The Inspiration Behind the Blog

I was born to be a writer. When I published my first novel Wild Point Island, my orange and white rescued feral tabby Chuck decided he wanted to travel and see the island for himself. Chuck's desire to travel inspired me to begin the blog and take Chuck with me whenever I traveled, which I do frequently. This was not an easy task. First, I had to deflate the poor kid of all air, stuff him in my carry-on bag, remember to bring my portable pump, and when I arrive, I pump him back up. Ouch. He got used to it and always was ready to pull out his passport and go. Now it's Theo's turn. Smart. Curious. And, yes, another rascal.

Showing posts with label rascal cat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rascal cat. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 29, 2023

Rascal Chuck in the Mummy Room

     Chuck has to be here.

     The Mummy Room, downstairs in the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, is filled with--you guessed it--mummies. They have the foremost collection of mummies in the world. 

    As we walk in, I quickly scan the room for the Rascal Cat.

    Nothing but mummies.

    "Chuck."

    I wait to hear a purr. A meow. Anything.

    But the Mummy Room is eerily quiet. As you would expect. Dan and I are the only two living persons in the room. Mummies are everywhere. To appreciate this room in all its splendor, the tourist must go up and down the rows and look from side to side. The mummies are behind glass cases. Some have inscriptions describing who or what they are. 

    "Let's break up," I say to Dan. "You go that way." I point across the room. "I'll start over here." 

     We are convinced Chuck has to be here. He has mummies on the brain. Given the choice, he would come here. But he could be anywhere. 


      I don't mind looking for him. There's something about mummies that intrigues me. I don't find them eerie or gross, and maybe it's my own enthusiasm for mummies that's caused Chucky to go so beserk over them. 

      I pass a mummy crocodile and a pet dog with an inscription.

      



      

    

     



  

     I pass some skeletal birds and then some mummified birds. 





     

      At each juncture, I call out, "Chucky." But there is no response. 

      I have to admit I jump at little when I see the cat mummy. 




    "Dan," I call out.  "Look."

    "Don't get carried away," he says in that reasonable voice of his. "Of course there would be mummies of cats. The Egyptians loved cats."

     He's right. 

     "You don't think Chucky saw this mummy cat and freaked out, do you?"

      "No, if anything . . ." Dan pauses.

      "What?"

      "No, he wouldn't have a crazy idea . . ."

      It's the way he says it. "Our Chucky?"

       "All I'm saying is remember in the Philadelphia Museum when he wanted his portrait painted. The kid wants to be immortalized."

       No sooner are the words out of Dan's mouth than we hear a meow coming from the row behind us. 

        There he is--perfectly still--like a statue--posed against a white board as if he's auditioning for the role of  . . .


    "Don't say it." 

     I scoop Chuck up and give him the biggest hug possible. He's here. He's safe. That's all I care about. But then I get over myself. "We've seen enough mummies for one day. And there's no way, Chucky, that you can be a . . . " But I can't even say the word.

     Chucky shrugs. He could see a thousand mummies, and it wouldn't be enough.

    As we're leaving, Chucky wants to say goodbye to his favorite mummy. Small consolation, I suppose. 




   Gosh, Chucky, you really are a rascal cat, or should I say the wanna be mummy cat.    

       


    

      

Tuesday, August 8, 2023

Rascal Chuck and the Anthropoid Coffin

         Before we leave Alexandria, Chuck insists on going to the Alexandria National Museum. Now, the rascal cat is not usually a fan of being inside or of visiting any kind of museum, but this one in particular holds something of interest that Chucky heard about and was dying to see: An Anthropoid coffin with mummy

       "What is that?" Dan wants to know.

        I have no idea, but the bigger question is how did Chucky know about it? Occasionally, Chucky watches the History Channel. Did he just happen to catch an episode where an Egyptologist talked about an anthropoid coffin

        So, here we are on our way to one of Egypt's finest museums. Inaugurated by President Hosni Mubarak in 2003. Located in a restored palace. Containing about 1,800 artifacts that tell the history of Alexandria, beginning with the Pharaohs (ie. the pyramids), then the Romans (Julius Caesar and Cleopatra), then the Coptics (the Christians) and finally the Muslims. 

        "Let's be smart about this," I say to Dan. "On our way to the coffin, we can check out a lot of other neat things and give Chucky a dose of culture!"

        So, we admire early Egyptians paintings:




         We examine mummies that are on display. Ancient Egyptians believed in body mummification after death to preserve it for the afterlife. They placed a mask on the mummy's head to help the soul recognize it according to their belief. The mummy was then placed inside a coffin.





    






     We peruse an interesting collection of statuary:



         We also learn the Holy Family found refuge in Egypt. Mary and Joseph considered it a safe place for Christ, which helped the establishment of the Christian religion in Egypt. 



         Of course, all of that is very interesting to us. Chuck, however, is on a mission. The anthropoid coffin is located downstairs in a specialized area. No photographs allowed. And, frankly, no cats allowed either. 




        "What should we do?"

        "Let's face it. Chucky is never allowed anywhere. Let's just do it."

        Dan is right. We are here now. We push the doors open and step inside. We walk down the stairs. No one else is there. Perfect.  

        "Stay focused," I whisper to Dan as Chucky begins to meander around.

         "There. There it is--the coffin."

    



         We have never seen anything like it before. A dog is buried inside a coffin that looks like a dog. The coffin is designed to look exactly like the animal that is inside. 

          I have to admit--it looks creepy. 

          "Should we let Chucky see it?"

          Dan looks at me sideways. "Why not?"

          "He's been through a lot." I glance behind me. Chuck is sniffing away, oblivious to the fact that we have found the coffin. 

           "He'll be okay."

           "Let me take the photo first." 

            That's when it happens. Chucky, suspicious, that we're staring at the same spot for too long, races over, gets nosy and now, before I can say a word of warning, begins to sniff the coffin. 

            "For goodness sake, grab him," I yell, suddenly fearful that he might contract some dreaded ancient virus.

            Cats can't smile. It's physically impossible. When they want to show they're happy, they purr. Or they slowly close their eyes and kind of wink at you. 

            Chucky turns around and does just that. A very slow winky kind of eye close. Then he moonwalks back to us, not wanting to take his gaze off the anthropoid coffin

            Obviously, he's not freaked out at all. The problem is me. I'm the one who's freaked out. As usual, he's the cool cat.  Argh.



P.S. I'm offering 100 free Kindle copies of my recently published novel, The Blue Medallion, in a Goodreads Giveaway. The promotion will run from July 20 thru August 20. For a chance to enter and read more about this amazing offer, follow the link: 




            

           

           

          

            

        

         

    

Tuesday, July 25, 2023

Rascal Chuck and the Antique Elevator

         Alexandria is one of the truly ancient cities. It sits in Egypt like any other city, but in many ways, it's the crowned jewel with a past that other cities envy. But, first, you have to drive through crowded Egypt, and this country has traffic like anywhere else.












When you arrive, there's something magical that happens. You get a glimpse of the Eastern harbor of Alexandria, which has been a happening place for culture for 2300 years. This is where the Pharos lighthouse, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, was located, guiding people from all over the world safely into port. This is where Cleopatra (the real Cleopatra and not Elizabeth Taylor playing the part in the Hollywood version) first laid eyes on Julius Caesar. 









      





        And this is where the Great Library of Alexandria, built by Alexander the Great, was located. It was the largest library of the ancient world and contained somewhere between 40,000 to 400,000 scrolls or the equivalent of 100,000 books. It employed over 100 scholars. Although it was originally believed to have been destroyed by fire, it was accidentally burned by Julius Caesar during a civil war, rebuilt and then dwindled due to lack of funding and support.

         Today Bibliotheca Alexandrina replaces the ancient library. All of this, of course, is of no interest to the Rascal Cat. He is tired of driving in the car. Tired of looking at the scenery. Tired of hearing me drone on and on about the fabulousness of Alexandria.

        Chucky wants a snack.

         There is a wonderful restaurant in downtown Alexandria in the Cecil Hotel. It is old world and quite majestic looking and overlooks the Mediterranean Sea. It was built in 1929, is considered one of the Grand Hotels, and has hosted celebrities and diplomats including Winston Churchill and Al Capon.



   
         Somehow, we figure, we'll talk our way into this restaurant with an orange and white cat. He is famous. In America. Star of Hot Blogging with Chuck. Or we can sneak him in.

        "Find a table in the back," I suggest to Dan.
    
        Chucky is wiggly around in the backpack. About to explode. We both know when he has had enough. And he has had enough.

        Discreetly, we are seated at the table. Chuck is in the corner. We are the model of propriety, but can't help ourselves from looking around because the place is even more glamorous and incredible inside.


        Quickly, we peruse the menu and order an interesting dish with lots of eggplant and chickpeas. Luckily, I've discovered that I love Egyptian food. We scoff down our lunch in record time. 

        We're about to leave (and this is when Chucky tempts the fates), he spots a beautiful, elegant, antique elevator--what was known in those days as an "open cage elevator", that is literally beckoning to him. I imagine he hears, "Come on over," because the next thing we know he is scampering across the lobby toward said elevator.

        Dan says, "It's a bad idea. Grab Chucky. We should leave now. After all, we're in Egypt. Soldiers walk around here with loaded rifles. No telling what they'll do to a cat."

         Sober warning. Are we taking a foolish chance? Egypt is not a democracy. 

         On the other hand, we both know, when Chucky gets an idea in his head, you might as well, give in. We can see by the way he is staring straight at it that he cannot resist checking out this elevator. Even for me, it is conjuring up all kinds of imaginings. It is as if I were stepping back in time. It dates back to when the hotel was built. 



          AND IT STILL WORKS. 

        Dan and I look at each other. "Let's just go with it. We'll keep him under wraps."

        The plan is simple. We'll get inside, just the three of us, and ride up one floor, and then ride back down again. How risky can it be? And Chucky will be happy.

           We have to wait. Someone is using it, and it's one floor above us.  (We discover later that the elevator is a MAJOR tourist attraction.)

            I glance over and notice a mirror. I somehow manage to secure Chucky's attention. We're going over there to take a selfie to prove we're actually here in Alexandria, I tell him. It'll only take a second. Stand over there and don't draw attention to yourself. 

            The elevator is in a corner. At that moment no one is there.



     In a flash we're back at the elevator. It still hasn't come down, which is odd. And what's even more alarming--no Chucky. 

       "You don't think . . ."

        We look up.  We hear the faintest of meows. A Chucky meow. 

         That darned cat. As we were busy with our selfie, that rascal cat must have jumped into the elevator and rode up to the floor above us. Without us.  

         Within seconds, he's coming down, but not by himself. First floor guests accompany our never to be underestimated cat down to the lobby. 

          "My bad," I tell Dan. "I should have dragged him with us over to the mirror."

          The black cage door opens and the three touristy people walk out. By some miracle, they've hardly noticed Chucky. Too busy snapping photos of the elevator, which here and now is the main star attraction. 

         Finally, the three of us are alone at last. Dan pulls the antique black gate closed in front of us. We are in a magic world--circa 1929, the way it used to be. Slowly, we go up and then, ignoring people who are waiting to get in, we quickly go down. 

        "If you were a cat back in 1929," I tell Chuck, "this is the kind of elevator you would have been using. Pretty cool, huh?" 

        Chuck looks around with some interest, then lets out a gigantic cat yawn. 

        When we're leaving, I can't resist pointing out to Chuck that although he's somewhat famous in America, here in Alexandria, it's the elevator that tourists are snapping photos of, not the cat!! He shrugs. But at least he's safe and sound. No soldiers with rifles. So far so good.



P.S. I'm offering 100 free Kindle copies of my recently published novel, The Blue Medallion, in a Goodreads Giveaway. The promotion will run from July 20 thru August 20. For a chance to enter and read more about this amazing offer, follow the link: 


       

                         


          



        

Tuesday, June 27, 2023

Who Is the Rascal Cat Chuck, Really?

                Chuck, the rascal cat, loves to travel. But, as you can well guess, he’s not on the road 365 days a year. So, here’s a peek into Chucky’s life when he’s not risking his life and doing all those crazy things we love him for.

 

How Chuck Came to Be:

 

            First things first: I like to say that I adopted Chuck, but the truth is—he adopted me. He was rescued from a field near a paint ball factory. From the first day he was rough and ready—a bit feral—but I still remember the first time I saw him. He was bouncing up and down, doing everything he could to get my attention. His twin sister, Ella, stood quietly by his side. Chuck and Ella were the first orange and white cats I’d ever brought home, and I wasn’t at all prepared for their bigger than life personalities. Here, I’d like to give a big shout out to Tabby’s Place—a cat rescue shelter—that housed Chucky and his twin and to Karina, who rescued him and tried to knock some civilization into him.




 

His Older Brother, Jack

 

            I had help when I brought the rascal home. Jack, my tuxedo cat, the alpha male of the house, made sure that Chucky minded his manners. If he did something that Jack didn’t like, he would nip the tip of Chucky’s ear, and then look up at me, as if to say—I had to do it, Mom. I immediately gave Jack carte blanche to do anything within reason. Chucky was wild in his younger years. He’d climb Christmas trees and cat body slam any feline out of the way if it meant he could get at their food. He also had to go outside everyday—rain or shine. Like the mailman. He didn’t care if his paws got wet or muddy. Let’s just say he got nipped a lot by Jack.





 

His Twin Sister, Ella

 

            Ella also kept Chucky in line. One day Chucky went outside and disappeared for about an hour. We learned later that he’d discovered a catmint garden a few houses down and couldn’t resist raiding the garden and getting high. When he finally returned home, tipsy but happy as can be, before I could say a word, Ella marched over, gave him a good sniff, let loose with a few choice words, and smacked him in the face. Chucky ducked his head, but he didn’t say a word. He knew he deserved whatever Ella dished out. Truth was he hated disappointing her and kept a watchful eye on her always. But the two of them together—what mischief they could get up to.





 

His Older Sister, Molly

 

            Molly was a very petite cat, part Ragdoll, who Chucky insisted on playing with, even when she wasn’t interested. He’d stalk her from room to room, and then when no one was looking, he’d leap on top of her. We’d hear a louder than loud meow coming from the upstairs landing. Chucky’s weight on top of her practically squished the life out of her. Needless to say, Molly forever greeted Chucky with a hiss, which he couldn’t quite understand. All he wanted to do was play.

 




 

You Can’t Go Home Again

 

            I’d like to say that the four cats lived happily ever after, but as time went on . . . Molly went over the rainbow bridge first, then Ella, and then just recently Jack.

 

            It’s hard to know what to say to the one that stays behind. We, of course, gave Chuck extra hugs and kisses and lots of treats. We tried to keep the routine. I even became a cat for a day.




            Finally, we're ready to talk about the future. 

 

            “Chuck, Mom and Dad want to bring home a brother for you.”

 

            Chucky makes a soft meow. (It's only recently that he realizes that Jack isn’t coming back home. That he didn’t just go to the hospital. This time. That Jack actually walked across that rainbow bridge.)

 

            “What do you think, Chuck?”

 

            Chuck looks up thoughtfully from his snack.

 

            “We’re going on Monday to hang out with him for a while. Do you want to come?”


             As I ask the question, I'm wondering if it's a good idea to bring Chuck with us. After all, there's a certain protocol to bringing a new cat into a household. We have our eye on a little boy, three years old, who's been rescued from a laboratory that did testing on animals. He's bound to be shy and will need some time to adjust to his new surroundings. And Chuck will still need to feel that he's loved and not being replaced by the new kid on the block. 


             Before he has a chance to say anything, I interject, "We'll tell you all about him when we get home."


                                       To be continued . . .

 

            

Tuesday, June 13, 2023

Chuck and his Devil Spirit

          

    When we left off last week . . . we were in a heck of a predicament! Was the photo of Chuck evidence that he'd been taken over by some kind of devil spirit? 

       I stare at the photo carefully then look back at Chucky. 



     He looks the same as always in person, but in the photo, he looks different. 

     Dan makes the connection first. "You don't think something happened to Chucky when he went down with us into the pyramid, do you?"

     I don't want to believe it. "No . . . that's impossible. Besides, there was nothing down there. And nothing happened to us. Well, nothing much."

     I don't want to remember the climbing into the pyramid experience. What seemed like a good idea at the time--getting a once in a lifetime opportunity to climb into a pyramid--turned out to be a bit more arduous than we imagined.

     Pyramids abound in the Sahara Desert in Giza. Centuries ago, before they were "tampered with"--cleaned out, robbed, etc., they were not only the tombs of the ancient pharoahs but also the repository of their treasure. Nowadays, of course, they are empty shells. Still, they have an allure that's hard to pass up, and after our camel ride, we decide to grab an opportunity and climb into a pyramid.

     We form a plan. Dan will take Chuck, stuffed into his backpack, hoisted on his back. I'll go first. 

     To access this particular pyramid, you have to go in from the top and then climb down approximately 300 narrow steps in the relatively pitch blackness. 








      To get to the top, you climb on a rickety metal stair that leans against the pyramid. In some places the stair has no railing. As you navigate each step, higher and higher, it's a good idea not to look down. If you slip and fall, it would be the equivalent of falling off the roof of a very tall house, or, perhaps, a small hotel. The stairs are also slippery. 

      Surprisingly, I have little trouble navigating this part of the journey. There's a gentle desert breeze blowing. No problem. But Dan doesn't like heights. In fact, he might even have acrophobia, a fear of heights. For him, the higher we go, the more uncomfortable he feels. 

     "You can do it," I tell him.

      He's not really listening. Breathing hard. He stops, and I figure--this is it. He'll be stuck on this metal ladder thing forever. But, no, eventually he moves forward. Slowly.

        When we get to the top, we have to turn ourselves around and enter backwards. Literally, we squeeze ourselves through the opening to a small landing. Then we begin to climb down the steps. It's dark and stale smelling. There are small lights positioned every 10 steps or so, but all they do is create shadows. 

        This is the worst part for me because I'm claustrophobic. I close my eyes and begin to count--anything to take my mind off of where I am and what I'm doing. Don't think about what could go wrong, ie. do pyramids ever self implode? or what if one of us sprains an ankle? 

      Meanwhile, Dan is doing great inside the pyramid. He's literally flying down the steps, singing a happy song. No problem. 

      We reach the bottom. Chucky is bouncing around, sniffing everything. Even though there is basically nothing here. I mean nothing. It'a big empty room. Who's idea was this? I'm thinking. 

       Then, of course, as we're marveling at the sheer notion that we are actually inside a pyramid, Chuck disappears. 

        Luckily, cell phones have flashlights, and we're able to track him down within minutes. He's wandered off to an adjacent room, climbed onto a shelf, and somehow managed to squeeze himself into an area about half his size.  His sticking out tail gives him away. When he hears his name, he turns himself around.

        BUT when we call for him, he won't come out.

        When we reach for him, he backs up so we can't reach him.

      I open my backpack. "Maybe Chucky wants a snack."

         Chucky's ears tilt forward.  

         I hold out the tidbit, and the standoff is over.

         "Too much stimulation," I say. "We need to go home."    

        Getting out of the pyramid is just as arduous. Climbing up 300 narrow steps in semi-complete darkness while you feel the walls closing in is no picnic. Dan sails up the steps, humming while Chucky say nothing. 

         Outside, with the wind at my back, I climb down the rickety metal staircase to the sand below. Dan and Chuck CRAWL down. 

          Chucky is very quiet on the way back to the hotel as our van maneuvers in between camels, vans and pedestrians. 




        We go swimming in our beautiful built in pool while Chucky watches us from the window of our hotel room. 



    
     I take a selfie.



     
That's when I snap Chucky's photo. The photo where Chucky doesn't quite look like himself.  Where he looks like he's been taken over by some ancient Egyptian devil spirit.
          And that's when I begin to put two and two together. In those few moments when he was out of our sight. In that adjacent cubby hole type room. Did something happen? 
         "What should we do?" 
          Dan is always the voice of reason. "We'll go to dinner, and google how to deal with ancient Egyptian spirits when we get back."
         But there is no need. When we return, the rascal cat is sleeping peacefully. Snoozing. Purring up a storm. We can tell the crisis is averted. 

        Chucky may be a rascal, but he's no devil!