Rascal Chuck's Adventures at the Philadelphia Museum of Art

     Trust me, we don't take the rascal cat to the museum to have him trash this glorious place. It's my idea to bring him to the museum because I want to expose him to a little culture. Let me make that perfectly clear. 

    But it's a bad idea. Cats and culture don't mix. Usually.

    The Philadelphia Museum of Art is a wondrous sanctuary. With 200 galleries of American, Asian and European art, it is one of the oldest public art museums. 

    If you like Impressionist Art, there are galleries of Monet, Manet, Renoir, Cassatt, Cezanne, and the list goes on. I want to see Monet's The Japanese Footbridge and the Water Lily Pool, Giverny 1899, one of my favorites. When I was in Giverny years ago, I walked across that bridge. Monet, who left hundreds of great paintings behind once said, "My garden is my most beautiful masterpiece."

    This, of course, is lost on Chucky.

    Another popular favorite is Van Gogh's Sunflowers, 1889

    Still, no response from the rascal cat but a yawn. 

    But, don't despair. There are so many wonderful things to see in this museum. Would the cat be impressed by oppulence on the grandest of all grand scales? This museum has actually the entirety of a drawing room that existed circa turn of the century--every stick of furniture, every painting, every knick-knack--on display so we can see how they used to live in the upper crust of society.

    He barely gives it a glance.

    We move on to the next exciting space. A Hindu temple from 1560. A woman, on vacation, saw pieces of a temple lying about in ruins, bought the pieces, transported them back home to her backyard, died and her family donated them to the museum. These pieces were put back together and now exist as a true to life Indian temple people used to worship the gods or for weddings or other reasons to hang out. 

     Chucky gives the temple one sniff and then moves on. 

     But then things dramatically change. We are in one of the Asian Art Galleries, and we finally see something that Chucky might be interested in--a dog cage. But this isn't any dog cage. The rings at the top and bottom of the cage are made of white jade. This cage was designed for a hunting dog who lived in a pavilion of marble floors, slept on silk cushions, and wore silk brocade outfits.

        

    Chucky is staring at the cage.  He then sits up and begins to bounce. Oh, no. I know what that means. He wants to jump in that cage. Somehow he imagines he'll open that door latch and hop in. Live for a brief moment the life of a court dog. 

    "No, no. You can't do that. We're in a--"

    He leaps up. Lands on the grayish area around the cage. And if life were kinder, there wouldn't be a square glass enclosure around the cage that Chucky bumps into. 

    He glances back at me.

    "It's an antique," I try to explain. "The Qing Dynasty. Maybe goes all the way back to 1644."

    He smacks against the glass with his paw. Several times. In defiance.

    I actually feel sorry for the kid as I lift him off and place him back on the cold gray floor. 

    Nothing prepares me for what happens next. We enter into the courtyard of a French cloister that is not enclosed in glass. This is all Chucky needs to see. And smell. There is a fountain with bubbling water in the center. 

    I call out to Dan. "Get him. He's heading for the water."

    We're no match for Chucky when he sets his sights on something. He can move faster than a speeding bullet. And at times he feels more powerful than a locomotive when you reach for him and he jerks himself out of your grasp.

    

    So there he is, perched on the edge of the fountain, tilted just enough so he can drink the water from the fountain. 

    "I don't think he's supposed to do that," I say.

    Dan says, "Just let him be."

    "I only hope he doesn't jump in for a swim." 

    Joke. He hates getting his fur wet. That's the only saving grace. And the fact that although we come close, the rascal cat isn't evicted.

    Visiting the museum is not a complete disaster. We do discover that Chuck can appreciate paintings as long as they're of animals. He stares long and hard. He emits a sigh. 

        

    Finally, at the end he asks if he can have his portrait up there near the monkey. So when we get home, he poses for the camera. What do you think? Should we hire a famous portrait painter to capture the rascal Chuck for all posterity?

    

Rascal Chuck Escapes the Wrath of Mother Nature

     Imagine a quiet Sunday morning with nothing to do. 

    Brainstorm. Why don't we take a trip to the NJ Botanical Gardens in Ringwood, NJ? A beautiful day is forecast with a slight chance of showers.  The Gardens are part of Ringwood State Park, dedicated in 1984--a 96 acre wonderland of plants, shrubs, evergreen and deciduous trees, terraced gardens and woodland paths.

    "You can spend the entire day outside," I tell my rascal cat. "Spend the entire day . . . sniffing."

    Chucky's on board. Dan likes to be active. Spending the day outside taking photos is up his alley.

    If you've ever been to Longwood Gardens in Kennett Square, PA, this is a smaller and less glitzier version of having gardens upon gardens on exhibit, but the gardens are still quite impressive. We sign up for a walking tour (scheduled for later in the day), but off we go to explore the landscape on our own. 

    I love the fact that you walk under a trellis that leads you into a kind of magical landscape.

    Imagine lush grasses and meadows that seem to go on forever. 

                            https://youtu.be/I1EW8UMlvmw

    

    Dan is a particular fan of anything purple.

 He's more than happy to sit on a nearby bench and stare at the very purple bush. I sit down, too . . .

but am much more anxious to get a move on and see what else is here. 

  

  We spot beautiful angel statues and fountains, scattered throughout the gardens. 

    

   The gardens are breathtaking. Wherever you look, you see a tree or a bush or a landscape you want to capture. 

    For Chucky, he feels much the same way. But for him, wherever he looks, he sees something he wants to sniff. There's barely a complaining meow out of him. 

    Still, from long experience, I've learned to keep one eye on him. Just in case. 

    Before we know it, it's time for the tour. An elderly gentleman, who is an ex-schoolteacher, tree expert, and volunteer at the Botanical Gardens for centuries begins to lead us around the part of the Gardens we haven't yet explored. This guy knows everything about the trees that are here. He can spot and label, recite the history and birth place of every tree that now sits proudly in the landscape. 

    It's still a beautiful day even though the sun has gone in, the sky has turned a bit gray and there's that dense feeling in the air portending that something is brewing. I push that thought out of my brain and concentrate on the trees that we pass. 

    But . . . a drop falls. Then another raindrop. We push on. 

    I forgot to mention that Chucky loves to be outside. He's been known to go out in the coldest of weather. He'll traipse through snow, muddy trails, puddles, wet grass, sticky sand, and a host of other unpleasant surfaces to get to where he wants to go. 

    But he doesn't like rain. He doesn't like to get his fur wet. He insists on being dried off with paper towels if he happens to get rained on when we're home. And, if I have to be honest, he hates the stuff. 

    We are about four fifths of the way through our tour when it becomes apparent to everyone that it is about to rain. Or it is raining. Big time. Dan and I both have rain jackets with hoods. No umbrellas. Of course. 

    Chucky has nothing but a sour look on his face as he continually gazes up at the now rain soaked sky.

    The tour continues. Our tour guide is not bothered by rain splashing all around him. He is too busy talking about the magnificent trees. 

    I pull Dan aside. "What should we do?"

    We turn to look at Chuck. He has this distressed look on his face. He doesn't really care about the trees. Hearing about them. He's sniffed quite a few. 

    I, on the other hand, would like to stay for the rest of the tour. I like trees. 

    "I think we should go. He's going to look like a drowned rat in another five minutes," Dan says.

    Of course, he's right. 

    "I'll pick him up. Keep him under my jacket, and we'll head for the car."

    Chuck is no light weight. He likes his snacks. So this is a generous offer.

    "That's a plan."

    Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans . . . we turn to pick up Chuck. Rescue him from the rain and he's gone. 

    Why do I feel like I've seen this movie before? I barely have to say a word to Dan because we are so experienced at looking for this rascal. 

    Think like a cat. If he hates the rain, he'll run for cover. 

    We scan the perimeter. He's got to be under something. 

     Immediately, we spot an orange and white tail sticking out of a low hanging evergreen branch. Sure enough, he must have skedaddled across the wet grass to escape the wrath of Mother Nature. 

    In the car, on the way home, after Chucky is warm and dry, after he's had his snack and is resting oh so comfortably in the back seat of the car, I ask him my favorite question.

    "What was the best part of your day today?"

    He meows contentedly. 

    Chucky likes adventures, but in the world according to the rascal cat, there's nothing like a good snooze.

    

    

     

Chuck Discovers the Gibbons

      I'll be honest. I didn't even know what a gibbon was until we stumbled upon this adorable gibbon family at the Philadelphia Zoo. 

    Chucky was moping around because he was finally realizing he couldn't adopt a daddy gorilla and take him home. We were about to leave the PECO Primate Reserve when Dan hears a bit of whooping and hollering coming from a bunch of young kids who are watching something extraordinary. 

    "Let's go over there, Chuck," he says, "and see what's going on."

    At that very moment, a kid yells out, "They just delivered Big Macs to the gibbons."

    "What?" I ask.

    The kid's mom laughs. "The keeper threw in some big bags. Filled with something. He thinks they're Big Macs."

    That's all Chuck needs to hear. Anything related to food usually gets the Rascal cat's attention. 

    We skedaddle over to the large plate glass window that overlooks an outside area where there is a kind of jungle gym for all the primates who live there. Sure enough, the entire gibbon family of four is outside.

    Mercury is the dad and Phoenice is the mom. Ophelia is the younger daughter who is very active. Polaris is the older brother. The kid is right--they all seem to have a big brown grocery store style bag. 

    

     That kid wasn't kidding. I try not to think about what's in the bag and focus more on the gibbon itself. 

    Is a gibbon a monkey, chimpanzee or closer to a gorilla? How smart are they? Are they dangerous? Can you have them as pets? Are they on the endangered species list? 

    Usually Chucky is asking all these questions. This time I'm the curious one. He already has his face pressed up against the glass--watching, like all the other kids because the two little gibbons can't seem to stand still. Watch this YouTube video and see what we saw:

                               https://youtu.be/_rjULzaTcdg

  In a nutshell:

  gibbons are extremely acrobatic (no kidding)

  live in close knit family units

  don't have tails so they are considered to be small apes

  can recognize themselves in mirrors which show some sense of self awareness 

  have arms that are one and a half times longer than their legs which means they can propel themselves through trees with ease and move with alarming speed

  live in rainforests in the wild

  love to eat fruit not Big Macs

  are known for making loud calls that echo for miles in order to ward off enemies and defend their territory

   do not make good pets but, unfortunately, the population of gibbons is vulnerable because people think they're cute and want them as pets

    I make sure to share all this vital info with Chuck, especially the part about they do not make good pets, not wanting a repeat of--let's adopt a baby gibbon scenario, but amazingly he doesn't bring it up this time.  When the gibbons calm down, when the show is over, we turn around to leave. 

    "I'm proud of you, Chucky." 

    I turn to Dan as we're on our way outside. "Maybe he's finally growing up. No drama. This is good."

    "Or another scam. He's looking for a reward."

    We are, of course, passing Tiger Terrace which sells hamburgers.

    "You don't think--"

    Cats are carnivores. This rascal cat loves chicken, turkey, meatballs and hamburgers. No buns. No catsup or onions. Just meat.

    "Oh, what the heck." 

    We order three. Chucky's other nickname, of course, is the Belly Boy and the shape of that belly, well, we don't want to talk about that. 

    

Rascal Chuck and the Peacocks

     The Grounds for Sculpture in Hamilton, NJ  is known world wide for beautiful sculptures placed here, there and everywhere in a magnificent landscape. 

    Somehow Chuck discovered that nestled among the sculptures were peacocks. Loads of peacocks living there. He wanted to see them. And he had tons of questions about them. 

    So as we wandered throughout the grounds, it was clear from the start that Chuck had a mission. Find the peacocks.

    We'd been to the zoo before and to spot a peacock in all their splendor is exciting. But imagine a magical place where everywhere you look, you see another one.  And you can sniff another one.

    Peacocks are amazing to watch. Someone whistled and we watched as the peacock looked up and all around. What is that sound? 

    

    Chucky wanted to know--what do peacocks eat? 

    In front of us, to our amazement, a peacock was munching on an apple. They also eat beans, peas, leafy greens, berries and other kinds of fruit.

    Chucky wanted to know--why do some peacocks have super long bridal veil like feather tails and others don't? Well, the peacocks are the boys and the peahens, which are smaller and mostly brown and white are the girls. The boys are so beautiful in order to attract the girls during mating season. Together they produce peachicks. 

    Chucky wanted to know--how many feathers are on that tail anyway? About 200 or so. 

    Chucky wanted to know--how long do they live? In the wild, between 10 and 15 years, but in captivity they can live up to 50 years. 

     Chucky wanted to know if peacocks can fly? Like Superman. Yes, but not long distances. Still, it's amazing to see them move  through the air. 

    Of course, what Chucky really wanted to do, was dying to do, was get close enough to sniff a peacock. Cats and dogs alike learn so much from their environment from their sense of smell. But, as you would have guessed, as Chucky angled closer and closer, the peacock shifted away. 

    Mr. Peacock was no dummy. 

    Chucky did not give up and was about to try again when something happened. I'm not quite sure what occurred, but someone startled one of the peacocks. Peacock #1 let out a shrill call that sounded like a high pitched HELP. Peacock #2 repeated that same high pitched HELP. The air around the peacocks vibrated with the sound. Scientists say that humans can only hear a fraction of the sound that peacocks make. 

    It was a bit unworldly. 

    Chucky jumped back. I'm assuming he heard more than I did. And whatever he heard, it was enough. He was warned. Keep your distance, buddy.  And the Rascal cat did. To live another day and have another adventure.

Chuck and his Gorilla Infatuation

     The oldest gorilla in the world--a female--who happens to live in the Berlin Zoo just turned 66 years old. It was all over the news. The zoo celebrated her birthday by delivering branches filled with a large assortment of fruits, vegetables and watermelon (with a big 66 carved into it), a selection like she might find in the wild, if she were on her own and one day was very lucky and hit the jackpot. Ha. Ha.

    The remarkable thing about Fatou was, indeed, her age. Most gorillas live to be about 35 years old and can live to be 50. So Fatou is beating the odds. In 2022 Ozzie, the oldest living male gorilla was 61 years old when he died in captivity.  

    Sometimes that's all Chucky needs to hear--a captivating animal in captivity story--to get his heart racing. 

    "No, Chuck. We are not flying to Berlin to meet Fatou."

    Imagine the Rascal Cat pouting.

    "Gorillas either need to live in the wild or they need to be behind glass in captivity."

    More pouting.

    Dan intervenes at this point. "The closest gorillas I know live at--"

    Before I can shush him, the proverbial cat is out of the bag. We are on our way to the Philadelphia Zoo to meet the infamous gorilla family. There are five of them, and there is always a crowd. Dad and mom and three "kids," younger gorillas who have come from all over and are now part of this wonderful, sprawling gorilla family.

 

 

    You can watch them in their inside quarters--behind glass. Or when they're outside, you can watch them hang around outside--behind glass. 

    Unfortunately, the glass is usually smudged with the fingerprints of kids who point and press their noses up to get a closer look. 

    Gorillas spend a lot of time sleeping. So when they're active, it's a real treat. Of the five, the most impressive is Motuba. He's the dad and the one Chuck becomes instantly obsessed with. 

    

    When I've been at this zoo before, Motuba has been sleeping. The younger gorillas swing around. They jump from place to place. Basically entertain the people that come to visit. But Motuba sits in a corner. And sleeps. Or looks for something to eat. 

    This time, and maybe because Chucky wants it so much, Motuba saunters right over to where we are standing behind glass (waiting for something to happen) and plops down in front of Chuck. 

    Motuba is massive. I can see right away Chuck is impressed. Dan holds Chuck up so that Chuck can get a good look at him. Chuck has a million questions and there's no one better to ask than Dan, semi-genius.

    "Gorillas eat plants, mostly," he explains to Chuck. "And they love to eat. In fact, they can eat all day long." (Chuck can definitely identify with that.)

    "How strong are they?" I ask.

    "They are four to five times stronger than people. An adult gorilla is about 4 1/2 feet tall, but they have long arms. A girl gorilla's arms are 6 1/2 feet long. A boy gorilla's arms can be 8 feet long."

    I ask the question that is on my mind. "Are they dangerous?" 

    Dan shakes his head. "Actually, gorillas are quite shy and reserved. They attack people only if they feel threatened. Usually they will roar first and do a make believe charge to scare you before they attack."

    I have to admit, they are fascinating to watch.

    

      They are like us in so many ways. They live in family groups. They hang around with each other, cozy up to each other. They use tools. They laugh, and they grieve. 

    I remind Chuck that Koko was a female gorilla in captivity who learned 2,000 words in sign language so she could communicate. 

    When it's time to leave and go to another exhibit, Chucky doesn't want to go. I get nervous. Chuck usually has a plan, a scheme. 

    "We can't stay here all day."

    Chuck meows.

    "Oh, no. We can't take Motuba with us. He has his family. This is where he lives. There's no such thing as adopting a daddy gorilla."

    Chuck looks too forlorn for words. I hate disappointing the kid, but there's no way I'm bringing home a 600 pound gorilla. I have to think fast. I casually glance at my watch. "Isn't it time for your snack?"

    That's one thing Chuck and Motuba have in common. Eating all day long. Chucky's eyes light up. Reluctantly he leaves. Well, not that reluctantly. But before he goes, Chuck puts his face right up to the glass and waits. Sure enough, Motuba glances over and tilts his head, as if trying to figure out why Chuck looks so different from every other kid who's there.

    Later I say to Chuck, "You might have been the first cat Motuba ever saw. Imagine that."

PS If you happened to read last week's blog, Rascal Chuck's Favorite Snake, you'll want to know Chuck's choice for the snakiest snake:

                                     The Green Anaconda

    

    

Rascal Chuck's Favorite Snake

    I am no fan of snakes. When I was a kid, a snake slid over my foot in my girlfriend Donna's backyard. I screamed for an hour. When I was a principal, I was forced to stand still while a boa constrictor was wrapped around my neck during a snake presentation for fifth graders. And be brave about it. 

    Chuck, my rascal cat, feels the exact opposite. He loves snakes. He finds them fascinating. When we visit the Philadelphia Zoo recently and discover the Rare Animal Conservation Center is open (finally), Chucky clamors to see the snakes. 

    "What for?" I want to know. They are enclosed behind glass. Some of them are poisonous. Or they can kill you by constricting the air out of your body. "Don't go in there if all you want to do is free the snakes, Chuck."

    But he just wants to see them. Admire them. "And, mom, take some photos so humans can appreciate them," he meows.

    Dan is the one who suggests asking our readers to make a decision. "We can showcase five snakes and let everyone decide which snake they think is the best."

    "The creepiest," I say.

    "The best example of snakiness," is Chucky's vision.

    So in we go. The Conservation Center is necessarily dark. Exhibits flank either side. The place is crowded with moms and dads and lots of kids. Everyone has their camera. Several kids want to adopt a snake they see and take them home. Their parents laugh. No way. Chucky thinks the parents have a poor attitude.

    We trudge along. 

    Exhibit #1 is the Northern Water Snake which lives in central North America. This snake is unique because the baby eggs stay inside the mom until they are ready to hatch. When the babies are born, they come out as little snakelets, much like human babies. No eggs here. The only difference is the snakelets are completely independent of their moms. And, they're snakes, of course.

    Chucky wants to see a snakelet. Wriggling around. Unfortunately, the snake on display is full grown and stares right at him. 

       Exhibit #2 is the Timber rattlesnake which lives in the NE United States. These snakes are venomous and like to hibernate in deep crevices in rocks. They return year after year to the same place, which makes them an easy target for destruction! Today they are in danger of extinction, which is sad. I'm trying to have sympathy for them. I hate to see any creature get obliterated from the earth, even if it is a snake.

    If there was no glass separating this snake from us, the innocents observers, Chucky would have jumped right in. 

    "I want to sniff him," he meows. 

    "Not today."

    Exhibit #3 is the West African Gaboon Viper. It grows six feet long and six inches in diameter. Despite their size, the pattern on their skin and shape of their head allows them to hide on the floor of a forest and ambush small mammals and birds. Well, that sounds terrible to me. These are BIG snakes. You would not want to casually come upon one of these giants in the forest. No way.

    That's my humble opinion. Not Chuck's. 

    I try to explain. "Chuck, you're considered a small mammal. This snake could eat you. Gulp. You're history."

    Chucky shrugs. He'll take his chances.

    Exhibit #4 is the Pueblan Milk Snake found in central Mexico. It is a beautiful snake--look at that pattern on its skin. And it looks nearly identical to another snake that is venomous. The Pueblan Milk snake is not poisonous. It's fake look helps protect it against predators. Pretty cool.

    We stay at this exhibit a long time. Chuck is fascinated watching this snake writher around. There are signs all over asking us not to bang against the glass. Chucky, of course, ignores those signs. He bangs away. 

    Exhibit #5 is the Green Anaconda. This snake is one of the largest predators in South America. They eat waterfowl and reptiles and can even snatch a monkey from a branch that happens to be hanging over the water. (That part about the monkey really freaked me out.) This photo does not do this snake justice. It is enormous. But it is a bit heartwarming to see two of them cuddled together. Yeah, even in the snake world, there is love.

    

     At the end of our snake experience, I ask Chuck one more time, "Did you really like seeing all those snakes?"

    He tilted his whiskered face as if to say--Are you crazy--Of course. I liked seeing them slither and slide along the ground. I liked their faces.  

    Meow. Meow.

    Stay tuned next week to find out which snake was Chucky's favorite.  And if you have a favorite, leave a comment and let us know!!!

   

Rambo Chuck and the Lion's Roar

    Who would have guessed that a lion's roar could turn my mild- mannered orange and white rascal cat Chuck into Rambo at your typical wild animal park? 

    Everything that day started out normal. My sisters and I are all inveterate animal lovers--owning cats and dogs. Watching animal shows on TV. So it's no surprise that if there's a zoo within a 100 mile radius, we will want to go to see the animals. 

    That morning my four sisters and I (and Chuck, of course) drove to a wild animal park called Paws and Claws. We were in a particularly goofy mood. It felt good to be outside, wandering around and not have to wear masks and worry about catching the dreaded covid virus. Besides, this zoo had a good reputation for treating the animals well. The cages were kept clean. The animals were well fed. And there was a fantastic gift shop!

    Before we even snatched our first glimpse of an animal, as we were still traipsing down the connecting path from the gift shop to the actual zoo part, a sound reverberated through the air that shook us to the core. It sounded like part thunder and part end of world. If you've never heard a lion roar, in real life I mean, you can't begin to understand how a deep throated lion's roar carries for miles. The air shakes around you. When I was on safari in Kenya, Africa, on the plains, a lion's roar put the fear of God into you. But even here in the supposed safety of a zoo, the roar can stop you in your tracks.

    "What was that?" one of my sisters asked.

    "I don't know, but it sounded like . . ."

     I knew what it was. I'd heard that sound before, and I could only hope to God that the lion who roared so ferociously was safely behind bars. 

     Even though I knew what it was, I didn't know what it meant. I glanced down at Chucky. He'd stopped in his tracks. His ears perked up. He looked around as if he was expecting something to happen. In that instant, his entire manner changed. I should have noticed the not so subtle change in his personality, but I didn't. You know that moment on screen when Clark Kent becomes Superman. When Bruce Wayne becomes Batman. But this was real life and for Chucky, he didn't throw off his fur and don another costume. 

      My sisters continued their walk down the path and were easily distracted. They had a chance to show off their silly side by pretending to be kangaroos. I tried shrug off the unsettled feeling of the roar and to even get Chucky to pose, but he would have none of it.

     His avoidance of all things fun should have tipped me off that he had something else in mind. I have to admit, most times, he is one step ahead of me. 

      

  After the kangaroo posing, we got serious about visiting all the usual suspects that you expect to meet in a zoo. Our cameras were clicking away. We were oohing and aahing and moving along at an unnaturally quick pace, mostly spurred on by Chucky. 

    

     To see the entire zoo takes about two hours (not counting the gift shop time.) Chuck seemed happy to be outside and sniff along. He seemed somewhat interested in all the animals, but in a curious kind of way he maintained his distance. I did my best to keep my eye on him. 

     At one point, the path we were following forked. Chuck took the less obvious path. He began to move faster and faster. That's when I knew something was up. 

    I glanced behind me. My sisters had stopped to watch the monkeys. 

    "Chuck, wait up."

    But he didn't.

   Suddenly we were at the lion's cage. Several thoughts flew through my mind. #1 Chucky looked like he was headed straight for the cages. #2 Lions usually don't roar just to roar.  #3 There was more than one lion in that cage and they looked restless.

    

     By this time I was out of breath. My imagination was running wild. One gigantic lion's paw reaching out of the cage and strangling my cat, for example, was just one tragic thought I had. Did he look like a snack to them? Were these animals really all that well fed? Were they roaring for more food?

    

      By this time, Chuck reached the lion's cage. He began to paw the part that held the lock. Not in some half casual way, but he pawed that lock the way he pawed our stair carpeting at home, like he was trying to rip it to shreds. When that didn't work, he began to cat-body slam the cage, hoping that it would suddenly disintegrate. 

    He was trying to free the lions from the cage! Crazy cat. He was obviously affected by the fact that he and the lion shared the same lineage. His pawing caught one of the lion's attention who ambled over. Chuck meowed. I thought to myself--if this lion roars again, I will have a heart attack.

       But, no, the lion came over just to sniff. He had no intention of eating Chuck. I think maybe he even shrugged as if to say: "No use, buddy. I can see what you're trying to do, but they really lock us in here." 

     And for good reason.

    A few seconds later the lion drifted back and laid down for a snooze. 

    I picked Chucky up and carried him away from the cage. 

    "What were you thinking?"

    Before he had a chance to meow, my sisters appeared. 

    "Don't get too close to that cage," one of them advised. "Those lions look dangerous."

    "Yeah, remember that roar we heard?"

     "You see," I whispered. "And you were trying to set the dangerous lions free? They may look like you, and you may think they're just big cats, Chuck, but trust me there's more than meets the eye."

      After all, a roar is way different than a meow. And twice as dangerous!