Why are you in such a lousy mood? Annabelle asked me.
That damned elevator isn’t working again. I swear it’s dead more than it runs these days.
I thought they were going to repair it, she said.
I thought so, too. I’ve been thinking that since September.
Come on, Thatch said. We have more goblin-proofing to do!
They have been goblin-proofing the apartment. I came home in a lousy mood because the elevator was out again, and they wouldn’t let me inside because I didn’t have the password. I’m lucky their security questions are so easy, but I wish they would at least tell me what they are planning.
Annabelle was in a real mood. First, she insisted on helping me clean the litter until she decided to lie in the middle of the box; then she decided to help me fry an egg until her dancing on the stove top and counter caused an egg to fall and break on the kitchen floor; then she decided to take the printer apart, got bored, and decided she needed a nap on top of the printer. Later she knocked things off the table and watched them roll around the floor. I threatened to let the goblins have her, and Thatch had to plead for her life.
Several days later, The Flash and Wonder Woman both wanted to see the new Star Wars film, but I reminded them that we hadn’t finished the Trojan War and Troilus and Cressida yet. Annabelle had become obsessed with all things pertaining to the War, so I introduced her to The Golden Apple, which has currently replaced CATS on the CD player and she’s played “Lazy Afternoon” to sing along to Kaye Ballard over and over. There are moments I wish I’d never taught her to use the CD remote.
Now that she and Thatch have decided they are Wonder Woman and The Flash, all the throw rugs are in tangles from the Flash’s attempts to set speed records darting from bathroom to windowsill and back. Wonder Woman prefers leaping to the top of my bookcases, when they are not the Matterhorn, jumping onto my bed, and then swan diving to the cat tree, where The Flash tries to bite her tail while she lounges. They now have secret hideouts, like all decent super heroes: Wonder Woman likes the waste can in the bathroom, and the Flash prefers the plastic bag of recyclable paper.
I should never have told Annabelle about the Matterhorn or Mount Everest. We had to watch Third Man on the Mountain several times, and climbing the Matterhorn has become one of her games with Thatch. They put on their lederhosen and Tyrolean caps and climb the bookcases to the ceiling.
I had an appointment to take Thatch to the vet. He discovered this and went into hiding from me. I had to move the appointment from 10:00 to 11:00 because of his dodging me. I asked Val to come up and help me catch him. After he put up a fierce battle, The Flash was captured. We found him hiding under the bookcases. He’s so small that he’s able to crawl under a one-and-a-half inch space. Val was able to grab him, and he stayed in that carrier until we left thirty minutes later. Annabelle pranced around Thatch’s carrier just to piss him off, and I told her I was taking away the remote to punish her.
Since the elevator’s been dead most of the month, I was happy I did not have to carry Thatch and his carrier up and down three flights today. Val mentioned that the work to replace the entire system would begin in around a week. I decided to do laundry as well while I could get to the basement. I decided to sort it so that I could begin it as soon as we returned home. Then Annabelle decided to help me sort it, and I fired her for lying down on the job.
Why do I have to go? He asked me.
I want to be certain your conjunctivitis has finally cleared up.
It has, he insisted.
I’ll let her tell me that. I need to confirm her suspicion that you have a heart murmur.
A heart murmur, a shocked Annabelle said. What’s that?
I’m sure it’s nothing, but Dr. Mohr said he had one.
Is that bad? She asked.
We need to check it. And, Thatch, I will ask the doctor to microchip you.
Microchip?
Yes. It tells the world that you are my little boy and Annabelle’s brother.
Thatch! She exclaimed. This is wonderful. If you were not in that carrier, I would kiss you.
Well let’s go then! Thatch said enthusiastically.
He behaved nicely on the bus. Annabelle’s bus rides are torture since she talks or sings to everyone. We saw Dr. Romero, and Thatch was manicured, microchipped, and given a booster shot. He was tested for anemia and his blood was fine. Dr. Romero wanted him to have an echocardiogram to check the cause of his heart murmur, so I made an appointment for that.
That night Annabelle and I read through the delightful ASPCA Complete Guide to Cats. She was excited to learn that she is a mackerel tabby. Thatch thought she was making fun of him when she called him piebald, but after I showed him the picture and assured him that being piebald was very attractive and that he was quite a handsome boy, he stopped crying and went back to goblin-proofing his cat tree.
The next morning, I had an appointment to see my dermatologist. When I got home, there was a notice from the apartment management slipped under the door. I picked it up.
What did your doctor say? Annabelle wanted to know.
I had no melanomas. I was worried for nothing. And, I added rather proudly, she even said I have beautiful skin.
Annabelle burst into laughter.
What’s wrong? Thatch asked her.
He has beautiful skin! That’s so funny.
I’ll have you know, Missy, I said with some wounded pride, that I’ve been called attractive once or twice in my long life.
No, Daddy, I can’t say you’re attractive. You need some fur on your face. Now Thatch here will be very handsome one day.
So, Thatch, I asked him, what do you think? Do you agree with Annabelle?
He looked worried. If he sided with me, he faced the wrath of Annabelle.
I – uh –uh don’t know, he said. Uhm, maybe, maybe . . . you, Daddy!
Thank you, Thatch. Well, Missy?
I turned away to read the notice from the landlord. The elevator replacement would begin on January 15. We would have no elevator service for six weeks. There was a cry followed by a crash behind me. I turned. Thatch was no longer sitting beside Annabelle on the dresser.
Annabelle! Did you push him off?
Ask me no questions and you know the rest.
She sauntered off to the kitchen.
Several days ago she climbed to the top of a bookcase and knocked a stack of books to the floor. A day later, she climbed a DVD case to the ceiling (10 feet up, I’d guess) and nearly killed Thatch when she dropped a number of blank CD cases onto the chair where he played. An accident, I thought. Or was it?
The elevator crew moved in on the morning of January 15. They took over a big space in the basement, and every morning the building was filled with sounds of work in progress. They were noisy, and it was stressing Annabelle out.
Are you okay, Missy? I asked her. You don’t seem yourself lately.
There’s too much noise lately. Have you noticed?
You know there’s a new elevator going in? I’ve told you several times.
They keep me awake and I’m not getting my morning and afternoon naps. It bothers me.
I’m sorry, darlin’, I told her. As soon as I finish up my taxes, we’ll have to investigate the situation. Can you be a good girl and wait?
If I must, I must.
Thatch decided to help me with my taxes. I needed to organize my receipts, income statements, and 1099s before I began my tallies, so I got my sorting envelopes and spread a pile of my 2017 records out on my bed. He thought this was great fun. For a while he held onto my Magic Marker until I needed it. Then he lost it under the bed when he found that it rolled. While I was creating envelopes for receipts that I labeled “utilities,” “rent,” “entertainment,” “office supplies,” “income,” etc., he took a huge leap and landed in the middle of everything before enthusiastically jumping into the large plastic bag containing all the receipts, my 2017 calendar, checkbook records, etc. There he sat, looking triumphant like an Olympic gold medalist.
I fired him.
The next morning I slept in, despite the efforts of Annabelle and Thatch to get me out of bed. The night before, I made the mistake of telling them that I was feeling puny and that I might be getting sick again. So, their initial attempts around 6:30 to rouse me were under the pretext of how’s Daddy feeling this morning? I knew they wanted breakfast. I got up at seven, fed them, and went back to bed.
Around 8:30, Annabelle, wearing her Red Cross nurse’s cap, brought me an orange juice and a cockroach. Thatch carried a thermometer. I assured them I was fine and feeling much better than I did last night. I thanked my babies for their kindness and told them I loved them; they are the prettiest and smartest kitties on the Upper West Side. Thatch blushed and Annabelle preened.
She ate the roach.
She followed me around all morning, asking if I might be getting sick. I knew she was itching to put that nurse’s cap back on, lie beside me on the bed and watch soaps with me. I didn’t tell her about Thatch’s heart murmur because she would fret him to death.
So, to distract her, I flushed the toilet. It was her new obsession. I can’t get a bit of peace in the bathroom because she wants to watch whatever is in that bowl swirl around and vanish. She assumes now that any time I go into the bathroom, I’m going to flush the toilet, and she wants to be there. So, even if I’m simply there to brush my teeth or wash my face, I have to flush the toilet to make her happy, anything to relieve her stress.
Since I had been out of the apartment a lot this week, I needed to vacuum. Even though I have litter mats to catch the litter in their paws, the apartment floor after several days can seem like a trip to the beach. I moved the trunk to vacuum under it, something I haven’t done in too long, and I found a lot of Thatch’s toys: catnip mice, and a lot of Ping-Pong balls.
I asked him, Why haven’t you told me they were all under here? I could have retrieved them for you any time.
I forgot, was his response. Annabelle explained that they forgot because they had been too busy goblin proofing the apartment.
You did that early in January, I challenged her. I knew she was lying. The question was, why?
Yep, I checked my Amazon orders: Party supplies. A cake. A cake? Ordered last week and delivered on Wednesday.
A party? Thatch started to cry. When did you two have a party, I asked.
Thatch cried harder as Annabelle nudged him. This needed further investigation. I wondered if Val the super had got an invitation. I knew Annabelle was behind it.
After several weeks, the noise and sounds of the workmen climbing stairs and talking have brought Annabelle’s curiosity to a boil. Because I was worried that she’ll fall down the shaft or find herself caught in some location where I can’t reach her, I determined to keep her inside. Every day she and I argued about her going out for a stroll. She’s always liked paying calls on the tenants, and smelling the traces of the other animals living in the building. The princess wanted to meet her subjects.
You’d let Thatch go out, she said. You like him better.
Hmmm . . . sibling rivalry? I thought, we must tread carefully here. This may explain several things.
I love you both, I protested. You know Thatch is too scared to go out in the hall alone. You’ve told him about the ghosts in the basement, and now you’re telling him there are goblins in the halls.
There are goblins in the halls, she protested. They’re noisy.
Goblins eat cute little kittens, was Thatch’s contribution to the conversation. Then he chased a Ping-Pong ball across the room.
And you’re both cute little kittens, and I love you both equally; you know that, Annabelle. I won’t let goblins or ghosts hurt either one of you. And, besides, the apartment’s been goblin-proofed. You told me so.
Goblin proofing? I still have no idea what that means or what they did to goblin-proof the place. My biggest fear was that they were going to put bits of fishy cat food everywhere until the apartment stank so badly that nobody would enter.
And those party supplies from Amazon? Annabelle’s Amazon order for party supplies troubled me since (a) they were delivered and (b) I wasn’t invited. Lately she had been adding movies to my Amazon wish list. I hate to tell her she’s too young to watch Cat On A Hot Tin Roof.
So I relented. I told Annabelle that she and I would make a tour of the building; she could check out the elevator work and ascertain that the building was not falling down. I said, you might even see Val.
At that, she started her little polka dance; she has a big crush on him. Brushing her was difficult because she wouldn’t stop checking the mirror or dancing about. Fortunately, her hair’s so short she really needs little brushing.
When we returned, I had to read to them. We’re halfway through Mother Goose, which Thatch loves, but Annabelle says she’s too old. She prefers Perrault’s “Puss in Boots.” Still, she loves to act, and she and Thatch look forward to playing parts in Mother Goose. It goes something like this, when Thatch remembers to say the correct words:
ME: The three little kittens, they lost their mittens, And they began to cry,
THATCH: Oh, mother dear, we sadly fear That we have lost our mittens.
ANNABELLE: What! Lost your mittens, you naughty kittens!
Then you shall have no pie.
THATCH: Meow, meow, meow.
ANNABELLE: Then you shall have no pie.
This usually ends in chaos because Thatch never remembers what all the kittens say. Annabelle, on the other hand, loves playing the Mother. Her imperious shock on “What!” almost rivals Edith Evans’ Lady Bracknell in its resonance. I always praise her.
We went out for another stroll the next morning. I think her favorite part of our excursion is when she decides she’s had enough and climbs my leg. I pick her up, she purrs, trills, and chirps, and I carry her home. Sometimes she climbs up to sit on my shoulder. Then, when we’re home, she fills Thatch’s head with horror stories about the premises outside the door and how brave she is. I smile and cuddle Thatch when he gets scared, and Annabelle cheers him up by making him sing and dance with her.
A few days later, Annabelle and Thatch, wearing their pith helmets, emerged from the bathroom. I knew they were up to something because I heard them whispering to each other earlier.
So what’s going on? I asked. Another party?
Thatch looked very nervous when I mentioned the party because he’s a terrible liar, and Annabelle nudged him.
No party, he said. We’re going to kill goblins.
My babies are so brave! I exclaimed.
I’ll let the party issue slide for now. I’m more concerned about their roaming the building alone.
Annabelle jumped in. The goblins are taking over the building! No one’s safe.
Aha! The light bulb flashed on.
Yesterday, Annabelle wanted to pay calls on the neighbors and, when we wandered through the building, the noise of the crew installing the new elevator was really intense: grinding metal, loud calls down the shaft, noxious odors. She became really frightened, and I had to carry her home, where she sought refuge shopping on Amazon with Thatch. He wants a pretty collar with a bow tie; she wants the moon.
I told her then, for about the 20th time since January 15th, that we would soon have a new elevator for her to play in. She never listens. I blame it on several things: her watching the SyFy channel when I’m out, mooning over photos of male cats taped inside her Amazon carton, spending way too much time on the computer, and fretting over Backstage casting notices.
Instead, she went on and on about goblins taking over the building. Thatch has been terrified: no cute little kittens are safe from goblins. She’s told him about the goblins in the halls and the ghosts in the basement for weeks, but I thought she was trying to scare him.
So, I put on my pith helmet and we headed for the hall.
Since the goblin threat was one of my best solutions to keep two little devils in line, I can’t say I’m unhappy that Annabelle has confused them with the elevator crew. It made those goblins a little more real. So, we made a fast tour of the goblin zone. Luckily, it was during the crew’s lunch break and all was quiet. We searched every floor but the basement. Goblins are one thing, but the ghosts in the basement are too spooky even for Annabelle. Every floor seems to have one or two ghosts, but the ones in the basement are really creepy. They scare me, too.
After two trips to the basement laundry room with me, she refused to go back, but she was curious to see if a goblin is as frightening as I’ve describe them. Little Thatch is such a scaredy-cat I was impressed that he actually agreed to help Annabelle kill goblins.
Where are the goblins? Thatch asked. He held my hand during the entire patrol of the building, to Annabelle’s scornful looks.
Don’t look superior, Missy, I said. You got so scared making social calls I had to carry you home. What if the goblins won and ate you two instead? What would I do without my babies?
He’s the baby, she said as she sniffed the apartment doors.
Yes, I said, and he was willing to face a goblin with you. That’s love.
She stopped sniffing the elevator door and licked Thatch’s ear, knocking off his pith helmet. I picked it up.
You want to know what I think? I asked them. Since goblins hang out at night to eat cute little kittens who should be in bed, I suspect they got tired of making all that noise and went to sleep. I betcha they hide in those old storage spaces in the basement.
The answer seemed to work. At least until the workmen return from lunch. I could see Thatch’s big sigh of relief.
So, no goblins were killed on our watch, and we wandered back to the apartment for a treat.
We put away our pith helmets and they stretched out on my bed while I prepared their treat. They had some Purina Party Mix to celebrate, and I had a ham sandwich. Thatch wanted the ham. Annabelle wanted the cheese. They had some water and I had something I told them was water.
Then we put on some Lawrence Welk and danced the polka.
The following morning, Annabelle was determined to pay social calls. She feels her public demands it. So, after I made the bed, I told her we’d take a tour of the building. She sat on top of the chest trying to drop my keys, cell phone, and various tchochkes into Thatch’s food bowl. Thatch thought this was funny and egged her on.
Annabelle! Why do you keep doing this? I asked her as I picked up everything.
Humans will never understand the thrill of the fall and the sound of the crash until you have experienced it, was her haughty reply.
Come on, Missy, I said, maybe we’ll see Val.
Val had stopped by yesterday afternoon to play games with her and Thatch, and she spent the rest of the night talking about him. The thought had her so delirious that she insisted I brush her before she’d leave the apartment.
We did not see Val, but we did see our neighbor Mark, the jazz pianist, who told us about the Japan concert trip he’s making soon. Then one of the nice men on the fifth floor joined us to discuss the elevator’s finishing date. He’s tired of walking five flights, and the elevator construction’s taken a month now.
Once Annabelle had been praised and told how pretty she was, she was bored, and I took her home. She had to tell Thatch about it. Two hours later, she wanted to go out again.
This time we saw no one, but the elevator crew was really noisy. There were no noxious fumes, but there was much banging and sounds of men echoing up the elevator shaft.
Goblins! she cried, as she shrank against the wall by the stairwell. She wouldn’t move, just looked helplessly at me.
I scooped her up and carried her back to the apartment, whispering in her ear, They won’t get my baby. You’re safe now.
Thatch brought her a cockroach to calm her nerves. She gave him an Oscar-winning account of facing death in the hall, and he held her paw. I put on the CATS CD, she and Thatch sang “Memory.”
I cleaned out the litter box.
Thatch decided he’s no longer playing The Flash to Annabelle’s Wonder Woman. He wants to be Ninja Cat. This is fine with me as long as I don’t have to pay for karate lessons. Annabelle is already on my back about acting classes at the HB Studio. She also says that she knows she is Wonder Woman, destroyer of evil goblins, cockroach crusher, and star.
So the next morning, Thatch – I mean, Ninja Cat – was prancing about on his back legs and waving his front paws at Wonder Woman.
I haven’t seen anything this funny, she said, since I tried to teach you to polka.
I have no claims to being a dancer, I replied. I thought you looked funny trying to teach Thatch how to do the twist.
Like me, Thatch has little to no dancing talents, but he does look magnificent – if a little spastic – in his ninja poses. I praise him a lot because he needs the confidence boost. Annabelle has enough confidence for both of us.
That night Annabelle, Thatch and I watched A Street Cat Named Bob. I enjoyed it, Thatch was bored, and Annabelle was thrilled to find a starring feline role. She kept asking me if Bob had any songs in it since the leading man sang quite a bit.
From now on, she told Thatch and me, I will check out the Backstage film casting notices as well as the theatre casting.
The next morning, after I fed them, I asked, So, what are my babies going to do while I work on my taxes? I’m going to be busy for a couple of days.
Help Daddy! Thatch enthusiastically responded.
When he helped me a couple of weeks ago, he wouldn’t stop jumping into the large plastic bag holding my tax work and chewing on the taxi receipts. Then Annabelle lay on the rent and utilities invoices and sang “He Writes Me Off His Income Tax.” It was hell.
Wouldn’t you rather play with Annabelle? You might teach her a few ninja moves. She’s so smart, maybe she could tell you what she’s learned from An Actor Prepares.
Annabelle stopped browsing on Petco. You should see her wish list.
I am not playing ninja, she said, as she climbed off the keyboard. You’re no fun. I’m taking a nap until you finish your taxes. Come on, Thatch.
She headed off to her bathroom washtub, and Thatch trotted after her.
Okay, I said, I promise tonight we’ll all watch a movie together.
Once I finish these taxes, I thought, I have to explain to her why That Darn Cat is a better choice than Faster, Pussycat, Kill! Kill!
The next morning, I was leafing through my check register for some nice tax deduction when Annabelle and Thatch climbed all over me. They wore their pith helmets, so I knew they were ready to explore or do battle.
I can’t play. I’ve got to finish these taxes, I told them.
You have to come with us, Annabelle jumped in. The goblins are back!
I should have known. The elevator crew had got behind schedule because of the flu, so they were working on a Saturday to finish up ASAP. I had seen the foreman days before, and he had explained the situation. He was sick, then the crew was sick, and the schedule fell apart. They had hoped to finish yesterday, and they have to finish by February 28. This morning they had been particularly noisy.
Well, you know goblins; they’ll be noisy and soon go to sleep in the basement, I told them. We live in a goblin-proofed apartment so we’re safe.
Goblins eat cute little kittens!
And my Thatch is a cute little kitten, I told him.
I rubbed Thatch’s head. He did a few ninja poses on my envelope of W2s and 1099s.
Annabelle shoved him. Stop it, she said.
So why are you wearing crucifixes? I asked. I don’t know where you find these things.
You won’t let us have guns, Annabelle said.
Thank God, I thought.
Much as I try, I cannot keep Annabelle off the SyFy channel when I’m out. She likes to scare Thatch. It’s fun, she tells me.
Thatch, stop chewing on that crucifix, It’s bad for your teeth.
Annabelle snatched his crucifix and dropped it into my bag of tax receipts; he jumped in to retrieve it. There was no way to get back to these taxes until we resolved the goblin issue.
Okay, I said, putting on my pith helmet, let’s survey the building and see if we find any goblins. They’re afraid of grumpy old men.
And he’s the grumpiest, Annabelle muttered to Thatch.
We started for the door. I had to untangle Thatch from his crucifix chain.
Leave your crucifixes here, I told them. I don’t want any neighbors to think we can’t tell the difference between a goblin and a vampire.
The next morning, Annabelle and Thatch put on their pith helmets and told me they were tired of my inability to eject the goblins from the building.
They sound very hungry today, Annabelle said. Are you going to help us? You said they don’t like grumpy old men.
They eat cute little kittens, was Thatch’s contribution.
Hey, kids, Daddy’s just the maid here, I told them. You’ve assured me this place is goblin-proof. But . . . if it will make you feel easier, we can go out and check on what they are up to.
When I opened the apartment door, the noise was god-awful. The elevator crew was due to finish up today, and the noise coming from the elevator shaft was really appalling. We crept to the stair well. The noise was coming from above, maybe the fifth floor.
Poor little Thatch panicked and wet himself, and I had to take him home.
That’s okay, baby, I told him as he shivered in my arms. Brave soldiers have moments like this, and you’re my bravest little soldier. Maybe you and Annabelle should have a treat and then visit with the birds on the fire escape.
I gave him some sliced deli turkey, which he loves, and sorta sang “Memory” to him until he stopped shaking. I always sing the words wrong so he can correct me. He thinks that’s really funny.
Annabelle, you want some turkey? There was no answer. Annabelle? Annabelle, where are you?
With the goblins? Thatch asked.
Oh, no! I started to hyperventilate. She can’t be out there alone!
I left Thatch with the birds and ran out of the apartment.
Annabelle? Annabelle, where are you? I called down the hall to the stairs. I saw her pith helmet on the landing to the fourth floor and ran up the stairs. The noise was deafening. I found her at the door to apartment 4C ,above ours, desperately trying to get inside. She looked terrified.
Just then the elevator doors opened, and there was the crew in hard hats and protective eye gear with sparks and flames shooting everywhere, welding, soldering, applying grinders to hot metal, making a din. It was a vision of hell or a Wagner opera.
I thought Annabelle was going to faint from fright. She ran in circles, jumping at the door to 4C as if she could crash through it. I ran to pick her up. She climbed out of my arms and up to my shoulder in panic, shaking and calling for help.
As soon as the elevator doors closed, I pulled her down into my arms and carried her to the stairs, where I stopped and picked up her helmet. As we started down from the landing, I heard the elevator opening onto the third floor. The noise became really loud, and her panic increased. Still on the steps, I held her until I heard the elevator close and move down to the second floor. Then I carried her into the apartment. Thatch ran to us.
Annabelle! Are you okay? he asked.
I’ve seen the goblins! she told him.
Were you scared? I was really scared.
No, I said before she could say a word, she was very brave.
She took my praise graciously and opened her Backstage.
And March has arrived. The elevator crew is moving out. The shell of the old elevator lies all over the sidewalk in front of our building, and the crew has been clearing their gear out of the basement.As soon as the City inspectors sign off, the new elevator is good to go. I won’t miss the walk up three flights each time I enter the building, but I will miss that elevator crew to keep those cats in line.
Well, Annabelle, I said to her. The goblins have been evicted. They’re gone.
She was lying on the floor with her back to me. She rolled over to face me.
I certainly hope so. Fighting goblins is exhausting.
You have several beds and you have an Amazon carton. Why are you sleeping in this mangled carton?
She was lying on top of a cardboard carton that once held thirty-six Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
Humans will never understand the attraction of good cardboard, she said.
This isn’t even good cardboard, I told her. It’s flimsy, and it’s no longer a carton. You’ve smashed it to a flat piece of cardboard. The Amazon carton’s so much sturdier.
I like it, she said. Then she ignored me and refused to discuss it further.
I thought, As soon as you’re off that piece of trash I’m tossing it out.
No, you are not, she said.
©2018, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 