I came home from the market. The door was ajar, stuck on the carpet under the humidifier. I was sure I had closed it. I straightened the carpet and closed the door, but neither Thatch nor Annabelle showed up to welcome me with their usual questions: 1. What’s in the bag? 2. Did you bring me a treat? 3. Did you see Val? 4. Did you bring me some turkey?
Thatch! I called. Thatch! Kitty kitty? I’ve got a treat!
No answer.
Annabelle! Annabelle? Kitty kitty?
I set my grocery bags down on the floor and walked through the apartment. No sign of them.
Linen closet? Nope, not there.
Clothes closet? Nope.
I rattled the jar of Purina Party Mix. Annabelle always shows up when I do that. She didn’t.
The windows were closed, so they couldn’t be playing on the fire escape. Jeez, that meant they were somewhere in the building.
I didn’t pass them on the first floor. They weren’t in the elevator, so they were not playing department store. I run the elevator, and ask, “which floor?” and they say “pet food, please” or “toys” or whatever catches their fancy. Then we ride up or down to a floor and I say “Toy Department.” I think it’s an embarrassment, especially when other tenants happen to board and wonder what the hell we are up to, but they like to play it.
So, they went out while the door was ajar? I would have to find them. Annabelle’s sense of direction is pathetic. She understands the apartment layout but she never remembers what floor she is on. She’s also poor at making change. I put the groceries away and took the elevator to the fifth floor. I walked down the hall to the stairs.
I could hear them arguing on the fourth.
Are you sure? That was Thatch.
Yes, Annabelle said. This is our apartment. I guess he’s still at the market.
I don’t think we are on the right floor, Thatch said.
Of course we are, Annabelle insisted.
He’s been gone a long time, Annabelle.
I walked down the stairs, turned the corner, and there were my babies, sitting in front of apartment 4C.
Daddy! Thatch exclaimed.
Hello, babies, I said. What are you doing here?
Waiting for you, Annabelle said. Where are your groceries?
I put them in our apartment. Where we live. Remember? 3C?
We aren’t on three? Annabelle asked.
No, Missy, we’re on four. Let’s go home. Come on, Thatch.
We walked to the stairs.
Did you bring me a treat?
Did you see Val?
I did, I said, and I did.
That makes no sense at all, Annabelle said.
Later, the three of us had our late afternoon conference of “what shall we do tonight?” and we needed to decide: movie or reading? We decided to watch a movie. I’ve finished reading A Child’s Garden of Verses to them, and Annabelle and Thatch cannot settle on what they want me to read next. She wants Freaky Friday, and Thatch cannot settle between comic books about The Flash and Green Eggs and Ham. He likes stories with food in them.
Now that Annabelle has her smart phone, she and Thatch take photos of their meals. This means I must take special care in setting the food artistically in their dishes; she’s very critical about it. Then, she takes a picture of Thatch sitting next to his dinner or breakfast and he photographs her in similar poses. They also take selfies several times a day. They want me to post them on Facebook, but I’m procrastinating.
After dinner, we had to decide on the movie. Annabelle wanted something with handsome cats and Thatch always asks for The Three Musketeers, so, while I turned on the bathwater, I was wondering what DVD in the apartment might appeal to both of them. Maybe The Incredible Journey, although I suspect Annabelle might prefer a musical. Thatch might like The Cat From Outer Space.
It had been a long day of paying bills, picking up after Annabelle and Thatch, and running errands to Staples, Zabar’s, several bookstores, the bank, and the corner market. I needed a nice long bath to relax and plan the next day. After my bath, we would settle in for some snacks and a movie. Once again, Annabelle insisted we watch The Birds or The Cat People, and once again I vetoed that. She went off to sulk. As the bathwater ran, I set out the snacks and bowls on the kitchen counter, and the phone rang. It was my brother Randy.
We own this piece of property in Ohio that our dad left us. We’ve been trying to sell it for years through several different realty companies, and nothing had happened. After the 2008 crash, very little real estate was moving. Every year my brothers and I have paid property taxes on the land, and every year we’ve wished someone would purchase it and take it off our hands. Randy called to tell me there was an offer, and we needed to discuss it. I sat down to discuss the situation and completely forgot about the running water in the bathtub.
Daddy? Annabelle tried to interrupt me.
Not now, Annabelle, I’m talking to Randy. He says hello to you and Thatch.
Daddy!
Just a second, Annabelle. It can wait. This call is important.
I watched her wander off to the bathroom with Thatch happily following her. We finished the real estate business and gossiped about family. My doorbell rang. It was Val, our super.
Hey, Val! How are you? What’s going on?
Do you have a leak in your bathroom? Val asked me. I realized my bare feet were wet.
Oh, no! I forgot! I said.
I have an emergency, Randy. I gotta go, I said to my brother.
I ran to the bathroom. Everything sitting on the floor – cleaning and laundry supplies, Annabelle’s favorite washtub, the wastebasket – floated on several inches of water. It was running into the kitchen and under the door into the hall. Sitting in the little pink plastic litter box I had purchased for Thatch when he first came here, Annabelle and Thatch floated in the bathtub. Emptied and cleaned months before, it no longer served as a litter box; I currently used it to hold odds and ends. Their actual litter box floated on the bathroom floor next to a soggy carton of litter too heavy to float.
Val carried things floating in the bathroom to the dry space in my living room, while I pulled every towel from the linen closet and carried them to the bathroom to soak up the water. As I grabbed the mop behind the bathroom door, the plastic litter box with two happy kitties sailed over the edge of the tub to their delighted laughter, floated along the bathroom floor to the kitchen and out the door to the hall as the flood carried them toward the elevator. They rolled with the tide around the corner and down the stairs. I could hear their singing “The owl and the pussycat went to sea . . .” getting fainter as the flood carried them to the second floor, then to the first.
Val tossed the towels onto the bathroom floor. I turned off the water and ran after them.
I’ll be back, I told him. I have to get them! I waded into the hall and reached the elevator.
The flood ended at the front door to the building. As the water rushed under the door to the street, Annabelle and Thatch had jumped overboard before their little boat crashed against the front door. When I got to them, they were laughing and shaking themselves dry.
Are you okay? I asked.
That was fun! Thatch told me.
I picked up the litter box and we headed to the elevator.
I tried to tell you about the water, Annabelle said.
I realize that now, I said. I’m sorry I ignored you. We have a mess to clean up. I’ll be doing a lot of laundry tomorrow. And apologizing to neighbors.
Is Val still up there? Annabelle asked as I pressed the button for the third floor.
Yep, and he’s probably really angry with me for this mess. Let’s go help him.
We left the elevator and walked down the hall. The big flood was now only a wet floor. I opened the door.
Thatch pulled my pants leg. Can we do it again?
©2018, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 