I walked into the apartment, set Annabelle’s carrier on my bed, and unzipped the top opening. Annabelle jumped out of the carrier and struck a dramatic pose on my bed.
Ta-dah! Here she is, world, she yelled at Thatch, who watched her warily from the cat tree. I’M HOME! Gee but it’s good to be heeere!
Thatch laughed and applauded. Annabelle did her Diva Curtain Call bows to him, and he jumped from the cat tree to the bed.
All right, Ethel, I said, that’s enough. What do you want for dinner?
Chicken liver! Thatch shouted happily. Or salmon? Maybe salmon?
I don’t care, Annabelle said. Anything. I’m starving. You left me at the vet for hours with no snacks.
When I went to the vet on Friday, Thatch observed, I was out in no time.
That was nothing. You were there just for your checkup and vaccination, she said dismissively. I had serious issues with my sinuses. This can be deadly for an aspiring star, you know. It seems chronic-
Are you sick, Annabelle? Thatch asked.
A little. I’m mostly worried how it will affect my career. I would hate for my public to miss one of my performances because I was congested.
That would be awful! he told her.
Yes. Well, I’m better now. Let’s eat.
As I set their dishesof Fancy Feast on the mat I thought, Hmmm . . . Thatch sees Dr. Romero onFriday for his yearly physical and vaccinations and two days later Annabelle needs to see a doctor. She’s always had respiratory issues, but was today’s congestion serious or just a need for attention, asserting her importance over Thatch?
After dinner, we all settled in to watch “The Real Housecats of Manhattan” on the KittyChannel. Annabelle and Thatch love the hokum, and Annabelle’s niece is one of the new cast members.
Oh! the lies she tells about her background! Annabelle told us.
What? Annabelle? Lies? Thatch asked.
Oh, all that “rags to riches” nonsense. She grew up quite comfortably in the Hamptons, and her mother’s owners kept that litter in luxury, even if they weren’t purebreds. They all went to the best kennels! I should have been so lucky. My family was all poor tabbies.
Annabelle, I said, these reality shows are all B.S., you know that. Each of those cats needs a story line, and I guess “poor alley cat makes good” is your niece’s.
She never mentions her daddy, Thatch observed.
My brother? Annabelle asked. She wouldn’t dare! He’s worthless, always was, nothing but a tomcat, moving from litter to litter.
Do you think, I asked, that she’s trying to give herself more class by not mentioning him?
Well, it is a very snooty program, Annabelle said after a moment’s thought. All those other housecats are purebreds: Siamese, Persian, Angora . . . She’s very lucky she ended up in a posh home or she would never have been cast. You notice she never mentions me, the Broadway star? I’m her aunt! When she came to New York from Sag Harbor to model, she never let me know. Not a word. It didn’t work out, you know; she was too chubby and not ambitious enough –
Well, that’s over! I said. Thank God, I thought.
Now what? Thatch asked. Oh! “Hollywood’s Hottest Cats.”
You love this show, Annabelle, I said cheerfully.
I do, too! Thatch said.
I love Sunday night telly on the Kitty Channel, she purred. I wonder if R.U. Fémos can get me on that program?
“Hollywood’s Hottest Cats”? I asked. Maybe after they start running your cat food commercial.
When? Thatch asked.
Not soon enough, Thatch, she told him, not soon enough!
©2018, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 