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: 

https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_kindle_giveaway/370913

            

           

           

          

            

        

         

    

Rascal Chuck and the Catacomb Cat

    We blame our Egyptologist. You know how it is. When you're visiting an ancient city, you're perfectly content to ride around and look at the sites, sample the pastries and icecream, and eat at the famous restaurants. But the history know-it-all who's traveling with us is full of plans, and he absolutely insists we see the catacombs when we're in Alexandria. 

    Dan is interested. And, Chuck, well, I'm not sure. We plan to go early in the morning so it shouldn't be crowded.  Which means that Chuck should be able to wander around on his own and sniff, which is what he loves to do.

    I have to be honest. Before coming to Alexandria, I only know of the Roman Catacombs, which I always wanted to visit. I know Christians buried their dead there, and I also used to believe they hid there when they were being persecuted by the Romans. Then I learned the truth. The common method of burial back then was cremation, which Christians didn't believe in. Because of the shortage of land, they buried their dead underground in the catacombs. BUT rather than hide there, they used to congregate in the catacombs for meals to commemorate the anniversary of a loved one's death. Interesting. That was in Rome.

    The Catacombs of Kom-es-Shouqafa are considered one of the Seven Wonders of the Middle Ages and date back to 2nd century AD. They were tunneled into bedrock for a single wealthy family and consist of tombs (of course) but also statues and many other archeological objects that the Egyptians used to decorate the space. Today the catacombs are considered an engineering feat of some magnitude. The motifs you can still see decorating the catacombs are pure Ancient Egyptian, when the people still believed in many gods and goddesses, which they pictured as human, sometimes with animal heads. (Today roughly 90% of Egyptians are Muslim; 10% Coptic Christians.)

        The catacombs were used as a burial chamber from the 2nd to the 4th century and rediscovered in 1900 when a donkey accidentally fell into an access shaft.

    When we arrive, there's a circular stone staircase you climb down to reach the catacombs. Dan goes first with Chuck. I follow. You pass statues. Even though this is a burial place, carved from rock, you can see it is meant to be a place of reverence for those who are placed here.   

     When we reach the bottom level, we set Chuck free. 

      "Stay close by. No wandering around." I look around. And shiver. "You can get lost in here, Chucky." 

      "I'll keep an eye on him," Dan offers.

      "We want to see you at all times," I repeat.

       For a moment you forget why you're here. But then you reach the deepest part of the catacombs, where the bodies were laid to rest. 

     This is the saddest part, imagining what it must have been like to have to go underground to visit your loved ones. We stay a bit longer. Dan is true to his word and keeps Chucky in his sights as he's sniffing away. 

    We are just about to turn around and leave when we both hear the most blood curdling meow you can imagine. 

    "What was that?"

     The question has just left my lips, when Chuck, who one minute before was lazing around near Dan, shoots by about 30 miles an hour, past us, headed for that staircase.

     "What the . . . "

      And then, before we can even process that event, a black and white cat flies past, chasing Chuck. 

      "Did you see that?"

       Quickly we realize Catacomb Guard Cat has decided Chuck is one too many cats in this catacomb and is making her presence known. (I deduce it has to be a her.)

        I don't say a word to Dan. We both telepathically know we must jump into action and rescue Chuck. 

        We run across the catacomb hallway, up the staircase and out into the amazingly fresh air. We spot Catacomb Cat immediately. Hissing and growling.  Facing a mound of dirt that's been piled up on one side of the parking lot. With Chuck sitting on top.

        

    "How did he manage to get to the top of that--" 

    Chuck has had the good sense to run clear across the parking lot and get as far away as possible from this spitfire, who is standing her ground.

    We're out of breath but relieved. For the moment, both cats are at a standstill. Chuck, true to his non-violent nature, is patiently waiting for Catacomb Cat to go away. 

    "What should we do?"

    I examine Catacomb Cat more closely. She is actually tinier than we originally thought. "Shoo her away," I suggest.

    "Shoo?" Dan asks.

    "Well, you don't want to hurt her. She is only doing her job."

        Dan takes a few steps towards the cat. She steps back, her back arches, and then she runs back into the catacomb.

    Phew! 

    I'm just about to call Dan my hero, when I see the tell tale sign of an orange and white tail behind him. "Chuck."

    As we were discussing the situation, it seems that Chucky came down from the mound of dirt and took action. 

    Why did the Catacomb Cat run? Was it Dan or Chuck? We'll never know.

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: 

https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_kindle_giveaway/370913

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: 

https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_kindle_giveaway/370913

       

                         

          

        

Rascal Chuck and the Disappearing Cat

          It's been two weeks and one day. But who's counting? Chucky and Theo are still in separate rooms. We've taken down the baby gate. Closed the bedroom door.  And, yes, you might say we're moving backwards . . . and it's all because of what happened two Sundays ago.

        I wouldn't be exaggerating to say that Theo completely disappeared. One minute he's in the study upstairs, hanging out, and I'm practicing piano. I leave the room, baby gate intact, to make dinner. I come back up an hour later, and he's gone. 

        The room is approximately 20 feet by 15 feet.  Three chairs, two tables, four bookcases, a filing cabinet and a piano. No Theo. I look everywhere. Underneath everything. Rick Gillis in 2002 in Cat's Structure says that "Unlike human arms, cat forelimbs are attached to the shoulder by free-floating clavicle bones, which allows them to pass their body through any space into which they can fit their heads." This fact gives them a strange flexibility to squeeze into tight corners, between narrow crevices . . . 

        We widened the search to the house. Dan and I rip the place apart. We figure he must have slithered between the slats of the baby gate and is now on the loose. Chucky had developed this habit of perching near the baby gate. He would stare into the room, straight at Theo, as if he were attempting to put him into some kind of mystical trance. Theo didn't like it, and we theorized, he finally made a run for it and was now hiding somewhere.

        We can't find him. 

         Then I have a horrible thought. Earlier Dan has gone through the kitchen, opened the door to the garage and taken out the recycling. Theo most likely followed him.

         He must be . . . OUTSIDE. As I pronounce these words, like a scene in the movies, I hear the DUN, da DUN, da DUN sound which means something bad is about to happen. Then the dark clouds hovering over our house for the last couple of hours let loose and begin dumping buckets of rain everywhere.

        Dan opens the front door and looks out. "He could be anywhere."

        "I know."

        "He doesn't even know his name yet."

         "I know."

         "And he has an hour head start."

         "He's our responsibility. How can I go back to Tabby's Place and tell them I lost him?"

          We stay outside for close to an hour. We wear inadequate rain jackets that barely keep us dry. The backyard turns into a flood zone. We scour under bushes. Look under cars. 

           I feel sick inside. I am the worst cat mother. Ever. 

           Like two drowned rats, we come back into the house. Dan flops on the sofa. I go back to the study and go through the entire room again. I want to find him so bad. 

            I get a brainstorm. Chucky is pacing outside in the hallway. 

            "Chucky." I let him in the study. There are a thousand things I can say to him. He should have been nicer to his brother. This is the moment when he can make up for his not so nice deeds. But I know from experience it is better to be short and sweet.

            "Inspector Chuck Clouseau, FIND THEO."

             One thing Chucky can do well is sniff.  And sniff he does. He starts from one end of the room, and like the last time, he methodically smells each and every object he comes across. Until he stops. 

            Now, that's odd, because he's stopped directly in front of the massive barcalounger that sits in the corner of the room. 

            "C'mon, Chuck."

            He looks back at me. 

            I've searched underneath that chair.  At least a thousand times since Theo has disappeared. No . . . it's not possible. But Chuck is adamant. He won't budge. If he had a pointer finger, he would be literally pointing at the chair. If he were a dog, he would be . . . Well, finally I get it.

            I put all my weight against the chair and tilt it backwards, craning to see upwards, into the inner workings of the chair.

             Two little eyes peek back at me. 

               We've had that chair for ten years and never knew there's a compartment big enough for Theo to climb into. And sleep in for the last four hours. 

             Carefully, I put the chair down. Theo is safe and sound. He hasn't drowned in the freak storm that is presently pummeling our house. He hasn't been hit by a car and is lying defenseless and hurt in the middle of some street. He isn't lost somewhere. 

            Chucky, meanwhile, has sauntered over to Theo's food and is calmly munching away. 

            "Chucky, you're my hero!" I cry out, but he barely hears me. 

            That's how cat heroes are, I suspect. They don't need praise or snacks as motivation to do the right thing. Well, maybe they can do without the praise . . . but never the snacks. Oh, no. 

                 P.S.  When I'm not traveling the world with the rascal cat, I'm writing. The Blue Medallion, my latest novel, weaves together adventure, fantasy, and romance as Lily, the heroine, searches for redemption and love.

                 She doesn't know that the sacrifice she is called to make to fulfill her destiny will change her life forever.    

                  Available on Amazon in paperback 10.99 or kindle 2.99.

                  Follow the link for more information: 

             The Blue Medallion