Eagle Eyed Theo Spots Salmon

 Theo, the gangster cat, and I disagree on one thing--salmon. He loves any kind of salmon--chicken and salmon, salmon by itself, tuna and salmon . . . while I eat salmon religiously once a week and can only do so if I cook it in an air fryer and smother it in a tangy teriyaki ginger sauce. 

Nevertheless, we're both keen to watch the salmon run in Anchorage which occurs May through June for the chinook salmon and July and August for the hatchery seeded coho salmon.

I know little to nothing about salmon. Experts promise that in August you can see literally thousands of salmon making their way up Ship's Creek, which lies in the industrial heart of Anchorage. Ship's Creek runs through the port and alongside the ocean waters of Cook Inlet. 

So, of course, after a delicious lunch we trek to Ship's Creek, following a touristy kind of map which is mostly accurate, but not really. I'd like to say that it was our superior navigation skills that land us in the right location so we can look down from a kind of boardwalk and see the salmon, but that isn't true. I can only attribute our success to Theo and his amazing sniffing ability. 

Amidst the mud and sledge flats, fed by ocean waters, the salmon run. But here's where seeing the salmon gets tricky.

Dan and I are there in exactly the right spot (according to Theo) but see nothing. Theo, however, is intently looking down, his tail wagging a mile a minute, and we fear that soon he'll decide to jump off the boardwalk into the water. He has that stalking look on his face. And he's bouncing up and down, as if ready to pounce.

He sees something. We see nothing.

According to the experts, coho salmon are a dark metallic blue color with greenish blue backs in the ocean, but when they enter the creek they go through a hormonal change and turn a deep dark muddy green or charcoal gray color. That's what we're looking for--green or gray.

The sun is shining brightly. Dan grabs ahold of Theo and holds on to him for dear life. We're not amateurs when it comes to this gangster cat who will stop at nothing when there's food involved. 

"Theo, Theo," I hiss, "Do you see anything?"

Theo, ever patient with mere humans who can see yet not see--when it comes to those things most important--points his sleek paw at the precise spot in the water where we should see something. 

A miracle happens. Suddenly the water isn't just water anymore. It's chocked full of what look like long narrow black fish, crammed together (yes, like sardines in a tin can). 

We stay for a long time watching the salmon run. Eventually Theo realizes we're not letting him jump into the water and get swept away. He relaxes somewhat (if that's possible) and watches the show. We learn that it's not unusual for the salmon to appear black in the water. We can thank Mother Nature who's designed what they call "countershadowing" to camouflage the fish if the All Fishing Prohibited sign doesn't work.

If you see one up close and personal, they appear almost silver with black spots on their back. The fish meat inside is orange colored. 

When we finally walk away, I feel like a salmon expert. Theo, on the other hand, squinches his cute face, rolls his eyes, and meow whispers, "Dream on."

Home Turf for Gangster Cat

 Theo's fans are clamoring--who is Theo, the gangster cat, really? What does he do when he's at home? So, I'm sharing photos of what his day to day life is like, whether he's perched on the dining room table (to see a bird out the window) or stretched out in casual style on my favorite writing chair.

First, Theo is the oldest of three cats. His two siblings (twins) are about two years younger than he is: Michelangelo (orange and white) and Sienna (mostly white with tips of gray).

Theo was adopted (or as he sees it--kidnapped) a few years ago from Tabby's Place, a privately owned cat shelter in New Jersey. He was rescued from a clinic where for 2 1/2 years they did animal testing--mostly for vaccines. At Tabby's Place, he was incredibly shy. It took some time for his true nature to emerge--a slightly sardonic, slightly sarcastic traveling man who has a heart of gold. 

He rules the household with an iron fist. No nonsense is his motto. He's not easily ruffled or insulted. At times Mico (nickname for Michelangelo) will chase him through the house, stalk him from a nearby sofa, or try to steal his snacks. Sienna is known for grooming him one second and then smacking him seconds later. Theo barely reacts. 

"I have their number," he assures me, fully understanding that the twins were feral and lived in a barn outside for the first few months of their life. Luckily, they were rescued (kidnapped) and taught some social skills. Still, Theo and I know the twins are wild to the core--they just know how to disguise it. 

That doesn't mean they don't do things together. Often the three of them are lined up at the patio door, furtively watching a squirrel or bird carouse outside. They take turns on guard duty, making sure that other cats don't invade their space. Because we have catnip growing outside, neighborhood cats like to come around and sniff. 

Usually, Sienna will smack the glass with her paw to scare them away, while Mico races from window to window, tracking their escape. Theo, his tail blown up like an oversized balloon, sometimes stays with Sienna and sometimes runs around with Mico. 

They take their sworn guard duty very seriously. 

The best times are when they play with a scratching board (covered with dry catnip) and hit a small ball around and around a groove, trying to hit it, then catch it. Or when they lounge around, ready to chant in unison: we have nothing to do.

The worst times are when we catch them--heads huddled together--plotting. Theo at these times is the spokesperson cat--meowing and explaining that we're three minutes past the due time for a snack or negligent in not turning on the nature channel so they can drool over the birds. 

For the record, Mico and Sienna hate when Theo goes traveling. They've written up several petitions alleging the grevious offense of leaving them alone. Even though they absolutely love Rachel, their cat sitter. 

Theo tries to talk sense into them. Really? You want to travel? And then he tells a harrowing tale of what can happen when you're out there in the wild world. 

"But you're a star," they argue. 

Theo shrugs because, after all, he may be a star, but Theo is still the gangster cat and that's the way it will always be.

Theo Naps and Snacks in Historic Talkeetna

 Traveling around with a gangster cat can be a chore, at times. You want to do one thing, and he wants to do another. How do I convince Theo that Talkeetna (yes, the place where he had ice cream) is worth checking out--especially the historic places that go back to the 1890's?

The only sure fire method is a bribe. You do this for me and I'll do this for you. Of course, we're talking about snacks, plenty of snacks.

One tour is all we want, we tell him. 

He issues back a plaintive meow. 

We strike a deal.

The first known people of the Talkeetna area were called "mountain people." They lived in the area 6,000 years ago. They were nomadic Indians who hunted caribou and fished the three rivers that joined together nearby. The last of the mountain people died in 1918 during the flu epidemic. They left only oral stories behind, no written records.

Isabella Grindrod arrived in Talkeetna in 1917 and worked many jobs (laundry, cook) before buying her own cabin near the Talkeetna River, starting a freight company with two brothers, eventually marrying one of them which led to the Talkeetna Trading Post. When her husband died, she added a dining room to the trading post and began to serve meals. She kept chickens and a large garden. Unfortunately, her cabin no longer exists but here's a photo:

We're excited to walk into a cabin that does still exist, a railroad era style 1920's cabin to glimpse the inside  and see how people lived. This cabin was bigger than most. The owner also had a horse barn and small blacksmith shop and was the village blacksmith for ten years before he moved away. 

We visit another cabin, which was typical of a one room cabin built in 1916. The owner worked for the railroad, trapped and practiced gold mining. When he married and started a family, he didn't do the obvious thing and enlarge the cabin but built another cabin nearby. 

Theo likes the cabins. He spends as much time as he can sniffing around. He jumps up and looks out the window. When he tries to take a nap on one of the beds, it's time to go.

Life was tough back then. We pause to look at the breathtaking scenery, which is one reason why people lived there--in so much isolation. 

"Well, what did you think?" I ask my unusually cooperative gangster cat as we're walking back through town to catch the shuttle to our hotel.

He doesn't say a meow, only licks his lips--having just wolfed down an entire plate of snacks. 

Okay, Talkeetna is a hit in Theo's book. And in ours, too.

Theo Visits Talkeetna and Gets Ice cream

 Talkeetna, Alaska, has been called quirky and quaint, boasts more tourists than locals (only 900 residents) and is one of those towns where you feel you've gone back in time when you step foot onto Main Street.

I'm thinking of a small town, circa 1950, although it was settled in the late 1890's. It was the real inspiration for the fictional town of Cicely in the 1990's television show Northern Exposure. It was connected with the gold rush, the Alaskan Railroad and is known for its rustic log cabins.  It is also called the base camp for climbers who want to ascend the heights of Mt. Denali.

If you can block out the crowds of people queuing for ice cream. Block out the people waiting to get seated for lunch at the local pizzeria . . . you can begin to feel what Alaska was like 100 years ago.

Theo loves Talkeetna immediately when he learns that the locals elected Stubbs (and then Aurora), a cat as mayor (honorary mayor), but just the idea tickles Theo's underbelly. 

Our first decision is to take a boat ride up the Susitna River. The water is a grayish blue color which contrasts weirdly with the bluish gray sky. The clouds make a statement. 

We're headed towards historic sites that have been preserved. How did the native Alaskans live before the town was founded? 

They fished and hunted. They hung their animal hides up to dry. They used sleighs pulled by dogs to move across the snow. 

They lived in small cabins and made sure to store their food high off the ground.

We're off the boat and walking towards the main part of town, intending to take an historic tour. I love this part of visiting a new place. I love peeking into what people's houses (I mean cabins) looked like. I love learning the local history.

But Theo will have none of it. He wants ice cream. Before lunch?

The line for ice cream is about 100 people long. And it's slow moving. The sun is out and surprisingly hot. I look over at Dan, hoping he can save the day.

He has an idea. We duck into Nagley's Store, small general store -- smaller than your typical Wawa (but this is where Alaskans shop in Talkeetna) because Dan remembers they have ice cream. No line! 

Later, we're sitting outside in the shade eating our ice cream. Theo hunkers down at our feet, snoozing. He's had a rough sniffing day.

That darned gangster cat was right again. We needed an ice cream break. And then onto lunch. And an historic walking tour. 

Theo and Mt. McKinley Revealed

 I'm at a loss to explain why it's so important to see the snow capped top of Mount McKinley when we're in Alaska. I think it all starts when we hear Alaskan after Alaskan say how rare it is to see the mountain top because of perpetual clouds and mist that swarm the area around it. They tell us the sighting of the mountain top is not guaranteed. In fact, they have the statistic at hand--you can only see the mountain top thirty-five percent of the time. The explanation: McKinley (the tallest mountain in North America) is so tall it creates its own weather system and is frequently blanketed by thick clouds. 

We are, of course, determined to see it. As we travel along from Denali National Park to Talkeetna, we constantly look up and over. And all we see are magnificent vistas and a mountain top covered with clouds.

Our driver, at one point, drives us an hour out of our way, convinced that he has the perfect spot to see the mountain. "You don't want to come all the way to Alaska and not see the top of Mt. McKinley?"

Of course not. We're in agreement on that. Inevitably when we arrive home, someone will ask--well, did you see it? 

Theo agrees. We must see the top of the mountain. But all we see are clouds.

We take a train ride to Talkeetna and the train even stops mid-way so we can try again to see the mountain. Everyone around us continues to say--just wait for a few minutes more. I have a feeling that the clouds will drift away and you'll be able to see the mountain. The few minutes turns into an hour or more. No mountain free of clouds. 

I complain to Theo. "This is ridiculous. How spectacular can the sight be?"

Theo shakes his head. 

"All right. All right." 

Finally the train moves again. And everyone seems perplexed. "We don't understand. Normally we can see the mountain top from the train."

We're staying at the Talkeetna Alaska Lodge. We're shown to our room--very spacious, well-appointed with a giant picture window facing toward the mountain. 

Theo is the first one to make the suggestion: "I wonder if we can see the mountain from here." He jumps up on the ledge and pushes the drapes aside with his paw. 

This is the moment I'll remember. We've spent literally the entire day trying to see this darn mountain top without the clouds. It's as if we're under some kind of spell. Now, tired and hot, I figure what are the chances of seeing that mountain?

"Don't get your hopes up."

Theo seems transfixed at the window. 

What can he be staring at?

And there it is--in all its glory. The perpetual clouds have drifted away. The top of Mt. McKinley is finally revealed. I almost choke on the irony. We could have saved ourselves hours of effort if we'd only known that all along we would see that darn mountain from our hotel window. 

There's a lesson is all of this, but I can't for the life of me figure out what it is. Nevertheless, Theo is happy. He's finally seen the top of the mountain! And it is glorious, indeed.

Theo Visits a Medieval Torture Museum

 

Theo is fond of using the word torture. When he wants his snack, and we're not ready to give it, he meows, "It's torture, mom." When Mico steals his favorite spot on the couch, again Theo responds by calling it torture. Somedays he seems to feel his life is, indeed, torturous. If he only knew what real torture is. I get an idea.

Fast forward. We're traveling around Germany and stop in a little town called Rothenburg, known for its medieval charm. After wandering around, we end up in the purrfect place.

Officially the museum is called the Medieval Crime Museum, but it's really all about torture. In the historical legal sense, torture began as part of the criminal system in Europe in the 14th century. When someone was accused of a crime--witchcraft, for example, where there was no proof, a confession brought on by torture was enough.

Public shaming was another kind of torture--chains with scissors attached was hung around the neck of unscrupulous sellers who sold inferior products, masks with chicken feathers were attached to the faces of promiscuous people, etc. Women who gossiped about each other were confined to the public square, one woman's wrists inserted in one side of a cruel wooden device, the other woman's wrists inserted into the other side. Others could see what they've done.

Once through the doors, you're faced with someone who appears to have been tortured--a sad and despairing face. 

Then you're introduced to various forms of torture: the stretching ladder, the rack (both which stretch joins and dislocate bones), the spiked chair, various instruments to put pressure on thumbs, etc to cause pain. There was also the shame mask with iron spikes that gouged the face, worn by men who led a wild life.  The museum houses over 50,000 objects of torture.

The museum offers a slew of torture devices and engravings in books that documents how torture was done. 

Theo is amazingly quiet during our entire tour of the museum. He looks intently through the glass as Dan and I point out various forms of torture instruments and explain how confessions were gotten from people accused of a crime when there was no evidence. 

"Well," I finally say to him, "I brought you here for a reason."

His big little eyes widen even further.

"You want to . . . " Is he thinking we're going to torture him?

"No, Theo, of course not. I want you to understand what real torture is. What you call torture is, well, that's just mom and dad being good parents. You can't get what you want all the time."

He shrugs his shoulders.

"Do you understand?"

"I get it," he meows. "I see."

"So, find another word."

He pauses for a second. "Can I say torture and do this?" He puts his delicately outlined paws into the air and makes air quotes as he meows torture.

Once a gangster cat, always a gangster cat.