me in total shock.

    It is a miracle that the plant guard sees absolutely nothing. Mainly because at that very moment a bevy of children have come in with their mom and they are running wildly through the place, as if they've consumed too much grape juice. The plant guard's attention is diverted. We are saved. 

    Later, at home, we have the discussion:

    Dan: "It is a Bird of Paradise. A plant."

    Theo: "I did my research, see. I know it was a bird." Is it my imagination or does Theo talk with a Brooklyn accent?

    Dan: "I know it's confusing, Theo. But we went to a conservatory. No birds. Only plants."

    Theo: "So, you took me to see a plant?"

    We have nothing to say to that. I take out my iPhone and show him close up two shots of the Bird of Paradise. 

 

 

    "Now do you get it? Birds of Paradise are birds. From Indonesia and Australia. They're known for their plumage and feathers. They live in rainforests." I take a deep breath. "Still, Theo, you can't go into a conservatory and eat the plants."

      Dan taps me on the shoulder and points. Theo, like Chuck, closes his eyes when he's heard enough. 

     "We'll do better next time," I tell my little gangster cat, rubbing the top of his head gently.

      One eye pops open. I could say he's got the cold hard stare of a killer. But beneath that gangster exterior is a mama's boy. I just know it.

    

   

Rascal Chuck's Destiny

  We go to the shoemaker because we believe he will have all the answers.  Is this place only a restored village? Why did Chuck suddenly disappear and then reappear in the post office of the Country Store? 

    In other words, what the heck is going on?

    "You can't just barge in there and start asking him all these questions," Dan says. 

    "Why do we even think he has all the answers, anyway?"

    "Because he's been here from the beginning."

    "The beginning?"    

     Now even Chucky is intrigued. He's been plodding along beside us as we walk down the main road of Landis Valley, headed toward the shoe maker. I glance over. Chuck looks different somehow. As if he's fading in and out. More ethereal. As if he's not really there. Even though I know he is.

    "Are you feeling okay, Chuck?" I ask.

    "I'm ready," he meows.

    What the heck does he mean by that? 

  

      Dan is ahead of us, already walking into the shoemaker's house. I scoop Chucky up and give him a big hug. "You know I love you to bits," I say. 

    "Another adventure always awaits," Chucky meows back as he leans his head into mine. 

    I get the sneaky feeling that Chuck already knows what's about to happen. That somehow he has already figured all of this out.  Why he suddenly disappeared and then reappeared.

    "Can you tell me," I ask my super wise cat.

    "It's destiny, mom," he whispers.

    I get a lump in my throat, guessing I must cherish these next few moments. 

    The shoemaker looks exactly the way I expect him to look. He's making a pair of shoes from real leather, of course, that he has cut and shaped. He has already begun to explain the process to Dan. 

    I stand in the background and listen. Chucky, of course, is sniffing his heart out. The smell of leather and sawdust is everywhere. It is a good solid smell that for some reason makes me think of my childhood. And Chucky looks happy, happier than I have ever seen him.

    I learn something from the shoemaker that I didn't know. Back in the day, before people bought ill fitting shoes from the shoe store, they had their shoes made from a shoe maker. But going to the shoe maker was step two in the process. Step one was having a carpenter make a last for you--a wooden form in the shape of your foot. You paid for and owned the last and then gave it to the shoemaker who used the form to make your shoe. 

    Shoes back then fit very well. They conformed to all the quirks and inconsistencies of your foot. 

    Finally, the shoemaker looks at us, I mean really looks at us, looks at Chuck and asks us why we are really here. "You are not here for the shoes," he says.

    "No." We tell him what has happened as we have walked around the village, and ask him if he can explain. 

    "I am not surprised. You are not the first. Yes, this village is special because we are unchanged from the past. We are half in and half out of where we used to be. The cloakroom in the school. The post office in the Country Store. And, even here."

    I look around and notice that Chucky has stopped sniffing. 

    Suddenly I understand what the shoe maker is trying to say. "Doorways to the past?"

    "Yes."

    "But where is this doorway?"

    The shoemaker points to just beyond where the half made shoes are on the table. There is a corner in his shop. "He knows. He will find his way if he is meant to go."

    "But he'll come back?" I ask.

    "Not this time," he says. 

    "But why must he go?"

    It is the hardest thing to let destiny take its course. You want to make time stand still. You want to stop the future from happening. 

    I cannot describe how we love and hold and hug our Chucky at the end. But then we must let him go. We are so grateful to have shared his journey for 14 years. 

    We watch him march toward that doorway with confidence and curiosity, the way he has always faced life. And then he is gone.

     

  What really happened . . .

    

  I have had the great honor of living with 13 cats so far in my life. They've all been special in their own way. Chuck, the rascal cat, was one of a kind. He literally bounced into my life as a kitten, inspired me to begin Hot Blogging with Chuck with his always curious and adventurous personality, and gave me oodles of love over the years. 

    It is with great sadness that we recently discovered Chucky had an inoperable tumor in his stomach/pancreas. We made the very hard decision to let him go and send him over the Rainbow Bridge to join his sisters Ella and Molly and his brother Jack. 

    We miss him each and everyday. He had a strong personality, loved to go outside and raid the neighbor's catnip garden when he was home and truly was an ambassador, eager to make friends with the neighbor cats. 

    I have to admit I feel Chucky's presence around me even now. 

    When I wanted to give up the blog and retire, he meowed--No, Mom. Let Theo take over. He can do it. I know he can. 

    When I wanted to hide away in my sorrow, he reminded me that I've always adopted cats who needs homes. It's the cycle of life. He led me to our newest two kittens--9 month old brother and sister, Michelangelo (Mico for short) and Sienna. They were rescued as feral cats from a farm, so I guess they're a bit rascally too. 

   

    Theo looks forward to introducing himself and taking you on the next adventure, but one thing we've decided--we're holding fast to our blog name: Hot Blogging with Chuck. Because you never know with Chucky, he may be back!