Annabelle, if I’ve told you once, I have told you a hundred times: stay out of the plastic bags! I said that to Thatch when he kept jumping into my bag of tax receipts, I’ve told you that every time you jump into the bag for recycled paper . . .
A big plastic or paper bag has an allure I find irresistible, Annabelle replied.
She straightened her Red Cross nurse’s cap, picked up a bottle of Bayer children’s aspirin, and left the bathroom. I followed her.
I’m just trying to protect you two. It’s a good thing we were home or Thatch might be dead.
It was an accident, she said. He’ll be fine . . . I think.
Well, I’ll be glad when we know there’s no neck or throat damage, I said, tucking him into Auntie Laura’s heated bed.
Thanks, he whispered in a raspy voice.
The night before had been a strange night. Timid Thatch won’t pay calls, so he preferred to stay in. I gave him the TV remote, set him up in style on my bed with a small bowl of Purina Party Mix, and Annabelle and I left the apartment. Since I work at home, she cannot imagine that her favorite neighbors might not be working at home as well. She loves to be taken around and shown off, and the more praise she gets, the happier she is, and that’s all the best for Thatch and me. We saw no one, but she did check all the windows on the landings for security and sniffed every step and threshold.
The goblins are still here, she said. I smell them.
No, I believe they’ve moved to a building where the kitties aren’t so savvy, I said. You and Thatch must have scared them off.
The elevator crew had moved out, the new elevator was working smoothly, but Annabelle was still afraid to go near it. As soon as she’s convinced the goblins are no longer here, we’ll ride it to all the floors.
We got back to the apartment, and the large plastic bag into which I put all the recyclable paper flew past us, darted around the apartment to the window, then sailed under my worktable, made a U-turn to the bathroom, turned around and repeated the pattern.
It’s Thatch! Annabelle yelled.
Sure enough, when he headed back from the bathroom I could see that his head was caught inside the handle of the bag. He had panicked and was trying to escape the bag he dragged behind him.
Stop, Thatch! I called. Let me get you out of that.
I tried to catch him as the bag flew by. He ran faster. The pattern changed: no U-turn at my worktable. He turned left at the window and ran behind the filing cabinets. The bag caught on the vacuum cleaner, and Thatch was thrown forward. As I got to him, he pulled his head back and escaped his prison just before he shook and fell over in a dead faint. I wrapped him in a towel and, with Annabelle perched on my shoulder, ran for a taxi.
Is he dead? she asked. Thatch? Thatch!
No, he’s breathing. He might have fainted from shock and exertion. He was running awfully fast.
I thought he was wearing a cape like me.
Annabelle wears a red hand towel for a cape when she plays Wonder Woman.
Luckily, one of the vets saw us as soon as we arrived. Thatch was conscious, but he said his throat hurt. The vet checked him over, said he was one lucky little boy that Annabelle and I had arrived before he really injured himself, and sent us home. We’d know the results of the X-rays tomorrow.
As soon as we walked into the apartment, Annabelle put on her Red Cross nurse’s cap and I got the baby ready for bed.
I don’t think he needs that Bayer aspirin, I told her.
Thatch? she asked. Can I get you anything?
Ice cream, he whispered.
So, we all had a little vanilla ice cream, and Nurse Annabelle sat with him and sang “Till the Clouds Roll By” until the baby was asleep.
She has her moments.
Thatch awoke the next morning with a raspy throat, which worried me until the vet’s office confirmed just before noon that there was no neck damage, and I could breathe easier. Annabelle removed her nurse’s cap and returned to the latest Backstage casting notices.
I told Thatch that when I had my tonsils removed, ice cream and yogurt were the only things I could eat. He has no idea what tonsils are so I told him it was like having a really bad sore throat.
Let me get you some ice cream, Thatch, I said, moving to the refrigerator.
I’d like some, too, please, Annabelle said.
I gave them a little ice cream, and the day passed quietly. Thatch mostly stayed in his bed, but he and Annabelle joined me to watch the afternoon soaps and Judge Judy.
You seem awfully antsy, Missy, I said to her after dinner. Are you bored?
She ignored my question, but I could tell she was not content. She was restless and none of her usual diversions seemed to interest her.
After dinner I asked Thatch how his throat was.
Better, he rasped.
You barely touched your Fancy Feast. Would you like a little ice cream?
Annabelle put down the Backstage and leaned over the computer table’s edge.
Thatch, she asked, how long are you going to insist on ice cream for every meal?
My throat hurts, he rasped as I gave him a spoon of melted vanilla ice cream to lick. I could hear her disgusted sigh as she loudly turned the page of the Backstage.
Missy, would you like some ice cream, too? You don’t sound happy.
She said nothing, but the heavy sighs continued with each page turn. I gave Thatch another spoon of ice cream. I could hear her pacing around the table. She dropped my cell phone off the table to the floor. It broke into three pieces – body, back cover, and battery – and they scattered all over the floor. She followed this with her favorite laser toy, one dime, one nickel, and a jar of Purina Party Mix.
Annabelle! What’s going on with you? I stopped feeding Thatch and scrambled to pick up everything. She climbed to the top of a bookshelf.
Please, please, please, I thought to myself, don’t start tossing books.
I’m bored, and Thatch won’t play. You never give me treats, and you love him more than me.
This is nothing new. She isn’t really jealous of Thatch; she’s unhappy that she’s not the current center of attention. I put the ice cream away and went for the TV remote.
Here we go again, I thought.
You know that’s not true, I said. I’m so proud of my little girl. Do you want to watch the Kitty Channel?
I switched channels. Oh, look! It’s “Desperate Housecats.”
No, I do not.
You were such a good nurse taking care of Thatch. We love you so much. Maybe you and I could pay some calls after I tidy the apartment?
Oh, I don’t know. She jumped onto my bed and began grooming herself.
We could visit Val? You could tell him how you took care of Thatch.
She sighed and jumped onto the computer table. She paced around it several times and then lay down on the Backstage.
Would you like to play CDs? I asked her. You want to learn a new musical?
I want someone to produce CATS!
The fat pigeons on the fire escape started to sing “Memory.” Thatch applauded and joined in. Annabelle threw the Backstage off the table and retired to her washtub in the bathroom.
I went back to my taxes.
©2018, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 