Chuck or Mico--Be Still My Heart

     Okay. I'm not crazy. I know that my beloved Chuck, the official rascal cat of this blog, passed away a few months ago. He had an inoperable tumor. I was there when they put him to sleep. There are so many moments when I remember those final weeks and months. He wasn't his usual self. He had trouble climbing the stairs. He slept more than usual. He was eating less. All signs that he was slowly getting weaker. 

Chuck in his better days

     I've lived with a lot of cats. They each had a different personality. Like people, some are more lovable than others. When I adopted Chuck (and his sister Ella), he was my first orange and white cat. Big personality. Mischievous. Eternally curious. 

     I remember one day when he disappeared for close to an hour. He was in the backyard one minute and gone the next. Ella waited for his return by the patio door. Patiently. I was about to send out the search party (ie. look for him myself) when he scampered back into the yard. 

     Before I could react, Ella marched up and smacked him across the face. She angrily meowed. Chuck hung his head in shame. Later I found out he'd discovered a catmint garden a few houses down. Let's just say he came back slightly buzzed. 

     But that was Chuck.

     All of this is a necessary or unnecessary preamble to what I'm about to report. Of course, losing Chuck hit me hard. He was a one of a kind cat. Or so I thought.

     Imagine a cool morning sunrise. I stumble out of bed and make my way downstairs to feed the cats. There, sleeping on a blue blanket on my sofa, is Chuck. He's curled up and looking so cute. For a moment I forget that Chuck is gone. I am in a blissful non aware state. Until his eyes open. Golden brown eyes stare at me.

      Reality hits me. They're not Chuck's eyes. 

       It's Michelangelo. Mico for short. Barely a year old. Sometimes it seems as if Chuck has been reincarnated into my orange and white Mico. He has so many of the same mannerisms--playful, big personality, curious, active, mischievous . . . 

Chuck 

      

Mico - Can you tell the difference?

       But there's a difference. I lived with Chuck for fourteen years. I could sweep him into my arms, hug him to death, kiss his face and he tolerated all of it. When he settled into my lap, it felt like heaven. 

My darling boy

       Mico has only lived here for a few months. Because he was once feral, he has a hard time trusting. I can hold him for, maybe, ten seconds before he squirms to get away. if I try to kiss his face, he reacts as if I'm about to smother him to death. 

       I can hear what you're thinking. Life moves on. Change happens. Chuck is gone but you're really lucky to have Mico. I know all of this. 

       But still, in the quiet of the morning, I'd love to wake up and find that nothing has changed. Chuck is still there--wandering in a circle, waiting for his breakfast, waiting to be let outside on the patio so he can hear the bluejays squawk and watch the squirrels take suicidal leaps from one branch to the next. 

       All I'm saying is that I'd love to have Chuck back again . . . if only for a day. 

Behind the Scenes - A Birthday Surprise

     I first spot them conniving (?) discussing something in hushed meow whispers on the landing outside our bedroom. There-huddled-they seem from a distance to be engaged in deep plotting. Theo is surrounded by Mico and Sienna. As I move closer, they disburse, immediately involved in other pursuits. Sienna stretches on one of the smaller cat trees in the hall. Mico wanders, devil may care, into the guest room. Theo is the only one who stands his ground.

      At that moment I don't know that Theo even knows how to read a calendar or even what a calendar was. He's a gangster cat of few words and the word calendar in English or Italian (yes, we speak a lot of Italian in our house) never springs from his lips.

       So, how does he know that a certain birthday is on the horizon? Is he pretending to be asleep but really eavesdropping on conversations?

        Birthdays are pretty special at our house. We plan an event. We go out to dinner. Sometimes we stretch the day to a weekend and call it a Birthday Weekend Celebration. 

        But, even so, I'm not particularly suspicious. Usually when the three of them gather on the landing, it's because they're hoping to crack us. Theo meows, a soft pitiful cry, that will convince anyone to do anything. SNACKS. That's what the cry is all about. Yeah, he may be a ruthless gangster cat who struts around on little cat feet with a swagger, but he can't live without his snacks. And the landing is directly outside the guest room, which the three of them have taken over and made the cat room. They know where the snacks are. They know three small glass bowls wait empty near the cat tree. 

        "It's only ten o'clock," I announce, "in the morning. You just had breakfast. You know the rule."

       But, honestly, there is no rule. The giving of snacks in our house is arbitrary. Dan is an easy target. He will cave to Theo's first meow. I'm tougher. Well, a little tougher.  So, I'm fooled initially. 

        Here is the video of that encounter. You tell me if they don't look oh so innocent.

       Only later do I notice something odd happening. On any given day the house is scattered with toys. Cat toys. Mice and anything else that even resembles cat prey are in every room, on every floor, in every doorway. They litter the stairs. They are on the master bed. They are even on bathroom counters. 

        Slowly, but surely, they start to disappear. Sure, I pick them up and return them to the cat basket. This disappearance of cat toys is different. It's done stealthily. If you blink, a toy will disappear. 

         You might think I'm exaggerating, but I'm a verified eye witness to the cat toy disappearance. Notice Sienna, the spy like way she's hiding herself under the drape, the tell-tale paw and the toy object before it disappears.

         

          What's going on? 

          Days slip by and more and more cat toys disappear. I'll catch Mico posed next to one of his favorite toys, and then nothing. Mico poses alone.

          I ask Dan, "What do you think is going on?"

          He looks at me as if I'm the crazy one. "Going on?"

          "Where are all the cat toys?"

          But he's busy reading his article for Italian class or practicing Bach on the piano. "Do we even have cat toys?" he finally asks.

          I resort to desperate measures. Interrogation of the third degree. I use the flashlight on my iPhone and shine it directly into the eyes of the gang of three. "Where are the toys?" 

          The three fur babies stand firm.

          Finally, in a gush of desperation, I peer under the guest bed with my flashlight. There carefully piled into an old basket, like some offering to the gods, are all the toys that no longer litter our house. 

         "Hey, what's this?" I ask Theo. Then Sienna. Then Mico. 

          My three rapscallions circle around, but no one says a meow. I'm on my stomach with the light from my cell phone. Gosh, now I see it. A bow drapes triumphantly across the basket of toys reading Celebration.

          A birthday surprise gift of all the fake mice they carry around and pretend to annihilate? Or are they just cleaning up the house to make mom happy? 

          I'll never know.

           

Bad Boy JoJo and the Play Gym

      T he news thrills us! My niece Leah is having a baby. We can't wait (my sisters and I) to drive down to North Carolina to go to her baby shower. 

     Baby showers are the best! All those cute outfits--miniature golf attire or baseball caps--yes, she's having a boy--inspire a room full of ooohs and aaahhs. 

     At first, I don't even think of bringing Theo along. After all--baby shower? And truth be told, he has no interest in miniature outfits or ooohing and aaahhing anyone. But he knew that besides Leah and Michael (and the baby), there are three other meows that live there--Vera, Plum and JoJo. Theo has no interest in the girls. But he desperately wanted to meet JoJo face to face.

    He'd heard things. JoJo is what we call a bad boy. Always into trouble. The day of the shower was no exception--knocking things over, disappearing with whatever was put out for company. Finally, my sister Caroline had to put JoJo under lock and key. A time out. 

    "Are you sure you want Theo to meet JoJo?" Leah asked. "He's a real handful and who knows what could happen."

    I considered. Could one meeting with a bad boy cat change Theo's personality? Yeah, we call Theo the gangster cat, but he's as sweet as pie. 

     Be positive. So there we are arriving at my niece's house. The three of us. Oh, excuse me. The four of us. Three humans and a cat.

      The food is delicious. Games are designed--guess how many M&Ms are in the baby bottle and design a block for the baby to play with. 

       

And while I keep busy, Theo sulks. He keeps giving me the stink eye. He wants to meet JoJo. He marches up and down their  stairs, then finally settles down. (This is Theo's version of the events later relayed to Mico and Sienna.) 

       

 

      Finally, JoJo is let out. Theo has just come down the stairs for a snack when JoJo appears in all his glory at the top of the stairs. 

          I could tell you that the room gasps. But that wouldn't be true. Everyone is so into the shower, no one notices JoJo being let out. 

       Except Theo, of course.

       

           And there they are--sniffing and eyeing each other up. They disappear up the stairs for a moment, and I can't help but think they are hatching some kind of plot to overthrow the baby shower. Now, I feel partially responsible and rush up the stairs. The two of them are huddled together in the nursery. The new baby play gym  is turned completely upside down.

          "What happened here?" I demand.

           JoJo doesn't say a meow.

           Theo meows very softly, "I had to do it, see?"

           "Had to do what, Theo?"

           The plot slowly unravels. JoJo has talked Theo into climbing into the new baby play gym. JoJo figures if Theo (all ten pounds of him) can fit into the gym, the baby can too. 

           "That's when it tipped over?"

           I quickly upright it. 

           "Is everything okay up here?" Leah has suddenly appeared like magic in the doorway.

          I can turn the both of them in, but why spoil my lovely niece's baby shower. 

          "Oh, yeah. The boys are bonding. And JoJo is telling Theo all about the baby."

          Leah smiles. "Good boy, JoJo."

          When she's gone, I rush over and wipe the gym clean of all Theo's cat hair. "Stay out of that baby gym. I'm surprised at you. You could have been the hero here."

          Theo rolls his big eyes. "Mom, you don't understand. I had to do it, see? JoJo pressure."