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

       

    

    

   

Chuck and the Munching Camels

   What could go wrong with a rascal cat at a petting zoo? 

        After Chuck's almost wild encounter with bison at Yellowstone . . . after the rascal cat's near scalding experience with a baby geyser when he jumped off the boardwalk in protest of a growling girl dog, how could a visit to a local petting zoo be considered dangerous?

        My sisters and I decided one beautiful morning, well, it was one beautiful hot morning this past summer to visit a nearby zoo in the Poconos to see the local wildlife. 

        Chuck loves animals, and I convinced myself that the wildlife advertised obviously wouldn't include bison, wolves, or bears so the danger factor would be considerably less. Nevertheless, I'd learned my lesson on how to be a good mom the hard way. Never underestimate what Chuck will do in any situation. 

        I was on high alert. 

        We arrived, parked the car and as my sisters moseyed on over to "experience" the zoo, I read Chuck the riot act. "Behave yourself. Look don't touch. Most important of all, don't eat their snacks. I've got my eye on you."

        Chuck grumbled. I could see he was hot and hungry. But he's always hungry. 

        The small petting zoo was not very crowded. Good. Enclosed within a fence, the zoo of wildlife was actually a safe assortment of animals. Better yet. I tried to relax. 

        First up was Mr. Turtle, a mellow guy who seemed harmless. He moved at an alarmingly slow speed and was preoccupied with eating lettuce leaves visitors could buy to feed him. Still he was quite charming and larger than the usual turtles you see in the park.

        

        

         I kept my eye on Chucky. He waited on the sidelines. Luckily, he's not a fan of lettuce and had no interest in meeting a turtle. 

       So far so good.

       We moved on to the next exhibit--the cutest rabbit you ever saw. I anticipated big trouble. This was a worst case scenario. At home Chucky loves to chase bunnies and squirrels. This rabbit was called Mr. Einstein. I hoped he was named after the famed genius for a reason. Maybe he'd developed good social skills. If you're one of the star attractions in a petting zoo, surrounded by kids (and the occasional rascal cat) who are trying to pet (or sniff) you, you must have a uniquely calm personality, right?

        Chuck spied Mr. Einstein and glanced over at me. 

        "Don't even think about it." Chasing Einstein, I meant.

         He looked restless. 

        "Remember, look, don't touch."

         My sister Cheryl at that moment noticed the goats in the next pen. "Look how cute they are," she said. I turned to look. Of course. That's all it took. Chuck, who can move faster than a speeding bullet when he wants to, was standing right near the calmer than calm bunny, sniffing. 

        I held my breath. Mr. Einstein didn't move. On his best behavior, Chuck shrugged and walked away. A miracle.

        We visited the goats, the pigs, the donkeys and the horses. All my sisters are fans of the show Heartland on Netflix, and we love to see horses and ride horses. We were having fun. Every time I glanced over to see what Chuck was doing, he was moping around, waiting. 

        My sister Cyndi said, "Maybe he's just hot."

       Or maybe things were building to a crescendo. But after the non-rabbit incident, I had hope that, maybe, this was going to be a good day.

        

 

        Finally, I couldn't take his passive resistance any longer. "What's the matter, Chuck?"

      He let out a plaintive meow. Usually he'd be trying to get closer to the animals. Instead, he ambled over to the one shady spot in the tiny zoo. Maybe it was the weather. Hot and muggy. 

       "Well, I got myself worked up for nothing," I said to my sister Karen. Secretly relieved. "I guess we've seen everything . . ."

        "What about over there?" Caroline, who's always open to adventure, was pointing across the yard.

        I looked over. Two camels. Most zoos in the middle of Pennsylvania don't have camels. Behind a fence. But close enough that you can reach up and pet them. Get right in their face if you want to.

        "Geez." When I was in Egypt a few years back, I went on a camel ride and grew to respect them.

         I couldn't resist meeting these two.

         

    Full disclosure--I find camels quite exotic. They can live up to 50 years and are gentle and friendly animals. They're highly intelligent, smarter than a horse, and have incredible memories. They are also big animals. Camels average between 7 to 11 feet long, 5 to 7 feet tall, and weigh between 900 to 1300 pounds depending on the type of camel. 

    Camels eat grains, grass, wheat and oats. These camels were eating up a storm. Munching, munching, munching.  I have to admit in that moment I was in camel heaven.

      They were wonderful to watch. They looked happy and well cared for. As I was taking a closer look at these fantastic animals, I saw something quite out of place-a long tail of orange and white fur with dark orange stripes running sideways through the entire length of it. 

       "That looks just like . . ." I glanced over to the shady spot where Chuck had been sitting only moments before. No Chucky.

        My gaze shot back to the tail.  

        "Chuck." He was inside the fenced in area with the camels, sniffing one of the camel's legs. This was wrong on so many levels. I couldn't believe it. A barage of thoughts raced through my mind. How had he gotten in there? Why was Chuck interested in camels? And then . . . oh my God, danger. My blood pressure spiked through the roof. 

        "Out. Out of there. Now."

         Chuck stopped sniffing and gazed up.

         "Come on. Out. Now."

         Camels are not mean animals, but they can do mean things if provoked. I'd just read an article about a camel who bit, then trampled a worker who punched the camel in the face. Let's call it a revenge trample. What if this nice camel didn't appreciate being sniffed? One lift of a camel leg. The weight of a camel on Chucky and he'd be crushed to smithereens.

          I blamed myself. My obsession with camels must have rubbed off on Chucky and spurred him to get a little closer. 

         Chuck stopped sniffing and let out a big sigh. He then proceeded to wiggle himself under the wire fence, somehow managing to squeeze himself out of the fenced in area. 

        Safe and sound. 

        Later that evening, after the drama of the day had subsided, I looked down at a sleeping Chucky. Was it the camel's incessant munching that had lured him into the camel's den? Chucky loves food, especially snacks. I guess I'll never know.