Mae Clair's Cabinet of Curiosities | From the Pen of Mae Clair

Stack of books with round eyeglasses on top, brass vintage candle, and carnivale mask in background

Are you as dumbfounded as I am? It seems like it’s been forever since I ran a Cabinet of Curiosities post. I used to have set days for these, but with my new crazy schedule, you’re apt to see these posts pop up any day of the week.

So here we are on Monday, kicking off a brand new week, and I’ve got a fun oddity to share. Many of you may already know about this marvel, but I was gobsmacked (love that word) when I stumbled over it.

If you’ve followed my blog for any length of time, you know I suffer from OCD—obsessive cat disorder. Yes, I am gonzo about felines. Especially my gorgeous girl, Raven.

That’s her in the photo, looking like the majestic creature she is. Yet as regal as she appears, the word people mostly frequently use to describe her (even those at the vet’s office) is “sweet.”

Photo of gorgeous black cat with large larges and long tail facing camera

She really does have an utterly charming disposition. She has the cutest little meow along with an extensive vocabulary of sounds. We have been known to hold lengthy conversations, and those bright intelligent eyes show exactly how inquisitive and attentive she is.

Yet as much as I love cats, I was astounded when I stumbled across direct registering. Wildlife aficionados, and likely even hunters, may already know all about this phenomena. Felines aren’t the only animals who possess the ability. Bobcats, coyotes, foxes, and even giraffes and camels also have a lock on it.

So what exactly is direct registering? It’s an animal’s ability to place their back paw in exactly the same spot as their front, leaving less of a trail. Seriously, how uncanny is that? Domestic house cats may not need that edge as a predator, but what an amazing advantage in the wild!

To see direct registering in action, check out this vid.

What a slinky, graceful way of moving. Cats are incredible creatures, and discovering this astounding ability just made me love them all the more. They make walking this way seem so effortless. If I tried it, I’d probably end up a twisted pretzel on the floor

Am I the only one who was clueless about this phenomena? Did you already know about direct registering? Either way, don’t you think that is one incredibly intriguing video?

Vintage still life with old books stacked near brass candle, with carnival mask hanging on wall, blurred in background.

Hello, and welcome to my first Cabinet of Curiosities post. Legends and folklore have held a fascination for me since I was a child. As an adult, I’ve been privileged to give presentations on the subject, and have woven bits of legend into most of my published novels and short stories.

Today, I’d like to step back into the dusty days of the Mississippi Delta when folklore and music intertwined in the life of legendary blues guitarist, Robert Johnson. When a hardscrabble existence and a hunger for fame, led a young man to bargain his soul for the trappings of success.

According to legend, Robert Johnson was already a moderately successful blues guitarist when he walked down to the crossroads on a moonless night. At the stroke of midnight he recited an incantation to summon the devil (or Legba, depending on the version of the tale). In exchange for his soul, the devil tuned Johnson’s guitar. From then on Johnson played with amazing skill no other musician could match. When Son House, a friend and mentor to Johnson, was overheard saying “He sold his soul to play like that,” it only served to stoke the fire of superstition.

vintage acoustic blues guitar with old battered suitcase, vintage tint on image

There was no question Johnson had peculiarities. He lived the life of a nomad, roaming from town to town peddling his music. He had an uncanny ability to pick up tunes at first hearing, and was once taught by a man rumored to have learned music in a church graveyard. He often turned his back to the crowd while playing, but could easily engage a group of listeners. Outgoing in public, he was reserved in private, well-mannered and soft spoken.

Having lost his sixteen-year-old bride and unborn child years before, he became a bit of a womanizer which may have led to his downfall. Legend has it Robert met his end when he drank from an open bottle of whiskey in a juke joint where he’d been playing. Some say a jealous husband poisoned the whiskey with strychnine, others that it was an ex-girlfriend. He suffered convulsions and died three days later. Still others whisper he was shot or stabbed. Whatever the cause, the man who sang “Hellhounds on My Trail” had nowhere left to flee.

Robert Johnson died at the age of twenty-seven on August 16, 1938 not far from a country crossroads in Greenwood, Mississippi.

Among his songs, six mention the devil or something supernatural. “Crossroad Blues” which has been recorded by a number of other musicians is also rumored to carry a curse. Several of those who have recorded, or played it frequently, experienced tragic circumstances–Eric Clapton, The Allman Brothers Band, Lynryd Skynrd, Led Zepplin and Kurt Corbain. I think it speaks volumes that all of these musicians and many others, kept Johnson’s song alive long after his demise.

In 1980 he was inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1986. Perhaps most telling of all, on September 17, 1994, the U.S. Post Office issued a Robert Johnson 29-cent commemorative postage stamp.

For Robert Johnson, King of the Delta Blues, his legend along with all of its inherent mystery, lives on.