Theo Rescues Us In his First Moroccan Riad

 We're excited to be on the road, on our way to Fez (or Fes) in Morocco. We pass a lush countryside of poppies, prickly pear trees, olive trees, and finally arrive in the "Medina," or old city, which was named an UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1981.

We're staying at a Moroccan Riad in the Medina, which used to be an estate owned by the wealthiest citizens, merchants and courtiers. Today most Riads have been converted into boutique hotels or guesthouses. 

For us, the Riad is an oasis, a living space that separates you from the other tourists, people trying to sell you things, and/or motorbikes. In the summer the Riad is cool (with no need for AC).

Imagine a regular looking wooden door which opens into a garden courtyard, replete with a fountain, swimming pool, fruit trees and birds which fly overhead--in short, it's a luxurious outdoor space that is both private and breathtaking. 

Theo, our gangster cat, immediately loves the Riad. When he hears the birds tweeting, he is fixated, adopting his usual stalkerish behavior because as he meows to me, "I'm a cat, Mom."

He's also determined from the get go to sniff his way around. Where we are easily lost, as we move through exterior to interior places, trying to find the stairs that will lead us to our bedroom, Theo seems to know the way.

"Where are we?" I whisper to Dan.

Theo magically appears.

"Follow Theo," Dan suggests.

Sure enough, he knows the stairs to take, the rooms to cross, and even the elevator which will take us to the right hallway. Our bedroom is as big as some small apartments in New York City. There is a sleeping area, a sitting area, and enormous bathroom and even a small space that opens up so you can look down to the pool and admire the intricate tile work on the walls. 

As we eat lunch and then relax upstairs, Theo wanders. I suspect he's making a map in his head of the best way to negotiate the space. He can't get lost, but he can remain hidden for hours. 

Tell me a cat who can live inside and yet still stalk birds? 

"We're only here for a few days," I tell him later in the evening.

He gives me own of those head tilts as if he can't quite believe the bad news I'm telling him. If we were to vote on it--stay here or continue our tour of Morocco, I know what Theo would vote for--I can imagine his paw in the air voting, waving his answer. 

The best part is the magnificent view of Fez from the patio on the second floor. Priceless. But for Theo, his view of a bird careening through the air is much more alluring. And priceless.

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.