Annabelle jumped off the computer table in disgust.
This is all your fault, she said to me.
I was washing their dishes in the kitchen, but I heard her. What’s wrong, Missy? I asked her. What’s my fault?
Facebook, she told me.
I told you about that.
He did, Annabelle, Thatch told her.
That’s all right, Thatch; you know she never listens to me.
I do, too, she said. When it’s important.
Well, isn’t Facebook important to you, Missy? You spend a lot of time there when you’re not trying to order things on Amazon or Petco.
Yes! It’s good for my career. But I can’t post anything.
I finished up the dishes and moved to the bathroom to clean the litter box. The kitties followed me. I closed the toilet seat, and sifted the litter.
I told you and Thatch last week that I was banned. For how long, Thatch?
A month, Thatch responded.
See, Thatch listens to me! That’s how long, Annabelle? I asked her.
Too long, she snapped back.
That’s how many days, Missy?
I know! Thatch answered.
Don’t tell her, Thatch, I said. How long is a month, Annabelle?
Too long.
I poured the dirty litter into a garbage bag, reassembled the litter box, the trap and the cover, and stood up.
How many days, Annabelle? I know you know.
Five?
Ha ha, good try, Missy! I opened the apartment door. Are you coming out with me?
Patrol time! Thatch yelled enthusiastically.
Annabelle casually walked to the open door. When she crossed the threshold, she ran jubilantly to the end of the hall and waited by the elevator. I carried the bag of dirty litter and tossed it down the garbage compacter chute. Then I pressed the elevator’s down button. I picked up Annabelle, put her on my shoulder, and entered the lift. We rode down to the first floor. I sat down on the steps leading from the front entrance to the lobby.
So, why did Facebook ban you? Annabelle asked. Oh, look! It snowed last night.
She ran to the large windows of the front entrance and looked out. Several sparrows were hopping about, foraging for food. Several pedestrians and a dog walker passed by, and each time the sparrows flew into the air, then flew back to hop around the sidewalk in search of breakfast.
Annabelle laughed, turned, and came back to me. So, why are you banned? she asked.
Some dumbass in charge said that my calling a nasty public figure in the Trump administration a “lying white trash cow” violated Facebook’s “community standards.”
With all the hate groups they’ve got on Facebook?
Exactly, I said. I must have put someone’s panties in a bunch. I’m not happy about it. I rose from the steps. Shall we walk, my dear? It’s patrol time.
Annabelle ran down the hall to the mailboxes and sniffed all the packages as she waited for me to join her. Then she ran up the stairs to the landing. I followed her. When I reached the landing, she ran up to the second floor. By the time I hobbled up, she was rolling about the linoleum and singing to herself.
You sound happy, I said.
It’s a good day, Daddy! she said. When we get back to the apartment, Thatch and I are going to talk about publicity shots.
She ran up to the landing and I followed. When I reached the landing I picked her up, put her back on my shoulder and carried her to the third floor. She chirped and trilled in happiness as she jumped down and rolled about the linoleum. I sat on the steps as she groomed herself.
You’re not going to the apartment? I asked.
In a minute. I just need to freshen up-
In the space of a second, she stopped talking and looked past me. Her eyes opened wide in terror, she jumped up, and ran down the hall to the apartment door. I followed her. As soon as I opened the door, she bolted inside, nearly knocking a waiting Thatch over.
Annabelle! What happened? I asked. Did you see a ghost?
No. It wasn’t a ghost. It’s worse.
What? Thatch asked her.
What did you see, I asked her. She jumped into my lap. She was still trembling.
Death, she told me. He’s waiting. Someone in the building is dying.
Who’s time is up, I thought. I wish it was the creep on the Facebook staff who banned me.
©2018, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 