Theo and the Holy Cafe

 Immediately we sense that something is different. We walk into a restaurant across the street from St. Stephen's Cathedral. It is a small cafe with a unique interior: exposed pipes, old fashioned lights that remind us of our lamp in our den--bare bulbs Thomas Edison style.

Our table has three chairs as if someone knew we were bringing Theo along, who sits quietly in the beginning. I think--maybe we're going to be able to have a good lunch. 

A waiter comes over with the menu and doesn't blink an eye when he sees Theo. Dan order the daily special--loin of pork with stuffing and a rich brown gravy, Bavaria style. I order a flatbread with onions, bacon and cheese. The flatbread is as thin as a Holy Communion wafer they give out during Catholic mass.

As we're waiting, Dan reads the brochure on the table and translates the German. This cafe is a Holy Cafe, owned and operated by the Cathedral across the street. Clergy, people who work in the cathedral, and people who attend Mass eat there. The portions are large and the price is right.

As I wait for my food, I ponder the idea of a holy cafe. Is the food blessed before it is served to the parishioners? Do they make you say a prayer before you eat? The waiter delivers the food, and as Dan is staring down at his meal and Theo is gawking at it, sniffing and sniffing, I see the waiter make a quick sign of the cross and then before I can say a word, he pulls a flask out of his pocket and sprinkles water on the meal. 

Dan sees nothing. I see everything. He's too busy examining the bottle of regular water.

"Did you see that?"

"What?"

"I thought I saw him . . . I know I saw him . . ." but I stop. Dan already thinks I'm a bit crazy. Will he even believe a waiter would bless the food with holy water?

I look over at Theo. He is staring now at Dan's food. Did he see it, too? The blessing bestowed upon the pork? The flask? The water?

He gives me one of those glances that seems to say-hey, what's up with this? But then he does a little shake and meows. Is it more important to eat the food than discuss catholic rituals? 

The food is delicious. Dan gives Theo some of his pork, so he's happy. He doesn't seem to care if his food is blessed or not.

"So this cafe is actually run by the church," Dan says to our waiter as he grapples with the idea. 

Our waiter points to some other patrons. "They just went to service."

We glance around, but honestly they look like ordinary people.

Before we leave, I follow the waiter's instructions to the bathroom. That's when I'm convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt. The sink is gold-plated. I'm not kidding. Later I think--I should have taken a photo of this. No one is going to believe it!

"What a great meal," Dan says.

Theo has finished and is now licking the gravy off his mouth and whiskers. 

I, born and raised a Catholic, am astonished. "This is the first time I've ever eaten in a holy cafe." As we're leaving, Theo is bouncing around more than usual. Dan is in a good mood. I'm trying to see if I feel any differently. And, maybe, perhaps I do.

PS We'll be off next week--busy traveling. 

Theo Cold Shoulders St. Stephen's Cathedral

 In honor of our brother-in-law Stephen who is married to my youngest sister Cyndi, we're determined to visit St. Stephen's Cathedral in Passau, Germany, named after St. Stephen, a Christian martyr who was stoned to death. Even though we're not fans of organ music, when you have the opportunity to hear one of the world's largest pipe organs with 17,774 pipes--you listen. St. Stephen's Cathedral dates back to the 17th century where it underwent a reconstruction after it almost burned to the ground. Formerly it was constructed in the Gothic style. The renovation introduced the grand Baroque style. Think fancy and gold. Think bling.

"Are you excited to see the inside of the church?" I ask Theo.

No. The answer is no. As we trudge closer and closer to St. Stephen's, Theo finds every excuse to delay. He is interested in every bird he spots along the way and wants to investigate. Because he is a cat.

He spots a squirrel, and he needs to investigate him also.

Then he's starving. He needs a snack. We have to stop and pull out some of our dried cat food we keep on hand, just in case. I expect him to scarf it down, but instead he eats each morsel carefully and slowly.

"I know what you're doing, Theo. Speed it up." He doesn't. 

Then we're on the move again. I point out some highlights of the city. I love to capture those special bits that make the city unusual, different, that remind us that in these old places they used to put angel statues on building walls.

We follow a brightly colored stone path that leads to the artist's quarter:

We see a bat suspended from a building in an alley and a king with a scepter on the wall of another building:

We pass a beautifully decorated clock tower and then a mosaic of three lions holding up a drawing of another lion. 

Finally we reach the cathedral and take a minute to admire the odd style with its quirky decorations.

The cathedral is closed. There is a mass going on and no one (no tourist, they mean) is allowed inside the church. 

I can't believe it. These are things beyond our control. I'm shaking my head in frustration when I glance down at Theo. An ugly thought pops into my head.

"What did you do, Theo?"

He looks up at me--all innocence.

I get ahold of myself. Of course, he couldn't have done anything. But he looks so self satisfied, sitting there, staring at the cathedral as if he has performed some miracle, or did he wield some dark magic?

"I'm so disappointed," I say to no one in particular.

But Theo doesn't seem the least bit concerned or disappointed. He wants to eat again. 

"Let's go to lunch," Dan suggests.

We are in for the surprise of our lives . . . tune in next week.

Wild Girl Sienna and the High Railing Act

 Home for Theo is not exactly the range but rather a well-appointed townhouse with lots of windows and places to hide out and play. He lives with his two siblings--Mico (short of Michelangelo) and Sienna. They are two wild things--previously feral but now a bit more tamed. Usually, the three of them are plotting to secure more snacks, racing around the house like maniacs, or snoozing/cat napping/sleeping. 

Theo loves to travel but he equally loves to veg at home with Mico and Sienna. Sometimes they egg each other on and play fight. Other times they are busy racing up the stairs and then grooming each other once they reach the top.

We love them dearly. 

Here are a few pics of them lounging around:

This is what gets them into trouble. It all begins with Sienna who has a penchant for high places. For some unknown reason Sienna loves to lounge on the railing that overlooks the dining room. She jumps up there and then preens. "Look. See what I can do."

The very idea of her relaxing on a railing that has a ten foot drop scares the beejeebers out of us. A high wire or rather high railing act that can only end in tragedy.

"Sienna, come down from there."

No response. Sometimes she stares at us as if to say, "Make me."

Other times she casually looks away as if she's lost her hearing suddenly and has no idea we're asking her to do anything. 

I call Theo in for a consultation.

"See." I point to Sienna.

Theo looks mildly concerned.

"Help us, Theo. Help us get her down from there."

But even as I say the words, I wonder--what can he possibly do? Meow at her? If he tries to jump up, either he'll fall or he might knock her off. It's a precarious situation.

He gives us some advice. "Ignore her."

He's probably right.

"Or . . ." He glances toward the "snack room." 

I get it. Of course the lure of the snack. "You're a genius."

Casually I announce. "Okay, snack time."

Now, how many words do most cats know? Twenty? Theo is the exception, of course, but let's face it, most cats understand a limited amount of human language. But . . . all my cats know the word "snack."

Wild girl Sienna's ears prick up. I walk towards the room. Sure enough, the problem is solved. Sienna jumps down and races to be the first one there. Mico is a fast second behind her. Theo brings up the rear.

Problem is solved. All is safe--for the time being--home on the range.

The Birds of Melk

 This is my version of our visit to the infamous Melk Abbey, located on a rocky outcrop overlooking the Danube River in Austria and dating back to 1089. Believe it or not, Leopold II gave one of his castles to the Benedictine monks. First it was a school for monks and then later evolved into a monastic library, known for its extensive collection of manuscripts (especially musical compositions.) This was in the time before books were printed (Gutenberg 1440).

Today the abbey (rebuilt between 1702 and 1736) is Baroque in style, which means fancy and ornate.

That's what Dan and I notice when we first arrive. It is immense. It can be seen for miles, it's decorated with statues and gold, and you face a giant courtyard.

I can't resist taking a video:

The part of the story that I love is that it seems to be indestructible and somehow managed to survive:

a fire in 1297 (the monks saved the manuscripts)

a Turkish invasion in 1683

another fire in 1702

another fire in 1974 when it was restored from 1978-1995.

We are promised a tour of the inside, and it is dazzling. No photos allowed, of course, but you can bet there are statues and murals and ceilings that overwhelm you. Opulence is the word I'm using here.

Theo can care less. He is a reluctant visitor to this fabulous abbey. Imagine no excitement or exuberance. One painting is like any other. We surreptitiously let him sniff what we can, but who knows what he's thinking. 

This is Theo's version of his forced visit to Melk:

"I didn't want to go. Meow. Meow. They made me go, see? Who cares about an abbey? Who cares about thousand year old statues?"

"Theo, there must have been something you liked." 

He pauses and rests his head on his beautifully defined paws. 

"One thing," I urge him.

"Oh," he says, lifting his head up, "the birds."

What? And then I remember. As we are touring around this wonderful place (my words, not Theo's), we step out of the abbey into a courtyard in the middle of the castle/abbey. And there are birds.  No, we're not talking ostriches or eagles. Just regular birds.

And those birds make Theo's day!

Thanks for all your continued support over the years. Theo loves the fact that so many of you log on and read his adventures. Theo is taking next week off--July 29, 2025. We'll be back the week after that with a peek inside Theo's life at home with Mico and Sienna.  

Theo Cruising the Danube

 

Most of us hear the word cruise and think--yeah!!! That sounds like fun. Theo, the gangster cat, thinks--why would I like a cruise? His question comes out like a low-sounding growl meow. 

The truth is we hated leaving the Schonbrunn Zoo and Vienna. But a leisurely cruise down a portion of the Danube River where we do nothing but relax and watch the sometimes gorgeous and sometimes baffling scenery can't be all bad. Can it? 

The Danube River is Europe's second longest river, which flows through Germany, Hungary, Austria, Slovakia, and Serbia. We'll be traveling on only a small portion of the river (in Germany) for the next few days and making stops along the way. 

We're not quite sure what we're going to see, but we're prepared for anything. Theo is, of course, skeptical that we'll spy anything of interest. I disagree. He counters that this cruise is a giant opportunity to take a long and well deserved nap. 

"But . . . you're going to miss out on some really great stuff," I tell him. "How about if we wake you up if we roll by anything spectacular?"

He doesn't agree and he doesn't disagree. Why are so many of our compromises with Theo based on an uneasy truce?

Imagine Dan and I in deck chairs on the top deck. We have a perfect view of the river and the river bank. Theo is nestled on the deck between us, on top of a cozy blanket. He settles in and his eyes immediately snap shut. Is he really sleeping or only cat napping?

We pass our first noteworthy, not so noteworthy site:

What is it? It looks like a dilapidated house so it must be a ruin. No, don't wake Theo for this.

Ah, this is more like it. The kind of village where you want to walk around--the picture perfect antiquish town--cobblestone streets, old churches--a glimpse into the way life used to be. I turn to shake Theo awake, but Dan stops me with a quick shake of the head.

Regular people houses. So this is what a contemporary Danube River house looks like. I like the red roofs. Should we wake Theo? Dan votes no.

 

It takes us awhile to figure this one out. We see the large protruding rock but what is that underneath? Some kind of statue? It must be. 

And finally some greenery. We know the land near a river is often fertile and perfect for planting vineyards. Wine and more wine. We think this is what we see. Still, Theo is no wine drinker. We leave him napping.

We see more of the same---picturesque houses, beautiful scenery and a lovely terraced vineyard that is eye-popping. Theo is fast asleep.

Parts of the river is, well, just river stuff. 

And then, we get the view that we can write home about. Surely, Theo will relish this one. He has to see this one, I think. Dan looks skeptical.

"Let the kid sleep."

"But this one will make his day," I insist.

"Will it?"

You tell me. Should we have woken Theo up for this view?

Theo and One Disgusting Vulture

 When you're traveling with a gangster cat like Theo, don't even think of visiting a zoo, especially the Tiergarten Schonbrunn, without visiting the aviary exhibit. But stay clear of the vultures!

We're on our way to find the elusive polar bears when Theo spots the sign for the birds. It's beginning to rain, and Theo doesn't like getting wet. We'll duck in for a minute. What can go wrong?

We pass a few exhibits of birds--no idea what kind of birds we're looking at and no time at all to find out. Immediately Theo is enthralled. He stops, crouches down and begins to do what cats always do when they spot a bird--their tails wag back and forth, their mouth opens and they make a half cackling half I'm going to bite your head off sound. 

I've seen Theo react this way many times before. Theo can be behind glass and the birds can be way off in the trees somewhere, but if he spots them, he wants them.

"I just want to sniff them," he says all innocence but you would have to be insane to let Theo get within 50 feet of a bird. Sure, they can fly, but this kid is fast. That urge to sniff a bird propels him like a rocket.

Which is exactly what happens. Theo disappears and reappears in front of the vulture exhibit. It is the bird to beat all birds. Mr. Vulture  has a black body, red head devoid of feathers, and a wingspan of about three feet.   

We notice he is carrying a mouse in his mouth. I've never seen that before. The poor thing--Mickey, Minnie (my heart breaks to think about it) is half in and half out. I can see its tail dangling down. 

Theo is enthralled. A few minutes turns into many minutes as Theo watches this vulture perch on a branch, a mouse dangling from his mouth. Will the vulture eat the mouse in front of us? Will he drop it and will it scurry away in a last bid for survival? 

I know little about vultures, only what I've seen in movies so I consult David Swanson's article on vultures: What do vultures eat? 

I learn a slew of disgusting facts. Despite the fact that vultures have a perfect sense of smell, excellent eyesight and can fly high above the Earth's surface, they smell terrible because they're not only carnivores but can feed on rotting carcasses like mice, lizards and insects. They have a highly acidic stomach which breaks down their food quickly and prevents them from getting sick from botulism, etc. They also have a unique defense mechanism--they can vomit the entire contents of their stomach to distract a predator, giving them time to fly off and reach speeds of about 30 miles per hour. They can consume 20% of their body weight in one sitting. And they urinate on their own legs to lower their body heat. That's why he stinks.

Because Mr. Vulture is behind glass, we can't smell him or hear him, but vultures do hiss, grunt and cackle as they feast. They are messy eaters but afterwards will take a swim and meticulously clean themselves.

It hits me. Should I be letting Theo get too close and watch a potential massacre unfold? Is he old enough for this? Then I realize the poor little mouse is dead so there won't be much drama. Of course, meanwhile, Theo is sniffing, sniffing the outside of the cage looking for a way in. I don't doubt it for a minute.

I try to get a video because frankly I'm a bit mesmerized myself, but there's an horrendous glare on the glass. We wait another few minutes, but the vulture does absolutely nothing. 

"Theo, can we go now?"

It has stopped raining temporarily, and we have a far way to walk to reach the subway station and get back to our hotel. 

If Theo could moonwalk backwards, he would. Imagine watching the final episode of a blockbuster series and your partner threatens to turn it off. Theo wants to see everything.

Dan comes to the rescue. "We have to go now."

Eventually Theo is ready. Fun fact: despite the disgusting nature of vultures, they are considered friendly and even harmless birds that other birds avoid--you guessed it--because they smell so bad. 

Lions, Lions and Theo, Oh My

 Sometimes I see my cats at home as miniature lions or tigers--their fur and coloring, the way they stalk their prey, and even though none the three--Theo, Sienna or Mico--have actual manes, they prowl and growl like a lion. That's why I'm not too surprised to discover that Theo becomes mesmerized by the lion exhibit. 

Now most zoos have lions--from the well known Philadelphia Zoo to the smaller and less known Paws and Claws in Pennsylvania. But how close can you actually get to seeing a lion up close and personal? I guess the other question is how close do you want to get?

The Schonbrunn Zoo has one of the most eye-popping lion exhibits I've ever seen. From one vantage point, as Mr. Lion stalks around the exhibit, he can get so close . . . well, it feels as if he is going to somehow pass through the glass that separates him from us and touch our noses.

Theo gets close, too. They stare eye to eye, and I know what Theo is thinking. He wants to sniff Mr. Lion. He wants to find some way in. I can see his head swishing from side to side. He knows there's glass there; he's well acquainted with windows and patio doors at home. 

He looks up at me expectantly. 

"This isn't a sliding glass door," I tell him. 

He looks disappointed.

"Trust me, Theo, you don't want it to be a sliding door."

Theo glances at Dan because it's obvious I'm not making any sense. 

"Lions are wild animals," Dan says. "Dangerous."

I want to say: "He'll want you for lunch, a cute little cat like yourself." I don't. No sense scaring the kid. I hope it's enough--this close encounter with a lion, even if he can only see him. 

Theo taps on the glass. The lion lets out a roar.

"Don't do that. You really don't want to rile him up."

Now he's pouting because Mr. Lion, assessing the situation, is beginning to stalk away.

"He either wants a snack or he wants a nap," I pronounce with authority. 

I'm wrong. 

"Look." Dan catches sight of another lion in the exhibit. The wife. She is proudly sitting on a rock at the highest point in the exhibit. That's where Mr. Lion is going.

"Look, Theo. There he is."

I'm reminded of an observation in Out of Africa, the memoir not the movie, when Karen Blixen, after her beloved Denys Finch Hatton has died and she has moved back to Denmark, receives a letter from a friend that the Maasai have reported seeing lions on Deny's grave in Kenya every sunrise and sunset. She sees the lions as a fitting tribute to the man she loved.

We spend a few more moments watching these two majestic creatures sit side by side, and I'm reminded how it's small moments like these that make life so wonderful.