Has Theo Traveled Back in Time at the Roman Forum?

 Years ago when I was in Rome, just strolling along the streets, a friend pointed out a place--a large hole in the sidewalk--where you could see beneath present day Rome to Ancient Rome. I got on my knees and tried to catch of glimpse of Ancient Rome, but it was too dark down there, and I saw nothing. But the idea intrigued me--that modern Rome was built on top of Ancient Rome. How? Why? Well, it seems the Tiber River would flood and overflow its banks, leaving behind a trail of mud and silt that eventually, over the centuries, literally buried Ancient Rome. 

An exception to this natural phenomena was the Roman Forum, which was the center of Ancient Rome, and which was built on a hill. It became the political and religious center of Roman life. It included what we would consider the first Mall for shopping, what they called a marketplace, and the home of the Vestal Virgins, six priestesses who vowed celibacy and whose main job was to honor Vesta, one of the Roman Goddesses. 

We decide to go and see the Roman Forum. Now it was mostly destroyed, too, by earthquakes, weather events, pollution and centuries of architects robbing the stones for their own projects. But enough of the Forum is left to give you an idea of what Ancient Rome looked like, and I mean BC Rome, before Jesus was even born.

The best way to approach this rectangular area of ruins is to see it from the very top by climbing up the Palantine Hill. From that vantage point you can see the area that is nestled among the modern Rome of today. Technically, the Roman Forum at its furthest end bumps into the Arch of Constantine, which is very close to the Colosseum, where the gladiators fought. We take a video of this amazing ruin--at the end you can see the Arch and the Colosseum:

The history of Ancient Rome is long and illustrious. At one point the Romans literally rule the known world. The story is far too complicated to tell here. The Roman Forum evolves over time. We can see fragments of columns that support the main structure of the Forum, statues, parts of brick walls, and elaborate colored tile on the floors. To think that the Roman Forum dates back thousands of years and parts of it still exist today . . . 

There is so much to see. I am enthralled. Amazingly, so is Theo. He seems to have an interest in the Rome of yesteryear. Yeah, he watches, on occasion, the History Channel, but there is something about Ancient Rome that catches his imagination. 

As we traipse from ruin to ruin (thankfully it's a cloudy day and not so hot), Theo's ears perk, his head swivels around.

"This is history," I say to Theo. "Thousands of years ago . . . " The gangster cat is being remarkably cooperative despite the fact that we don't see a bird or a squirrel, Theo's usual distractions. This time there are only tourists and antiquities. 

Until we are set free. We're with a guide and then we have free time. An underground tunnel sits before us. Despite being claustrophobic I like tunnels, and this tunnel is a good size. I imagine we're walking back in time, and when we get to the other side, we'll be in Ancient Rome. 

Theo gladly comes with me. This is his chance to sniff the ancient walls and get a glimpse (from a cat's perspective) of how the ancients lived. I stop and read the placards along the way, keeping half an eye on Theo.

I should have kept both eyes on him. One minute he is walking beside me, then he stops, sniffs and the next minute he's gone. Did he race ahead? Is this a real time tunnel? Is Theo now sniffing in Ancient Rome? 

I rush forward, imaging what I'll see on the other side. My imagination runs a bit wild. But when I emerge, although I'm still standing in the fragments of ancient Rome, I haven't traveled back in time. Theo is just ahead, rubbing himself against Dan's leg. Dan is mesmerized by a stone mound, what is believed to be Julius Caesar's grave. It's actually the spot where his ashes were buried, two years after he was cremated. The mound is the remains of the altar built to honor him in the Temple of Divus Julius. I expect something grander. Still, Julius Caesar is a legend.

Dan teaches Latin. He loves myths. There is a smile on his face a mile wide. He can't believe he's standing in front of where they put Julius Caesar! 

As for Theo, he's hungry. He's had enough of ruins. He wants a snack because he is a cat, after all.

St. Theo and the Pantheon

 When you visit Rome, there's one place you don't want to miss seeing--the Pantheon. Yeah, it is popular and you have to stand in line. And it's still considered a church so you have to dress decently to get inside--no mini shorts or sleeveless tops. 

Even though I've been inside many times, it is worth going back to see. Truly magnificent. Awe-inspiring. 

Technically, the Pantheon is a former Roman temple and the only ancient Roman building that has remained intact over the centuries. 

Even though it is the third building on the site (the first two burned down) it still dates back to 128 AD. 

The fact that it was a church and, in fact, still functions as a church saved it from destruction. Fear of God. (Tear down a church and who knows what can happen to you.)

When Michelangelo saw the Pantheon for the first time, he said it was designed by angels, not man. Thomas Jefferson modeled his beloved Monticello on it. Famous people are buried in its vault: Voltaire, Rousseau, Victor Hugo (Les Miserable), Emile Zola, Louis Braille, and even Marie Curie. 

But the most fascinating thing to me is when you walk inside, what you see is almost exactly what an ancient Roman would have seen thousands of years ago. You are literally stepping back in time. There are few places like it left in today's world.

The large columns that support the portico weigh 60 tons and were hauled over from Egypt. The dome on the top of the Pantheon is bigger than the dome in St. Peter's. 

I am definitely awe-struck as I walk around, amidst the hundreds of tourists who are also there. Block out the cell phone cameras and the incessant chatter. I try to imagine what it would have been like to see a place like this when you were most likely living in a hut somewhere with no electricity or access to water unless you went to a well.

All of this is nothing to Theo. He wants to go into the Pantheon for one reason only. He's heard there's a hole in the roof. A big hole. And he wants to see it for himself. 

I try to explain. The ceiling or dome portion of the ceiling has a big hole or oculus in the middle, which is 27 feet in diameter. It was put there deliberately to let the sun in (and all the other elements). It is true, when it rains, the rain comes in. 

He looks up and sees the oculus. He is impressed. He's never seen a ceiling with a hole in it before. If he could, he would probably try to climb up and out--onto the roof. 

I try to distract him. There is a beautiful angel statue off to the side.

And behind the statue a fantastic painting. And there's another painting over there. 

I'm not sure Theo hears me. He's staring straight upwards. Can he see something I can't see? Of course, the other reason why there's a hole in the ceiling is that the ancients believed the hole was a conduit to God, a way for them to feel closer to him.

Is that what's going on? 

Is this a vision? Should I be calling him St. Theo? Finally, we have to leave and I reluctantly pull Theo away from his view. No use talking to him about it. I know what he'll say--the same thing he always says:

"I do what I have to do."

Theo and the Porker in Rome

 We fly into Rome and by good fortune book a room at a hotel one block from the famous Trevi Fountain. The Hotel Delle Nazioni is a "special place." The original structure, including the marble floors, date back to the 1500's. There is a full supermarket down the street--where you can buy yogurt, sandwiches to order, wine, cereal, fresh fruit and cat food at reasonable prices. Our six pack of water cost half a Euro (55 cents.)

We arrive hungry and decide to go out to lunch with Theo at the Cantina Dei Papi. It is quaint, cool inside with one quirky addition which we don't think too much about at the time. A giant pork body is suspended from the ceiling. Another pork body sits on the counter. It is their signature sandwich--porketta and . . . You fill in the blanks. It is an effective marketing tool.

Theo is appalled. He doesn't understand the ways of the world. His credo is simple--animals (all animals) should be treated with respect. That belief explains what happens next. 

Theo is lounging under our table one minute--seemingly affected by jet lag. We are tired, too. Then, with no warning, Theo crouches, leaps across the narrow aisle and aims for the poor porker hanging from the ceiling. He misses. 

The miracle is that Theo lands rather gracefully on the counter directly next to the other porker, but he's so astonished that he missed his target, that he fails to realize what is sitting right beside him.

 He is like the baseball player who faces a tough pitch in the 9th inning. All he has to do is hit the ball, run to first base, and bring his teammates home. He strikes out and then just stands there, paralyzed.

Eventually Theo slinks back under the table. The porker is free to hang there for another day, along with an assortment of other unmentionables that Theo seems oblivious to.

 I think that no one has noticed the leap--not the owner, not the guy who acts as a waiter, not the young girl who makes the sandwiches.

But I'm wrong. A worried owner arrives like magic at the table. Her English is shaky at best. She points to Theo and shakes her head. Her flurry of words--mostly Italian--state unequivocally that a cat has no place in her establishment.

Now, truth be told, Dan and I speak Italian quite well. But we have no explanation for why Theo tried to attack the pork. We have no good reason for why he is even here at all. Service cat? In Italy?

We do the only thing we can think of. We tilt our heads in unison and pretend we don't speak a word of Italian. 

The owner slams the bill on our table and marches away. This is not a good way to begin our lengthy trip in Italy.

"Theo, how could you?" I whisper.

He shrugs but continues to stare at the porker who is hanging there. 

"No, Theo. Control yourself. No excuses. Or it will be Mico who comes with us next time."

"Mico? That rascal? That scoundrel? Mom, you wouldn't."

All this outrage from a gangster cat who couldn't resist the allure of pork and . . . (you fill in the blanks.)

The Wonder of Giraffes

   Theo may not admit it, but he's a giraffe enthusiast. 

     He takes after me. The giraffe is the most wonderful of animals. They are elegant and gentle, smart and always eating. I think that the always eating or snacking appeals to Theo. When you see a giraffe saunter by, whether in a zoo or in the wild, they are chewing. This is based on their own peculiar digestive system which double digests all the food they consume. 

       Although cats differ from giraffes, they, too seem to be always eating or wanting to always eat. 

     Fast forward. I would love to report we're on safari in Kenya, in the bush on the lookout for giraffes (and I have been in that position), but we're only at the zoo. It's our good luck they house three giraffes. All female. All beautiful. All always eating.

     We move up close to the fenced-in-area where the giraffes live. They are outside, moving from the left side of their site to the right and we are both mesmerized. They float over the ground as they walk. 

      Theo wants to see everything. If he could, he'd jump out of my arms and sneak into their habitat, saunter beside them on the dusty ground. I can almost hear his cat thinking . . . I wonder what they smell like. If I could only sniff them. 

       "This is as close as we can get," I whisper. 

        Still he's making every effort to sniff what he can. The breezes that blow past must have some giraffe scent. 

         Because the giraffes are so popular, the zoo has instituted a chance to interact with the giraffes. For a few bucks, you can hold out a few branches with edible leaves (from the giraffe's point of view). The giraffes will begin eating the leaves practically out of your hand. The kids love it. Well, most of them do. (The ones that aren't scared out of their wits.)

         Giraffes have big heads or rather gigantic heads. When they lean down to eat, you can see how truly big they are. Their long black tongues extend out of their mouth as they grab onto and literally pull (they are amazingly strong animals for all their grace) the branch and suck up the leaves. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. 

          Theo looks longingly at the kids who are lined up. Each is holding a branch they will feed to the waiting giraffes. I watch the process closely. Kid extends arm with waiting branch, coached by mom or dad. Giraffe swoops down and grabs hold of the branch. Said giraffe yanks it--usually--out of the kid's hand while mom and dad hold onto junior for dear life. Someone is usually taking a video! 

          I can read Theo's mind.

          "Too dangerous."

           He pouts.

           "Just watch . . . when that giraffe grabs hold of the branch, he could lift you up into the air and then . . . smack down you fall onto the hard dirt."

            Not a pretty picture. And I'm not exaggerating. 

            But I feel sorry for Theo. He's restless and wants a bit of adventure. I imagine for a moment going up there--on the feeding platform--while holding Theo who grasps the branch in his mouth. The giraffe will swoop down . . .

            That's as far as I get. How will Theo react when the giraffe is hovering over him? How will the giraffe react when he smells Theo, who isn't quite human? Too risky. Too dangerous.

           But I relent. 

          The line of kids is long. It is sunny and hot. Theo is a little squirmy and a bit overwhelmed by the prospect. He wants to do it. He tells me he needs to do it. But then . . .

           We're the next ones in line. The kid in front of us is not a happy camper. As the giraffe swoops down, the kid panics and drops the branch. He cries. Out of fear or shame? A commotion ensues. 

           I look at Theo and he looks at me. "There's always another day," I say, quietly stepping out of line. We wait and watch the giraffes moving back and forth. Then we leave to get ice cream and magically both feel better.  

 

             

  

    

Theo Meets King Vulture

      Tortoises? Yes. Monkeys? Yes. Giraffes? Yes. Big Cats? Yes. Theo, the gangster cat, is curious about all of them. But . . . let him spend a few minutes with birds or in a bird sanctuary and you have given Theo a one way ticket to heaven.

        What? Cats and birds? I know what you're thinking. I love cats and I love birds, too. In fact, I'm a card carrying member of the Audubon Society. Does Theo feel the same way? Probably not. It's a species thing. Call it natural instinct. 

        Nevertheless, sanctuary birds are safe. They are sequestered from animals and humans, but Theo can see them and smell them and watch them.

         At home, Theo will spend hours looking out our supersized patio door watching birds. We have robins, bluejays, cardinals mostly flying about and perching and tiptoeing on the patio itself. Sometimes these little flying bits of magic get so close to where Theo is waiting, I don't think they even realize that only a heavy duty screen is keeping them from being pounced on and loved to death.

   

          Theo, for his part, is super quiet. Most often he's hunched down, his focus like a laser beam, cutting through the air, aimed at his victim, ah hem, I mean aimed at a flying friend.

          So we're going to a bird sanctuary to see nothing but birds--unusual and exotic birds, well, that beats even a snack.

          As we're walking toward the sanctuary, I spell out the rules to this little gangster. No bird attacking, eating, bullying.

          "Remember, we're guests here. Very special guests. We must be on our best behavior."

          Is he even listening? He's so focused on getting there, he's literally bouncing along beside me. 

          Then we're sidetracked. Dan spots a sign for a King Vulture. Outdoor cage. And there King Vulture is in all his magnificence. Theo seems to have no fear. He marches up to the oversized enclosed area and stares in. I'm more worried about Theo's survival at this point than the bird's. A cat versus a vulture? 

           My imagination takes over. What if that vulture finds some way of escaping from that oversized cage? Is there even a top to this cage? I clearly remember being in a zoo in Lisbon where the cages had no tops. Monkeys were free to come out of the cage at will and swing around on the branches of the trees as unsuspecting visitor was walking along. That freaked me out.

           It's all about expectation--monkeys are supposed to be in cages, not dangling above your head, touching your hair, as you walk along.

           I crane my neck and look up. Yes, there is a top to this cage. I tell myself there is no way that this vulture can fly out. So, let Theo wander as close as he wants.

           "This is a King Vulture," I manage to croak out, tamping down my worry. "They can live up to 40 years, Theo."

            Theo steps even closer as if he intends to check out the amount of wrinkles on this vulture's face. 

            "Isn't he beautiful?" I point out. The colors are magnificent. But then I remember cats can't see all that many colors. 

           Nothing much happens at first. The vulture stares at Theo, and Theo stares at the vulture. I'm ready to rescue Theo if that vulture makes one move closer, but he doesn't. I'm hoping he'll open up his wings.

           I should have been more focused on Theo. He's the one that makes the first dangerous move. He puts his paw right up to the screen and keeps it there. At first I think it's stuck, similar to when his nails get stuck on our patio screen at home. But he's not stuck. He's reaching out.

           King Vulture is watching. Probably imagining Theo in some fancied roast cat dinner. What if that vulture puts one of his talons through the screen? I step closer. The holes are pretty small. Would that even be possible?

          Theo is not concerned. His paw is there--a kind of welcoming sign--as he sniffs the air.

          We wait (and trust me I'm ready to whisk Theo up at the slightest sign of danger.) 

           In the movies the vulture would have come closer. But this is real life, and that vulture is more than content to stand his ground further back. Finally, Theo takes his paw down. I feel bad.

           "You tried," I whisper. "Remember you can only control your own behavior. You're getting more like Chucky everyday. Mr. Ambassador."

           Theo is not nostalgic. He shrugs, "Mom, I do what I have to do."

           And that's okay.

           STAY TUNED TO PART II WHEN THEO ACTUALLY VISITS A BIRD SANCTUARY! 

         

          

Animals in Danger

        We're on our way to the zoo. It's part of the payback for convincing Theo (our gangster cat) to help us during the missing Mico sink drainer incidents. Snacks were involved, of course. But a trip to the zoo to see the "special animals" is part of the deal, too. 

      The conversation went something like this:

      Theo: I want to see them, see. 

       Dan: Yes, of course. We'll take you to the zoo so you can see them face to face.  

       Theo: And save them.

       It's hard to know what's rolling around in the mind of a cat. Sometimes it's obvious--that plaintive meow usually means he wants a treat. Other times, his desire to save them makes no sense at the time. 

       We are within driving distance of the Philadelphia Zoo. It is one of my favorite places to go. I love animals. All kinds of animals--especially the big cats and the giraffes. And the monkeys.

        This time, however, we are going to see the "special animals." Or in adult speak, some of the endangered species. In danger of becoming non-existent. Whose habitat is threatened. 

         You have to go inside a building at the zoo to see them. You walk down a hallway which seems to me like you're walking down death's row. I am acutely aware of what these animals face. Their chances of survival. Theo is with us, but I'm not sure how much he understands. Dan has him in a special carrier so our curious and concerned cat can see these animals up close and personal. 

          We arrive at the first exhibit. The Pied Tamarin is described as being bald, beautiful and in trouble. They live in the forests of Brazil, in forests which are being destroyed. Species in Danger in red ink catches our attention. 

                   We try to explain to Theo that if the forest trees are knocked down, these little guys will have no place to live. He seems to understand. He's looking very intently.

             "Like the squirrels," I point out. He knows what squirrels are. 

          We move on. The Francois langur hails from China and Vietnam. A new baby Quy Bau was born in 2020 and has thrived. Baby Lei was born in 2021. Zoos help with breeding so endangered animals survive. We catch the family on video acting a lot like monkeys.

            Theo enjoys watching the langurs swing around in their cage, but as we move on, he gives me a soulful look. 

           The Rodrigues fruit bat is another species in danger. These bats roost together during the day, but during the night they disperse and seek out the juice of ripe fruit such as mangoes and figs. Contrary to popular folklore, they do not suck blood. They are also endangered, of course. 

           At first, they're difficult to spot, but I can tell the moment that Theo sees his first fruit bat. It is a sight to see as he slowly opens his large wings to stretch. 

           "Are bats like birds?" he asks.

           The easy answer is best. "Well, they can fly like birds."

 

       We figure one more "special animal," before we move on. All the White Faced Saki Monkeys don't have white faces, only the boy monkeys. They are usually calm and quiet until they aren't. They can puff up their fur and bounce up and down on branches when they're doing their territorial call. They live in South America.  

              

           It's time to go and we begin to head toward the door, but Theo squirms in Dan's arms and manages to drop to the floor.  

 

           "Theo, what is it?"

           Theo is a cat of few meows. He looks over at the White Faced Saki Monkeys. "We need to save them, see?"

           Now I get it. He thinks these Saki Monkeys are literally the last ones . . . I turn to Dan and squinch up my face. How do you explain to Theo that the problem of endangered species is much bigger than saving one family of White Faced Saki Monkeys? 

           As we ponder our dilemma, Theo moves over to their cage. He cases the joint, looking for a way to jump up. He sniffs every nook and cranny. 

           "These monkey are safe," we say. "But other Saki monkeys need some help."

  

           He shoots us that look, the kind that teenagers give their parents when they think they're full of it. I expect him to meow, "Whatever."

          "We can send food." (Make a donation.)

          Dan hoists Theo up so he can get closer, and he presses his face against the glass. 

          We leave the building with mixed feelings. On the one hand we're so proud that our furry boy cares. On the other hand, the three of us wish we could do more.

           Later, back at home, I wax philosophical at Theo. "We know what's going on. Now we can let other people know."

           "It's not fair, see?"

           And Theo is absolutely right.

           

             

The Case of the Missing Mouthguard

        We rely on Theo to keep order at home. He is the oldest of our three cats. In the beginning, Theo was not overly fond of Mico and Sienna. They arrived with some strong feral tendencies. Theo saw them as intruders on his space, his home.

      Theo was tutored by Chuck, the original rascal cat. But he had to establish his own identity. The title "gangster cat" is no accident. He proved he was more than capable of dealing with the two wild ones.

      

 

         Case in point--it is early, very early in the morning. Dan wakes up. It is still dark in our bedroom. Without thinking too much about it (and this is where he makes his BIG MISTAKE), he removes his professionally designed mouthguard and attempts to put it on the nightstand.

       He misses. The mouthguard falls to the floor. We hear it clatter on the hard wooden surface. 

       "Darn it." He reaches down to retrieve it. He feels around where he knows it fell. Gone. Vanished.

        Later we calculate that, perhaps, two seconds elapsed before he reached down for the mouthguard. Two seconds.

        We look everywhere. Lights are turned on. We're on our hands and knees looking under the bed, under the dresser, under the blankets even, doubting now whether we heard a clatter at all.

         An ugly thought pops into our collective consciousness. Michelangelo. Mico took it.

         But how is that possible?

         Slowly, we piece together what must have happened--Mico was under the bed (sleeping in the cat bed). He must have heard the clatter, immediately thought "I'm getting a new toy" and absconded with the mouthguard. 

         Eww. In his mouth. Geez.

         Now, the search expands--a full house search is initiated. First stop includes a thorough search of the guest room across the hall--under the bed--but no mouthguard.

         Time elapses. "We'll never find it," Dan mutters, clearly discouraged.

          We ask Sienna, Mico's sister, but she offers up no new information. 

         But, who wanders in--looking for breakfast. No, not Mico. Theo.

         "Hey, buddy. We need your help."

         A deal is offered--Theo will look for and hopefully find the mouthguard. We'll go downstairs immediately and make him a delicious breakfast.

        Theo hesitates.

        "And," I quickly add, "I'll give you a snack right this minute."

        Theo agrees. (I would have eventually offered the entire bag of Science Diet dried cat food if I had to.) 

        We start to tell Theo where we've already looked, but he's not interested. He eats his snack in one gulp and walks out into the hallway where he proceeds to groom. 

         "Look." I point at Theo with an accusatory finger. "The gangster cat is taking his own sweet time finding your mouthguard."

         "I think we've been scammed," Dan says. "He has no intention . . ."

         But we're wrong. Theo goes to the landing, looks down at the stairs that connect to the first floor, and starts going down. I'm about to call his name, when he stops, leans over and starts coming back up the stairs, carrying the gooey clear-colored mouthguard in his mouth. He drops it unceremoniously on the floor in front of us and saunters off. 

          We have two reactions. One--we're darned glad to have the mouthguard back. Two--we think Theo knew where that darned mouthguard was all the time.  

           But a deal is a deal. A magnificent breakfast is served. After all, he solved The Case of the Missing Mouthguard. And, of course, Mico is nowhere to be found.

The Allure of Fish

      I've had enough of Admiral Horatio Nelson, naval man extraordinaire. But Dan has promised Theo we will see more. Leaving Shirley Heights, we journey down to where the harbor sits, to the town that was built to provide for the needs of the military that were stationed there. 

        Today, the town's been revitalized to serve a more modern purpose--stores for shopping and restaurants for eating. But, if you can ignore the hustling and bustling tourists, you can glimpse a world that existed 200 years ago. And, maybe, see some fish.

      "Imagine," Dan says to Theo, "that you were a cat 200 years ago. No cat food from cans. No such thing as Fancy Feast or Science Diet."

       Theo frowns. He doesn't like imagining that scenario. 

       "But there would have been a lot of fish," I reassure him. 

        Theo loves fish--any kind of fish (tuna, scallops, shrimp, white fish), and so he becomes an enthusiastic participant. The tour begins with a stop at a small two story building with light blue shutters. It is on the way to the water, where the fish and boats are. I'm excited. I like boats. Theo, of course, likes fish.

         "This store sells fish," I announce. 

          Theo thinks I mean real fish, the kind you can eat.  So he is raring to go inside and feast. Unfortunately for him, the fish inside this store are beautifully carved wooden fish, like the ones attached to the front of the building.

 

         Strike One--but still undeterred, Theo marches on. 

         We pass a brick building, which in years past housed the master shipwright, the guy who made all the repairs to the ships in the harbor. He was a highly skilled laborer. 

         Theo asks, "Are there any fish inside?" 

       Strike Two--and Theo cat walks a little slower.

          We pass the Joiner's Loft and Boathouse--which both housed the joiners and gave them a place to work. 

         

        Dan explains, "A joiner is like a carpenter, but a carpenter builds things out of wood and a joiner's main job is to connect wooden pieces without using fasteners, nails, screws or glue. They seamlessly join pieces together using the groove cuts they make. Nowadays," he adds, "a joiner is like a framer."

        Theo listens, squinches up his face, and says only one word, "Fish." Sadly I shake my head. "Not yet. But soon."

         We then move to a beautiful white clapboard house with light blue shutters. Two stories. This is where the naval captain lived with his clerk. It was one of the last homes to be built here in town.

       

         We come to the Copper and Lumber Store, a massive warehouse building with three foot thick walls, which stored copper sheets used to cover vessel hulls. An inner courtyard is open and provides ventilation to the wood stored. The seamen who worked  there slept in the upper story in hammocks. Before Theo has a chance to ask, I tell him, "No fish."

        

       

       The problem is you can smell the salt water and fish. Even I can smell it. Theo is sniffing the air, gazing in the direction of the harbor. 

        I whisper to Dan, "Keep an eye on him. He smells the fish. I think he's going to make a run for it."

       Finally, we are standing in front of the Officer's Quarters, where Royal Naval Officers who were waiting for repairs to their ships were housed. Interestingly, on the ground floor, there were twelve large cisterns holding a total of 240,000 gallons of water, which was collected from the roof. 

       Theo doesn't care. If the cisterns held fish, that might be a different story. But water? He can hardly keep his attention on the building in front of him. 

  

         

         

           

       We try to distract him by pointing out the cannon that is sitting a few feet in front of us. 

      

       We turn to head back, but Theo refuses to move. 

       "What do you think--I can conjure up fish with a magic spell?"

       When Theo wants something, he can let loose the most plaintive, sorrowful cry. It breaks your heart and compels you to do the impossible. 

        "All right. We'll see what we can do."

         He doesn't move.

         "We'll go down to the harbor right now," Dan says.

         Theo's ears perk up, and then he follows his nose. We have to half run to keep up with him. 

         "We're in big trouble," Dan says. "He's going to be expecting fish."

          Let's just say I'm smarter than the average bear. I smile.

          We reach the harbor area and Theo has stopped. We catch up to him.

          For once I'm prepared. I pull out a can of tuna with one of those pull off tops. 

          "Wow. I'm impressed," Dan says. "You outdid yourself this time."

            "Yeah, I figured tuna might come in handy. Or we'd be stuck down at the pier fishing."

            Anything for the gangster cat!