Theo and One Disgusting Vulture

 When you're traveling with a gangster cat like Theo, don't even think of visiting a zoo, especially the Tiergarten Schonbrunn, without visiting the aviary exhibit. But stay clear of the vultures!

We're on our way to find the elusive polar bears when Theo spots the sign for the birds. It's beginning to rain, and Theo doesn't like getting wet. We'll duck in for a minute. What can go wrong?

We pass a few exhibits of birds--no idea what kind of birds we're looking at and no time at all to find out. Immediately Theo is enthralled. He stops, crouches down and begins to do what cats always do when they spot a bird--their tails wag back and forth, their mouth opens and they make a half cackling half I'm going to bite your head off sound. 

I've seen Theo react this way many times before. Theo can be behind glass and the birds can be way off in the trees somewhere, but if he spots them, he wants them.

"I just want to sniff them," he says all innocence but you would have to be insane to let Theo get within 50 feet of a bird. Sure, they can fly, but this kid is fast. That urge to sniff a bird propels him like a rocket.

Which is exactly what happens. Theo disappears and reappears in front of the vulture exhibit. It is the bird to beat all birds. Mr. Vulture  has a black body, red head devoid of feathers, and a wingspan of about three feet.   

We notice he is carrying a mouse in his mouth. I've never seen that before. The poor thing--Mickey, Minnie (my heart breaks to think about it) is half in and half out. I can see its tail dangling down. 

Theo is enthralled. A few minutes turns into many minutes as Theo watches this vulture perch on a branch, a mouse dangling from his mouth. Will the vulture eat the mouse in front of us? Will he drop it and will it scurry away in a last bid for survival? 

I know little about vultures, only what I've seen in movies so I consult David Swanson's article on vultures: What do vultures eat? 

I learn a slew of disgusting facts. Despite the fact that vultures have a perfect sense of smell, excellent eyesight and can fly high above the Earth's surface, they smell terrible because they're not only carnivores but can feed on rotting carcasses like mice, lizards and insects. They have a highly acidic stomach which breaks down their food quickly and prevents them from getting sick from botulism, etc. They also have a unique defense mechanism--they can vomit the entire contents of their stomach to distract a predator, giving them time to fly off and reach speeds of about 30 miles per hour. They can consume 20% of their body weight in one sitting. And they urinate on their own legs to lower their body heat. That's why he stinks.

Because Mr. Vulture is behind glass, we can't smell him or hear him, but vultures do hiss, grunt and cackle as they feast. They are messy eaters but afterwards will take a swim and meticulously clean themselves.

It hits me. Should I be letting Theo get too close and watch a potential massacre unfold? Is he old enough for this? Then I realize the poor little mouse is dead so there won't be much drama. Of course, meanwhile, Theo is sniffing, sniffing the outside of the cage looking for a way in. I don't doubt it for a minute.

I try to get a video because frankly I'm a bit mesmerized myself, but there's an horrendous glare on the glass. We wait another few minutes, but the vulture does absolutely nothing. 

"Theo, can we go now?"

It has stopped raining temporarily, and we have a far way to walk to reach the subway station and get back to our hotel. 

If Theo could moonwalk backwards, he would. Imagine watching the final episode of a blockbuster series and your partner threatens to turn it off. Theo wants to see everything.

Dan comes to the rescue. "We have to go now."

Eventually Theo is ready. Fun fact: despite the disgusting nature of vultures, they are considered friendly and even harmless birds that other birds avoid--you guessed it--because they smell so bad. 

Lions, Lions and Theo, Oh My

 Sometimes I see my cats at home as miniature lions or tigers--their fur and coloring, the way they stalk their prey, and even though none the three--Theo, Sienna or Mico--have actual manes, they prowl and growl like a lion. That's why I'm not too surprised to discover that Theo becomes mesmerized by the lion exhibit. 

Now most zoos have lions--from the well known Philadelphia Zoo to the smaller and less known Paws and Claws in Pennsylvania. But how close can you actually get to seeing a lion up close and personal? I guess the other question is how close do you want to get?

The Schonbrunn Zoo has one of the most eye-popping lion exhibits I've ever seen. From one vantage point, as Mr. Lion stalks around the exhibit, he can get so close . . . well, it feels as if he is going to somehow pass through the glass that separates him from us and touch our noses.

Theo gets close, too. They stare eye to eye, and I know what Theo is thinking. He wants to sniff Mr. Lion. He wants to find some way in. I can see his head swishing from side to side. He knows there's glass there; he's well acquainted with windows and patio doors at home. 

He looks up at me expectantly. 

"This isn't a sliding glass door," I tell him. 

He looks disappointed.

"Trust me, Theo, you don't want it to be a sliding door."

Theo glances at Dan because it's obvious I'm not making any sense. 

"Lions are wild animals," Dan says. "Dangerous."

I want to say: "He'll want you for lunch, a cute little cat like yourself." I don't. No sense scaring the kid. I hope it's enough--this close encounter with a lion, even if he can only see him. 

Theo taps on the glass. The lion lets out a roar.

"Don't do that. You really don't want to rile him up."

Now he's pouting because Mr. Lion, assessing the situation, is beginning to stalk away.

"He either wants a snack or he wants a nap," I pronounce with authority. 

I'm wrong. 

"Look." Dan catches sight of another lion in the exhibit. The wife. She is proudly sitting on a rock at the highest point in the exhibit. That's where Mr. Lion is going.

"Look, Theo. There he is."

I'm reminded of an observation in Out of Africa, the memoir not the movie, when Karen Blixen, after her beloved Denys Finch Hatton has died and she has moved back to Denmark, receives a letter from a friend that the Maasai have reported seeing lions on Deny's grave in Kenya every sunrise and sunset. She sees the lions as a fitting tribute to the man she loved.

We spend a few more moments watching these two majestic creatures sit side by side, and I'm reminded how it's small moments like these that make life so wonderful.

Theo and Stanley the Stork

 It doesn't take much to convince Theo to come to the zoo with us. We're still in Vienna, so it means jumping on the subway and walking about a mile to the zoo. (In Vienna dogs are allowed on the subway so I figure who's going to worry about a cat?) 

The Schonbrun Zoo, part of the Schonbrun Palace gardens and the oldest zoo in the world still in operation, was established in 1752. It is also a UNESCO World Heritage Site and is approximately 40 acres. The official name: Schonbrun Tiergarten (Zoo).

I'm impressed. I've been there once before and loved it. Theo has one interest only--seeing and possibly sniffing the animals--lions and tigers and bears. Well, not exactly, but the zoo not only has a lovely assortment of animals, it also was originally laid out by an architect so the paths wind around in the most interesting fashion. Each exhibit looks like a work of art. 

We are on our way, but it's slow moving. Theo wants to see and hear everything. He has amazing eyesight, able to spot an animal even when they're heavily camouflaged in their environment. We keep a close hold on him, dreading any attempts he might make to get into the enclosures themselves.  And things go along as we hope--Theo is happy. And well behaved. 

Until we reach the storks. They are a rambunctious group. Loud and brash. Constantly flapping their wings. At first Theo is fascinated. Birds? What cat doesn't love birds? And even though these storks can't fly, they leap about as if they're going to take off any minute.

What separates Theo from the storks are three lines of wire fence. Big enough, surely to keep the storks in. Not big enough to keep a cat out. I know that's what Theo's thinking. At first, he's content to spy from a distance. But then on his little cat feet, he slides closer, utterly fascinated by these majestic birds.

One of the storks--let's call him Stanley--spots Theo and comes over, too close for my comfort. Meticulously, he grooms his coat in a show offy kind of way. "Look at me," he seems to squawk. Or is his incessant squawking an invitation to the gangster cat to come over and sniff?

Theo moves closer. 

"Hold it, buddy," I whisper. "You're not going in that enclosure."

I know nothing about storks. Would they eat a cat? Would the entire flock of storks surround and then torture my tabby cat? 

Stanley Stork is a tease. He gets even closer. Theo looks like he's about to rush into the enclosure. He wants to sniff Stanley.

"No sniffing allowed," I hiss.

But Stanley doesn't seem to care that Theo is there. He comes so close to that fence that now I'm wondering if he intends a grand escape. Imagine the headlines. Stork escapes zoo enclosure to meet a cat. Theo, in his defense, would meow he only wanted to sniff him.

Well, there's no drama this time. Stanley leans out and Theo sniffs his stork. Then, as if those kind of encounters happen everyday, Stanley turns around, flaps his wings and stork foots away. 

Phew. I glance at Theo. Is he disappointed? No, he's happy. And it's on to the next exhibit.

Theo: Snacks or Mozart

 I like all kinds of music, from classical to modern, from show tunes to folk to rock to country and even the blues. We are lucky to be living in this century when there are so many choices. 

In Vienna, Austria, Theo (the gangster cat), Dan and I visit the Mozart Museum. (Yes, I am a fan of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's music.) I play the piano. I think I know a lot about him. In the movie Amadeus, 1984, Mozart was portrayed as an eccentric, selfish, often childish and unlikable composer who lived life on the edge. 

And yet the body of his music tells another story. Mozart was a man who was obsessed with playing his piano and composing. Who worked long hours composing into the night. Who in his day was so famous that he was seen by the public as a rock star. Who wrote his first piece of music when he was five years old. Who had already performed before two imperial courts by the time he was six. He toured for three years with his sister playing in Munich, Paris and London. He was a child prodigy. Everyone wanted to meet him and hear him play. Everyone invited him to dinner.

And that is where the story gets interesting. What was Mozart's relationship with food? Theo wants to know. Yes, there is a connection to his music, a fascinating one.

When he was at home, he ate with his family. He had servants to prepare the food. He also went to inns and restaurants to eat and be entertained and to even compose music. At home, when he was in the middle of composing, he had food delivered from local restaurants. In his letters he valued eating and drinking as a social and cultural experience. All of this is quite interesting, considering we're talking about the 1780's in Vienna when people still rode horses to get from one place to another, and there was no electricity, indoor plumbing or central AC. 

On one occasion Mozart was invited to dine at the house of a man who did a copper engraving of him. He arrived shortly before dinner was served. He immediately sat at the piano and began to play. When the soup was brought to the table, the guests remained in the adjoining room listening to his beautiful music. The soup turned cold. That evening the roast burned. Mozart continued to play, unaware of the situation. Finally, the hostess touched Mozart's arm and invited him to the table where the guests had finally assembled to eat. Mozart promised to be right there, but he continued to play and eventually forgot to eat. We know all this because the hostess kept a diary and described that evening.

Music or food? 

On another occasion, the hostess, feeling distraught that Mozart wouldn't come to the table to eat, brought his plate to the piano, trying to tempt him to eat while he continued to play music for the guests. 

Theo listens intently to those two stories and shakes his head. When Theo is at home, what does he like to do more than anything else? Besides play with Mico and Sienna, he loves to sit on the rug or on the back of the couch and gaze out onto the patio, watching the birds and squirrels, the deer, the leaves. He likes to smell the breeze wafting in through the screened patio door.

But when I say "snack," no matter what is out there, his head jerks around and he is ready to run upstairs and eat his snack. 

In this museum, which includes part of where Mozart lived while in Vienna, Theo wanders around and sniffs. He politely sniffs an outfit that Mozart wore. He examines the display of all the announcements of Mozart's concerts. 

He sniffs some of the furniture in the rooms of his house. 

But when I say snack, Theo must decide--Mozart or food. Instantly, he's by my side, waiting. So, okay, Theo is no musical cat prodigy. He likes his snack.

Later, Dan (my own hero pianist) plays a snippet of the second movement of Mozart's Sonata in C. Theo smiles. (Well, if a cat could smile, he would be smiling.) 

Log on to my Facebook page to hear some Mozart magic. 

Theo and Pearl's Tadpoles

 As is often the case with Theo, the gangster cat, and historic buildings, he's more interested in the wildlife and the beauties of nature than furniture and the historical ambiance that makes certain places so special. Tucked away in the Bucks County countryside in Pennsylvania, Pearl S. Buck, the renowned author of The Good Earth lived with her publisher husband and adopted children.

The farmhouse they purchased after their marriage was old. They needed to renovate and expand. Acres and acres of luscious farmland surrounded them. They split their time between a townhouse in NYC during the week and their country estate on weekends. They installed all the latest amenities--running water, indoor plumbing, electricity. Near the kitchen a giant bell was rung to call the children in for lunch.

At that time, Bucks County attracted wealthy and famous New Yorkers who wanted to leave the country behind. Musicians, writers and artists surrounded them including Oscar Hammerstein and James Michener.  

I read The Good Earth years ago in college. Buck was born in the USA but grew up in China so she was more than familiar with the culture and mores. Born from Missionary parents, she spent a great deal of her adulthood in China until it became too dangerous to stay. 

I was impressed by the novel, a best-seller which won the Pulitzer Prize in 1932 and then a Nobel Price in 1938 for her keen depictions of Chinese peasant life. Her house and grounds have been preserved. It is now a destination to visit: 

Dan, Theo and I are given a private tour of her house. We're taken from room to room as we learn her story. Her house is an odd mixture of Pennsylvania farmhouse and Chinese artifacts. 

When I visit her house, I'm even more impressed with how she lived her life. She was a fierce advocate for children, especially mixed-race children, who back in the day were often unadoptable. Over the years she and her husband, true to their convictions, filled their house with the children they adopted. She also used her earnings to start a Foster Home, which she located on her property near her own house. 

She didn't live a perfect life. Controversies surrounded her. But what does all this have to do with tadpoles?

Outside on the side of her farmhouse, there is a stream which leads into a small pond with a bridge, the perfect habitat for tadpoles. 

Before Theo expresses an interest, I know little about them. But a quick search on google reveals that they are the hatched darlings of frog eggs. When they hatch, they first feed off of the yolk of their egg and then swim around in search of algae. 

In the initial stage they have a mouth at one end and a tail at the other. In the course of three to four months, they lengthen, grow front and back legs and begin to metamorphose into frogs.

Theo seems to instinctively know the tadpoles are there. He wanders over to the stream, too close for my comfort, and leans in--his keen cat eyes searching the water for any sign of movement. He's ever curious and like a laser beam, spots the tiny fellows darting here and there.

Theo is not a fan of water, but I issue a stern warning anyway: "The tadpoles are not for eating, Theo, only watching."

Can a cat grunt? Approval or disapproval? I hear something, and then his tail wags, slowly at first, and then with greater velocity. 

He's going to jump in. I can feel it. But Dan is one step ahead of me. He's been watching Theo's signs. The stare. The crouch before the leap.

Dan swoops up Theo, says nothing, but shakes his head, confirming there will be no tadpoles for dinner today.

We walk away, across the field, toward the lovely bamboo that lines the edge of their property. Bamboo is an invasive species, not that hard to cultivate, but still I'm impressed. 

As we leave the property, we make one more stop. Pearl S. Buck is buried on her own property. It is a cool, quiet place. She designed her own headstone with one word only--her birth name in Chinese characters. Quite a statement. Even Theo comes over to pay her tribute. 

Despite the tadpole almost incident, Theo's a good boy at heart. He dutifully sniffs the grasses surrounding Buck's grave. He'll no doubt dream of tadpoles tonight.

Theo-The Museum Menace

 We're in Doylestown, PA and it's a long day. Despite the major protestations of Theo, we decide to go to the Michener Art Museum. We explain that Michener, a well-known novelist and short story writer (famous for writing epic stories of foreign lands) purchased local art in the Doylestown area and then built a museum to house it. Ah, the lives of the rich and famous.

But Michener didn't start out as a rich dude. He was a foundling who was adopted and raised as a Quaker. He then made his own fortune. The stuff of novels.

Theo has a ho hum attitude. How much fun can a museum possibly be? I have to agree. I've been to museums that were not impressive. 

Why I like the Michener Museum:

There is a lovely courtyard filled with statues where you can eat your lunch.

Inside the museum, I spy paintings that make you long for the good old days--fill you with nostalgia.

In one of their many rooms, there's a lovely mural, framed like a window with a view, that tricks you into thinking you are looking at a real view. 

Theo stares and doesn't stare. He looks but does he see? Finally, as we're walking through a deserted part of the collection, we let him down to stretch his cat legs. This is our big mistake. One minute he's looking bored, but harmless; the next, he jumps up onto a display. But not any display. A giant cat perches there. Bigger than life-size.

Now Theo is interested. Unfortunately, he's in a museum where there's a firm look but don't touch policy. 

"Theo. Get down from there."

He doesn't.

"Theo. Don't touch that statue."

He is only sniffing.

"Theo, if you knock down that statue . . ." The threat hangs in the air. 

Finally he jumps down and looks at me as if I'm the crazy one. 

"You are exhausting," I tell him.

He wanders away from me and ends up, exhausted himself, on a bench. I join him. There is a lovely face of a sunflower. I can't resist the urge to pose. Yes, this is my exhausted face. 

Dan poses next to a most unusual door.

All in all, the museum is pretty cool.  My opinion, not Theo's.