The Little Sleeping Devils

       It all started when Mico and Sienna found out that Theo was the chosen one. The one picked to follow in Chuck's footsteps. The one who would be going on the next long distance, air plane in the sky flying trip adventure. And they would be staying home.

        Theo has gone on a few one day trips so he's used to car rides, backpacks, behaving himself as much as he can. He buys into the whole idea that traveling and being the star of Hot Blogging with Chuck is an honor and a privilege. Sort of.

       The conversation goes something like this: 

      "Can I sleep on the plane?"

       "Yes."

       "Will there be extra snacks?"

        "What kind of snacks, Theo?"

        "There has to be snacks. See?"

        "All right. Extra snacks."

         Theo always gets straight to the point. 

         "Do they know about my going?"

         Theo is no dummy. He sees the suitcases on the bed. He sees the extra food stacked up on the counter. He knows I've been in contact with the cat sitter. He's put two and two together. On the other hand, the kittens are clueless. They have no idea what a suitcase is and what it means and how it will affect their lives. 

          Until they do. 

          "What does it mean, Theo? Are they coming back?" Mico wants to know. 

           "Of course, we're coming back," I want to shout, but Theo is in deep conversation with Mico. Theo's the alpha cat and needs to handle the questions.

           "This time I'm going. See? Next time, maybe you can go."

           What? That isn't the plan. 

           "Are you coming back, Theo?" Mico asks again.

           I glance into the room. Theo has draped his arm around Mico, big cat brother style. "It's called a vacation. It doesn't last long."

           That's the truth. 

            And, so I think the matter is settled. It isn't. Theo's last statement that next time Mico can go rattles Sienna. Because . . . now she wants to go. Of course, I don't know this until all hell breaks loose. 

            First, they avoid each other. Two kittens, who can't stand to be apart for longer than a mini-second, now are hanging out in separate rooms and barely meowing with each other.

            Then, they are chasing each other through the house like a bunch of wild banshees. First a steak of white and gray. Then a streak of orange. Down the stairs. Through the hallway. Across the living room. Treacherous turn into the kitchen. Through the hallway. Up the stairs. It sounds as if we have 100 kittens racing through the house. 

            Finally, the fight. On the master bed. Which by some stroke of luck I've covered in a green blanket to keep their cat fur off of the comforter. Now it can protect the comforter from any blood stains. if it gets to that.

            It doesn't. It seems the "fight" is only a wrestling match between two spoiled kittens who both want what they can't have. 

            Theo later tells me he solved the entire problem (he caused.)

            "Well, what happened?"

            "I grounded them. See?"

            "And no snacks?"

            Theo looks horrified. 

             "Where are they now?"

             "Sleeping."

        "Like angels," I want to say, but I know the truth--those little sleeping devils!

Theo's Gangsters at Play?

      One week later. You might be thinking. How is it going with those New Year's resolutions?    

        The jury is still out. I've been exercising more. Reading more. Eating healthier. Watching less trashy TV? Oh, you want to know about the gangster cats . . . how are their New Year's resolutions going.

        Are they begging for more snacks? Playing more? Sleeping more? Let's examine the evidence. This evening for instance. I hear Sienna on the stairs, engaged in some life and death struggle with an inanimate object that doesn't look like anything in particular. I call it playing. You tell me.

       Sienna says, "I'm honing my mouse catching skills, mom." 

       The day before Theo, Sienna and Mico are engaged in more active pursuits. "It shows up out of nowhere. See?" Theo says. "What are we supposed to do? Flashing colors and lights. Going here. Going there. Banging against walls. Under beds. It's possessed. See?"

        Mico said, "We think it might be after our snacks, right Theo?"

        "Oh, so in other words, you weren't actually playing with that mouse toy your aunt gave you for Christmas, you were  involved in a major investigation."

          

          Theo doesn't answer. He only strikes his typical gangster pose.

         And then there is the flopping fish incident. Sienna says, "Two giant fish suddenly appear. Out of water. They don't say anything. Just flop around."

         "They make this weird sound," Mico chimes in. "I chased them down the stairs." Mico still has this wide-eyed look on his face as if he'll be traumatized forever.

          "Flopping fish. You're referring to those fish I brought home from Costco as a present. I suppose you're going to say it was your sworn duty to apprehend them," I say. 

           The upshot of the entire conversation is that these three gangster cats insist they're not playing more, they're only doing what they have to do--practice their mouse catching skills, investigate strange objects that suddenly appear in the house, capture flopping fish. And, as for sleeping more?

           "Not us", they meow in unison, just before Mico hops into his big luxurious bed even though it's two o'clock in the afternoon. 

             

Theo and the Waterfall

     Most cats hate water. Or let me put it this way--they would prefer not to get wet. Theo, the little gangster cat, is a cat of a different breed.

   He's never met a water fountain he didn't like to drink from, a bathtub he didn't like to swim in, a puddle he didn't like to stick his paw into. How far would he go?

    We decide to make Theo's day, so to speak, and introduce him to a magical place where water is king. 

    Imagine a beautiful fall day. The sun is shining. Leaves are just beginning to turn. We are entering what is called the Chimes Tower District. An historic bell tower sits atop a fifty foot waterfall.

    Constructed in 1929 by Pierre du Pont, this 61 foot tall stone chimes tower was based on an ancient fortified tower du Pont saw at Chatillon-Coligny on the Loire River in France. Du Pont then bought chimes from a company in Chicago--the largest set of chimes he could find--twenty five tubular chimes costing close to $16,000--and installed them in the upper chamber of the tower. The chimes were replaced several times over the years. Finally in 2000 a Dutch firm created a 62 bell carillon for the chimes tower, which still exists today. 

 

    So you are likely to hear at any given moment the sound of rushing water from the waterfall and/or the sound of chimes playing music as you make your way along the path. It is an enchanting place. 

    Now I forgot to mention that Theo is a musical cat. When either Dan or I are practicing piano, he is usually perched on the rug nearby, listening. It doesn't matter if we're playing Bach or the Beatles. Occasionally, he jumps up and plays the keys himself.

    For now, though, all we can hear is the waterfall. The chirping birds, the usual rustle of the leaves falling--nature at her best in the fall is drowned out, literally, by the magnificence of the water as it cascades down, never-ending, propelled by some hidden pump. The sound is both captivating and mesmerizing and it lulls you into a different world.  

    Dan and I walk along the path. Theo is listening and sniffing. He can both hear and smell the water, but I think he's standing a little too close to the edge, gazing out at the water.

    "You think everything is okay, right?" I say to Dan.

    "Sure, why not?"

    We are totally alone. We don't for a minute think that Theo is a suicidal cat. We don't for a minute think that Theo would ever jump off the bridge into the frothy, turbulent water below. 

    "You don't think he looks a little too interested in that water?"

    "Well." Dan shrugs. "He is a cat, after all. They tend to be curious about everything."

     That comment unnerves me. I stare at the water. It's a big drop down. 

    "Call me crazy, but I'd feel a hundred percent better if you pick Theo up. Just in case. Who knows? He might just impulsively do something crazy."

    Dan knows me by now. He leans down to retrieve Theo, and it's at that very moment that the chimes go off. Now they're on a schedule. They chime about every quarter of an hour. And they're loud. If you've never heard them before, if you're not expecting the sound of a very loud chime to resound through the air, to even overtake the cascading waterfall . . . you'll be taken back. 

    You might even lose your balance temporarily. "What's that?"

    Later, we realize that that's what must have happened. When Theo hears the chimes, he freaks out. He's used to the sound of the waterfall. He's into all the water gushing downward. But the chimes are just too much. 

     So, imagine Dan is grabbing Theo by the middle. Theo tries to get away. There's a bit of a skirmish. 

     I'm afraid that if Theo breaks loose, he might skedaddle off to who knows where. 

     Maybe Theo thinks Dan is trying to throw him into the water. 

     Later, back at the ranch (well, it's actually a townhouse), Theo tells the story, leaving the part out about the chimes, the misunderstanding and the skirmish. His version to Mico (Michelangelo) is more like: "I see the waterfall, see, and it's big, see, and I'm going to go for a swim, see, but . . . mom and dad wanted to go home."

    "I wish I could see it," Mico said.

    "Maybe someday, kid," Theo says, in his best big brother meow voice, not giving away a thing.

    

    

Theo Horses Around

     I discover later, after we're safely home, that Theo got the idea from YouTube. A horse on a farm--location unknown--fell for a cat. An unlikely pair, to be sure. They became fast friends, so much so, that the cat would jump on the horse's back and go riding. 

    That image of a cat on the back of a horse was the inspiration for Theo. 

    That's why when we're in Pennsylvania, riding around on a very beautiful day, Theo decides he wants to go horseback riding. 

    "Out of the question," is my first response. A horse and a cat? No way. 

    Theo, who is quickly developing a reputation as a little gangster cat,  gets that look on his face which essentially means he's not budging. At least, not yet. 

    We're riding past a pasture, and there are horses, of course, that are right there. And there is a place to park. 

    Dan smiles. "Come on. Let's humor the kid. It'll take five minutes."

    Now, I love horses myself. And if there is anyway I can get out of the car and jump on the back of a horse and go riding . . . like if this is a fantasy movie, and we just happen to have saddles in the back seat . . . and the horses are friendly and love to be ridden . . . and there's no fence or maybe one of of those low split rail antique numbers that we can easily hop over . . . and nobody's going to suddenly show up and have us arrested.  

    This is reality. There are no saddles in the back seat. And there is a fence, shoulder height, that no one is jumping over. And the horses are looking at us with suspicion in their eyes.

   

     I'm thinking--this is an impossible idea on Theo's part. 

    Theo comes waltzing up--every bit like a gangster would. He's got a certain style. A kind of confidence that I would not have if I were a cat facing at least ten equine beasts.

     But if I look closely, Theo's not looking at ten horses. He's looking at only one horse. And one horse is looking at him.

      

    Theo's eyes grow wide. He marches up to the fence. His nose goes high. He is sniffing. The horse moves even closer. And then she does something quite extraordinary. She lifts her foot off the ground, her knee bends, and she stomps it down. Once. Twice. She does the same thing with her other leg.                         

   Theo does the exact same thing. He lifts his tiny paw off the ground, kicks it forward and stomps it back on the ground. He does it again.

    I push any traitorous thoughts out of my head. For example, that this stomping horse could crush Theo's skull with a single kick.  

    Dan practically reads my mind. He shakes his head. "I think they're communicating. She wants to meet him. She's not going to kill him."

    "He's not going in there," I whisper. "Theo can stomp all he wants."

    But . . . I do pick Theo up and bring him closer to the fence. The horse does saunter over and they get a chance to go nose to nose and sniff each other. It is a close encounters of two different species who interact with each other moment. 

    When Theo wriggles to get free (no doubt he has visions of jumping on the horse's back and riding into the sunset), I hold him closer. 

     Later, when we're all safe at home, he is retelling the almost adventure to Michelangelo and Sienna, the two younger nine month old kittens we recently adopted, but in Theo's version the almost adventure sounds like it was an adventure.

    Mico's eyes are bigger than quarters. "Did you ride her, Theo?"

    "That was the plan, see?" Theo says in his usual Brooklyn style accent. "To ride across the fields. Bareback." He puffs his chest out.

     "Wow." Mico is impressed. He takes a few steps closer to Theo, maybe hoping that Theo's bravery will rub off on him.

     "Don't get so close, kid," Theo says. "I need my space."

                            https://youtube.com/shorts/Kug17lpcxP4

       

    

    

   

Theo, the Little Gangster

    Theo won't say a word. He will neither confirm or deny. Can he see or hear Chuck? Is he taking orders or acting on his own? As I flip through photos, I find yet another photo of Chuck about to confer with Theo in that last week before Chuck passes to the other side.

    Dan says, "Chucky knew. He was cementing his legacy."

    My eyes well up with tears. "How brave can one cat be?" 

    We are on our way to see an exotic plant called the Bird of Paradise, an exquisitely beautiful flower that looks like a bird and even moves like a bird in flight when the wind hits it. That small detail, that a plant can imitate a bird, is what causes poor Theo no end of humiliation on his first travel assignment. Because he thinks we are going to see Birds of Paradise. Which are actual birds.

    Like Chucky, Theo has a bucket list. Where Chucky loved the History Channel, Theo loves animal shows and mafia movies. He even talks like a little gangster. And he does his research.

    Dan says, "The Bird of Paradise is a perennial plant from South Africa. It's also called the crane lily. It causes no allergic reactions--" 

    We are on the way to the conservatory, and Theo is listening intently, but he begins to shake his head, disagreeing with everything Dan is saying.

    But we can't stop and argue. Sneaking Theo into a place like this will be tricky business. A bird of paradise is a rare plant. We suspect there will even be someone watching--a kind of plant guard. Sure enough as we move closer to the plant, I feel eyes on me.

    "Be careful," I whisper, "there are spies all around."

    The Bird of Paradise is beautiful and looks exactly like a bird who has been, unfortunately, attached to a plant. 

    "Stand and block the view so I can let Theo see."

     That's the plan, but the plant guard comes rushing over. He's a nice guy who offers to take our photo, posing with the plant. We pose.  At this stage we'll do anything to get rid of him.

   

    I then pretend to admire the plant while Dan lets Theo peek out and see the plant. (Which, of course, we find out later, he sincerely believes is a bird.) 

    No one can anticipate what will happen next. Or how strong Theo is. We're used to traveling with Chucky who was a rascal but he'd never, ever have been able to leap out of a backpack in a single bound. Somehow Theo is able to get traction with his tiny paws and do just that. He leaps out of the pack, onto Dan's shoulder, intent on . . . well . . . if you were a cat and you thought you were that close to a bird.

    I am taken completely unaware.

    Dan is one step ahead of me and two steps ahead of Theo. As Theo readies himself for the final leap (no doubt harboring images of bird of paradise served up on a serving platter with delicious gravy dripping off its wings), Dan catches hold of him and reels him back. 

    Theo grunts. 

    "Oh my God." That's me in total shock.

    It is a miracle that the plant guard sees absolutely nothing. Mainly because at that very moment a bevy of children have come in with their mom and they are running wildly through the place, as if they've consumed too much grape juice. The plant guard's attention is diverted. We are saved. 

    Later, at home, we have the discussion:

    Dan: "It is a Bird of Paradise. A plant."

    Theo: "I did my research, see. I know it was a bird." Is it my imagination or does Theo talk with a Brooklyn accent?

    Dan: "I know it's confusing, Theo. But we went to a conservatory. No birds. Only plants."

    Theo: "So, you took me to see a plant?"

    We have nothing to say to that. I take out my iPhone and show him close up two shots of the Bird of Paradise. 

 

 

    "Now do you get it? Birds of Paradise are birds. From Indonesia and Australia. They're known for their plumage and feathers. They live in rainforests." I take a deep breath. "Still, Theo, you can't go into a conservatory and eat the plants."

      Dan taps me on the shoulder and points. Theo, like Chuck, closes his eyes when he's heard enough. 

     "We'll do better next time," I tell my little gangster cat, rubbing the top of his head gently.

      One eye pops open. I could say he's got the cold hard stare of a killer. But beneath that gangster exterior is a mama's boy. I just know it.

    

   

Rascal Chuck's Destiny

  We go to the shoemaker because we believe he will have all the answers.  Is this place only a restored village? Why did Chuck suddenly disappear and then reappear in the post office of the Country Store? 

    In other words, what the heck is going on?

    "You can't just barge in there and start asking him all these questions," Dan says. 

    "Why do we even think he has all the answers, anyway?"

    "Because he's been here from the beginning."

    "The beginning?"    

     Now even Chucky is intrigued. He's been plodding along beside us as we walk down the main road of Landis Valley, headed toward the shoe maker. I glance over. Chuck looks different somehow. As if he's fading in and out. More ethereal. As if he's not really there. Even though I know he is.

    "Are you feeling okay, Chuck?" I ask.

    "I'm ready," he meows.

    What the heck does he mean by that? 

  

      Dan is ahead of us, already walking into the shoemaker's house. I scoop Chucky up and give him a big hug. "You know I love you to bits," I say. 

    "Another adventure always awaits," Chucky meows back as he leans his head into mine. 

    I get the sneaky feeling that Chuck already knows what's about to happen. That somehow he has already figured all of this out.  Why he suddenly disappeared and then reappeared.

    "Can you tell me," I ask my super wise cat.

    "It's destiny, mom," he whispers.

    I get a lump in my throat, guessing I must cherish these next few moments. 

    The shoemaker looks exactly the way I expect him to look. He's making a pair of shoes from real leather, of course, that he has cut and shaped. He has already begun to explain the process to Dan. 

    I stand in the background and listen. Chucky, of course, is sniffing his heart out. The smell of leather and sawdust is everywhere. It is a good solid smell that for some reason makes me think of my childhood. And Chucky looks happy, happier than I have ever seen him.

    I learn something from the shoemaker that I didn't know. Back in the day, before people bought ill fitting shoes from the shoe store, they had their shoes made from a shoe maker. But going to the shoe maker was step two in the process. Step one was having a carpenter make a last for you--a wooden form in the shape of your foot. You paid for and owned the last and then gave it to the shoemaker who used the form to make your shoe. 

    Shoes back then fit very well. They conformed to all the quirks and inconsistencies of your foot. 

    Finally, the shoemaker looks at us, I mean really looks at us, looks at Chuck and asks us why we are really here. "You are not here for the shoes," he says.

    "No." We tell him what has happened as we have walked around the village, and ask him if he can explain. 

    "I am not surprised. You are not the first. Yes, this village is special because we are unchanged from the past. We are half in and half out of where we used to be. The cloakroom in the school. The post office in the Country Store. And, even here."

    I look around and notice that Chucky has stopped sniffing. 

    Suddenly I understand what the shoe maker is trying to say. "Doorways to the past?"

    "Yes."

    "But where is this doorway?"

    The shoemaker points to just beyond where the half made shoes are on the table. There is a corner in his shop. "He knows. He will find his way if he is meant to go."

    "But he'll come back?" I ask.

    "Not this time," he says. 

    "But why must he go?"

    It is the hardest thing to let destiny take its course. You want to make time stand still. You want to stop the future from happening. 

    I cannot describe how we love and hold and hug our Chucky at the end. But then we must let him go. We are so grateful to have shared his journey for 14 years. 

    We watch him march toward that doorway with confidence and curiosity, the way he has always faced life. And then he is gone.

     

  What really happened . . .

    

  I have had the great honor of living with 13 cats so far in my life. They've all been special in their own way. Chuck, the rascal cat, was one of a kind. He literally bounced into my life as a kitten, inspired me to begin Hot Blogging with Chuck with his always curious and adventurous personality, and gave me oodles of love over the years. 

    It is with great sadness that we recently discovered Chucky had an inoperable tumor in his stomach/pancreas. We made the very hard decision to let him go and send him over the Rainbow Bridge to join his sisters Ella and Molly and his brother Jack. 

    We miss him each and everyday. He had a strong personality, loved to go outside and raid the neighbor's catnip garden when he was home and truly was an ambassador, eager to make friends with the neighbor cats. 

    I have to admit I feel Chucky's presence around me even now. 

    When I wanted to give up the blog and retire, he meowed--No, Mom. Let Theo take over. He can do it. I know he can. 

    When I wanted to hide away in my sorrow, he reminded me that I've always adopted cats who needs homes. It's the cycle of life. He led me to our newest two kittens--9 month old brother and sister, Michelangelo (Mico for short) and Sienna. They were rescued as feral cats from a farm, so I guess they're a bit rascally too. 

   

    Theo looks forward to introducing himself and taking you on the next adventure, but one thing we've decided--we're holding fast to our blog name: Hot Blogging with Chuck. Because you never know with Chucky, he may be back!

    

     

    

Rascal Chuck Climbs a Mountain

        I suspect the idea started when Chuck and Theo, his brother in crime, conferred that morning on the sofa.  I think Theo put the idea in Chuck's head that climbing a mountain was a good idea. Imagine the view, he probably meowed. The fresh scents you can sniff.

          "Do you want to come with us?" Chuck probably asked.

          "Me?" Theo probably let out a slight cough. "Not today, bro. Feeling a little under the weather. But you go ahead."

            So Dan, Chucky, and I find ourselves signed up for a two hour hike, following our trusted guide, destined to climb a mountain. But, first we have to get to the mountain, which means hiking through a forest. We are in northern New Jersey in Ringwood State Park, light jacket weather, the day after too much rain so it's a bit soggy but glorious.

            We follow a secret path through some fields and woods to reach the trail that will eventually lead upwards.  

          The path seems somewhat magical, especially when we pass some ancient statues, each one representing one of the major continents--Europe, America, Asia and Africa:

       We pass a lovely wooden bench, but there is no time to rest. 

           We now begin to enter the forest. Chuck is with Dan, snuggled securely in his backpack, but when we reach a stream, he meows to be let out. Looking for frogs and fish is one of the things Chuck likes to do best, so while I distract our guide, Chucky does his thing with Dan.

        Soon we're hiking into the inner part of the forest. The trail inclines nice and slow. There is a slight breeze. The sun is out. 

        

        We are almost there. The incline steepens. The trail narrows. At the highest point, we must climb a few steps onto a giant rock that is flat on top, but the sides extend down, down, and if you are afraid of heights, it is best not to look down. If you think you might slide down the sides, it is best not even to climb on top of this rock. 

        But, of course, we do. The view is magnificent. Chuck is out of the backpack, and he has scampered up the rocks. He wants to see the view.

      

        "Keep an eye on him." 

        I have no idea how well cats can navigate on slippery rocks. I have no idea how well I can navigate on slippery rocks. I already know how Dan is feeling. He is staying exactly in the middle of the large rock and not looking down.

        The view is of the Ramapo Mountains. 

        I make the biggest mistake while I am up there. I look DOWN

          

and realize at once that we are at tree top level and if we slide down and fall, we will be in BAD SHAPE. It is a long way down. 

        I make an executive decision. "We should grab Chuck."

        He is on the edge of the edge, sniffing. Of course he is. Half his body is off the rock, half is on. I don't think he even realizes where he is. Some plants are growing in between the crevices, and he is exploring. He has absolutely no interest in the view. 

        I very carefully move closer to where he is.  If he looks up and sees there's nothing in front of him, will he panic? 

        

        "Chucky, Chucky."

        He turns and looks at me.  And then without a second thought he moonwalks from the edge and returns to where I am standing, paralyzed with fear. They say that cats need to be rescued from trees because they can't backtrack once they run up. But I've just seen for myself that a cat can save himself, if he's a rascal!

        Later, safely back at home, I see Chuck with Theo. I hear a lot of meowing, and I imagine that Chuck is telling Theo what happened on top of the mountain--how mom freaked out once again. But I'm wrong. He seems to be telling Theo how he made it to the top of the mountain!

        Theo, lazing in the later afternoon sun, doesn't seem to care. He's all stretched out and mighty glad he decided to stay home. He's no rascal cat!