I was in a bad mood when I walked in the door. The Lincoln Center library trip with my friend Josh was fun, but it became a futile experience since we learned nothing new about the subject we were researching. I thought, well, at least I can check out a song I need for a choral arrangement and then go to the market for Thatch’s turkey before heading home.
As I said goodbye to Josh before heading off to find that song on the second floor, my phone rang. It was Val, who had the plumbers at my apartment to repair the mess they had created just before Christmas. How soon can you be here? he asked me. I’ll see if I can hold them.
Thirty minutes? I suggested. I’ll get a bus. I forgot about the song and the market and headed straight to the bus stop at 66th Street and Amsterdam. Only the next bus, I discovered, was fourteen minutes away, and a thirty minute deadline seemed impossible without a taxi.
Damn you, MTA, I thought, for your constant attempts to make us suffer for transportation.
So, I took a taxi, and that was $8.00 I spent in vain when I got to the apartment and Val informed me the plumbers had left. This whole morning had gone from good intentions to complete futility within ninety minutes, and my mood had gone from enthusiasm for all things to a fierce desire to see the entire world dead at my feet.
Napping in the cat tree, Thatch was happy to see me. He stretched to his full length, extending his front paws to me. As soon as I removed my coat and set it over the back of the chair, I ran to him to hold his face in my palms and to rub his exposed belly as he rolled onto his back. All of the rage rolled off me. I wanted nothing more than to hold my little boy, cuddle him, and be at peace with myself and those I loved.
Good trip? he asked me.
No, Thatcher, it turned into a lousy morning. I hate it when circumstances screw up my plans.
Relax. You let it get to you.
Sometimes it’s not easy to do that. Where’s Annabelle?
She’s retired to your pile of theatre programs. She claims she’s doing research, but I know she’s napping.
She loves her cubbyholes.
That she does, Thatch agreed.
I couldn’t afford to spend that $8.00 for a taxi, and in the long run I spent it for nothing. 2018 had been awful. It sucked. The poor health from 2013 continued, and I was constantly in pain from the arthritis/sciatica in my left leg. With or without my cane, my balance was precarious. Then there were the other issues: very little work, a recording that would have saved my financial mess me was postponed until 2019. I was up to my eyeballs in debt, plumbing problems, and a continual bathroom leak the inept or incompetent plumbers were unable to repair; it was one irritation after another. I didn’t want to coast through life, but I was terrified of what could happen if things did not turn in my favor. Whenever I thought it was turning, there was another setback.
I started to cry. Since my work trickled to next to nothing in June, I was barely holding on. By July I was turning down invitations since I could not afford to leave the apartment, and having to cough up the money in August to pay property taxes on the land my dad left my brothers and me in 2007 – and which hadn’t sold in eleven years! – wiped me out completely. I was two months behind in rent, Medicare insurance, utilities, life insurance, and living on a tuna salad sandwich a day. Every bit of cash that came in paid something or went to care for Annabelle and Thatch, but I lived in constant fear of the notification that I would shortly have my utilities or cable and phone cancelled. Our apartment’s new agent was a rabid bitch sending emails threatening legal action after I had advised her that my cash flow would be out of joint until the recording occurred. I remained constantly anxious that I was in a snowballing situation I would never live through. My wrapping was about as loose as it had ever been. And I wept.
Daddy? Daddy? Please don’t cry.
Oh, Thatch, I don’t know how we’ll survive this hole I’m in. I worry so much about you and Annabelle. I don’t want to lose you and I don’t want to die and leave you –
Listen to me: it will work out. You’re not going to die yet-
I think about suicide too often.
No, not exactly. You threaten it. You brood about it, but I don’t think you really mean it.
But if I do it, I have to do it so it looks accidental. I need my life insurance to cover my death expenses.
Well, you’re not going to die soon, so stop thinking about it.
How do you know?
Trust me. I know.
I want things to go my way for a change. This bad run has gone on for too long. Am I atoning for past sins?
Thatch laughed. Atone? Do you even believe in God?
No. Well, I don’t know. I pray to one when I’m scared, and reject the concept when I’m cynical –
That’s most of the time, Thatch drily replied.
I laughed as I cried. You and Annabelle know me too well! I’d like to think there’s something, but I don’t like to think I’m the subject of some higher being’s nasty games. If there’s a God, I’m tired of his sick games at my expense –
Are you sure you are?
I’m what?
The subject of some higher being’s games.
I’m not sure of anything these days. I just want to live out the rest of my life comfortably with you, Annabelle, friends, family, and work I like. I don’t want to retire, and I can’t even afford to retire. I want to be comfortable. I don’t want to worry about emergency vet bills for you two or emergency costs for me that I can’t afford.
Thatch crawled onto my lap, made three circles, and settled. Well, he said, I’m not sure the universe is playing nasty games on you-
Thatch, I just need things to work out in my favor for a change. I’m not untalented, I’m intelligent, and I can’t get hired to save my life. Twice this year I got inquiries about work that never turned up. It’s hard to stay positive and friendly –
But you must, I think.
Yes, Thatch, I must, but it’s hard not to hold a grudge or have a bad attitude. I don’t like being pissed off at people I consider friends, either. At least two people I think of as friends told me they would have work for me this year and neither came through.
Perhaps they had their own issues that changed their plans.
I know, but it hurts. Then there’s that little turd in England who thinks he’s the queen of musical theatre. And so many things he states are wrong!
That’s harsh.
I know. He’s one more user who was friendly while they climbed over me. I could use his help now, but these days he’s hiring people he thinks are more important. Maybe he’s afraid I know more than he does?
I guess it’s hard not to be provoked when people ask you for favors and then turn around and hire someone else.
Well. it hurts. I’m too old, and I’m down, out, and very unhappy! I started crying again. I also hate dumping this on my friends every day. I’m grateful for every one I have.
Things will change, just wait. Life’s a pendulum; it swings in your favor, then swings away. The trick is to survive the bad times.
How do you know that, Thatch?
I may be a kitten, but Annabelle and I see things you don’t. For instance, we see ghosts, and I know you do. Sometimes.
Yes, I’ve seen them. I’ve watched my dying mother talk to a roomful of dead relatives that none of us who were with her saw. I think they were waiting for her to die. When my dad died in 2007, he told my sister-in-law the room was full of angels.
You believe in angels?
Angels? I guess so. I’ve had several experiences that have no other explanation. In 1970 or 1971 – I don’t remember now – I fell asleep while I was driving one night from Pennsylvania to Ohio. Something shouted my name and woke me just before I plowed into the back of a huge truck.
That’s scary! You were lucky. You were alone?
Yep. I was sure it was a guardian angel. The only other time something like that happened was in August, 2013, when my health fell apart. I was in so much pain. I couldn’t stand up straight from all the compressed muscles. I thought I needed a chiropractor, and there was one about two blocks from us. I hobbled to the corner of Broadway, convinced I was dying –
You weren’t dying! Thatch said.
Well, no, I wasn’t, but the pain and effort were terrible and I was panicking. I got across Broadway to the bus stop, and I was trying to flag a taxi but I couldn’t keep my balance, it was painful to stand up straight as possible, I was sweating like crazy, and I was crying from the pain. I sat on the bench and thought, what do I do? What do I do? Suddenly, this large black woman walked up to me out of nowhere and said, you seem to be in great pain; can I help you? I said, I need a taxi; I’ve got to get some help. She hailed a cab, helped me into it, and I’ve never seen her again. I firmly believe she an angel!
Yes, Thatch observed, and you never know when you might be talking to one.
You’re my angel, Thatch! I love my little boy.
Feed me, Seymour! I want a treat. It was Annabelle, fresh from her nap. Thatch jumped from my lap to join her.
Sleep well? he asked her.
I did. Isn’t it about time for our treat?
You’re right, Missy, I said. Let’s see what I can get for all of us.
I headed for the kitchen with Annabelle and Thatch dancing at my feet. They had some Purina Party Mix and low-sodium deli turkey, and I had a drink.
Several days later, I hung up the phone after arranging a loan to cover some bills. I had seen my accountant about my 2018 taxes, and I knew my refund would clear up my cash flow in three to four weeks. Annabelle had been watching my phone conversation with great interest.
You got your loan?
I did, Missy. I am so fortunate I have kind and generous friends. I’m so grateful.
You know, Daddy, Annabelle said, Thatch and I want to help. We’ve been thinking of what to do.
That’s so sweet, Missy, but we’ll be okay. Things are looking up. I’m working at the moment.
You’re sure?
I am, I said, but I love you all the more for offering to help me. I’m getting nice returns from the IRS and the State as well, and in March the recording will finally happen. We’ll be comfortable for a bit.
Well, Thatch and I are ready to help.
We are! Thatch shouted from the cat tree.
Thank you, babies.
I thought no more about it. I finished my choral arrangement for a California chorus, and my London friend Martin emailed me about writing a chart for his concerts. I was busy and relaxed for a change, and Annabelle and Thatch seemed happy as well. They had their daily visits with the pigeons on the fire escape, Annabelle found excuses to see Val, she and Thatch worked on her auditions.
One day I asked, How’s the musical coming along?
Terrible, Annabelle said. Neither Irving Berlin nor Jerome Robbins will answer my letters. I need them.
Maybe you should look at a few other songwriters or directors . . . just in case, you know.
I suppose you’re right. Thatch! Thatch! We need to listen to some CDs.
Thatch ran to join her, and they vanished into the linen closet where Annabelle keeps her office. I went back to my arrangement for Martin.
Several days later, when I came in from a day of running about, Annabelle and Thatch were not in the apartment. I called Val.
Have you seen Annabelle and Thatch today? I asked him.
I did this morning. I saw them walking towards Broadway.
Really?
Yes. I was cleaning the building next door, so I couldn’t get to them, but they were heading towards Broadway. It was them. They’re unmistakable.
What are they up to? I wondered. I hope they’re not lost again. Let me get over to Broadway and see if I can find them. I don’t like Annabelle being out in this chilly weather. She has enough respiratory problems.
Call me back if you need me.
I found them panhandling next to Cafe 82 at the corner of Broadway and 82nd Street.
What are you two doing out here? I asked.
Making money, Thatch said.
To help you out, Annabelle added. We want to pay the rent.
Awww, that’s so nice, but how long have you been out here?
We came out after you left, Annabelle said.
That was five hours ago! I exclaimed. You must be freezing.
I’m cold, Thatch said.
We made some money, Annabelle told me. Will this take care of the rent? She showed me one of their dishes sitting on the sidewalk.
I looked at the change. There was about thirty-five cents in it.
Oh, it sure will! This is almost two months rent. That was so sweet of you to help me.
They applauded and danced around my feet.
Now let’s go home, I said. It’s time for your dinner and you’re both frozen stiff.
I’m not stiff, Thatch said, just cold.
It’s an expression, Thatcher.
English has too many subtleties for me, Thatch told Annabelle.
She jumped onto my shoulder, and I carried Thatch, the dish, and the change back to the apartment.
People actually paid you? Were you busking, I asked.
We were. We sang our carols, but “Frosty” doesn’t go well without my top hat for the dance.
The first thing I did when we entered the building was to stop at Val’s apartment and let him and Heidi see the cats were safe. After I fed them, we all sat in the bathroom with the hot water in the tub steaming up the room. It was cozy but damp.
I really hate sitting here in this steam, Annabelle moaned.
Dr. Mohr says the steam is good for your respiratory system. We have to keep your sinuses from drying out. And I don’t want either of you catching a cold from being outside all day.
Annabelle curled up in her washtub. Thatch sat beside her.
Now, Annabelle, I said, you and Thatch and I need to talk seriously. I am so grateful that you and Thatch want to help Daddy get out of his financial crunch.
We want to help! Annabelle exclaimed. If you don’t have any money, my career could suffer.
We’ll be okay, I said. I just don’t want you and Thatch running around the Upper West Side on your own. This is dangerous. You know what happened the last time.
I’ve got a new idea for work, Annabelle told me. What if I rent myself out as an emotional support animal?
We’ll talk. Let’s get out of this steam.
I made the cats promise not to go panhandling, and I hoped that sooner or later one of Annabelle’s auditions through R.U. Fémos would start paying off. Other things came up, and I soon forgot about Annabelle’s attempt to help me with my finances. Two or three days later I carried Thatch in his carrier to the bus stop.
It’s freezing, Thatch said. Can’t we go home?
No, Thatch, we have to go to City Vet for your booster shot.
We got to the bus stop on Broadway, and I could see a bus was pulling into the 86th Street stop. I sat down and put his carrier on my lap. You won’t be cold long. I see a bus approaching.
I don’t like shots.
I don’t blame you, Thatcher. I don’t either. Annabelle hates them. Are you warm? I hate this polar vortex nonsense.
Unlike Annabelle, who relishes the attention, Thatch fears strangers so our bus ride was very quiet and, luckily, short.
I don’t understand, Thatch, I said to him, why you’re so shy around people, but you’re not when you and Annabelle go caroling.
Annabelle’s the show, and she needs me to help her.
That’s sweet. You’re a good brother, and she’s lucky to have you. And here’s our stop.
Back into the cold? He sounded very unhappy.
Yep. I’m sorry, baby.
When we reached City Vet, I handed over Thatch and the carrier to a veterinary technician who took him to the back. As I waited, I watched a couple of small dogs and their owners and visited with an opera singer who was covering the role off Carmen at the Met.
And here’s my boy! I said as the technician carried Thatch’s carrier to me.
He’s now up-to-date on his shots and we trimmed his claws.
I forgot to mention that! He really needed a manicure. Thank you. Let’s go home, baby.
Val met me at the front door of our building.
Hey, Val, I said. Where’s the warm weather gone? Thatch and I are freezing.
I wanted to catch you before you went inside, he explained. There’s a man with a summons waiting for you in the lobby. I knew you wouldn’t be gone to the vet for long.
A summons? I asked as my mind ran through a long list of people I might have offended in the last month. What the hell?
Well, I said to him, let me see what he’s got. I may need to call my lawyer.
I’m cold, Thatch said.
I’m sorry, Thatch. Let’s get you inside. I carried him into the building, and, sure enough, there was a man waiting by the elevator.
Mr. Moore? he asked.
I am.
Your super said that you had gone to the vet, so I figured any person with a pet carrier must be the one I’m looking for.
Val – the super – tells me you have a summons for me?
Yessir. I needed to hand it to you personally.
Do you know what this is about? I asked.
No, sir. I just have to be sure it’s in your hands. He handed me the envelope and I pressed the elevator button. That’s a good-looking kitty.
Thanks, I said. His name is Thatch, and I need to get him into a warm apartment. Thank you again. I stepped onto the elevator and wondered all the way up about the summons. Who was taking me to court?
As soon as I walked into the apartment and released Thatch from the carrier, I sat down and opened the summons. I was summoned to petty claims court by one Annabelle F. Moore!
Annabelle?
Annabelle was suing me?
Annabelle, I asked her, are you Annabelle F. Moore?
Ah! I see you got my summons.
I did. What does the “F” stand for?
I needed a middle name for the forms. It stands for Feline.
I see. I guess “Miss Annabelle” was too frivolous for a court case?
It has to be serious for a lawsuit.
I see, I said. So, does my attorney Sandy need to meet with your attorney?
I don’t think so. It’s just a petty claims case.
Why did you decide to sue me?
After I told you I was going to help you with the rent by renting myself out as an emotional support animal, your friend Ellen told you that Thatch and I were your support animals. So you owe me.
No, you’re family. Families and emotional support go hand in hand.
No, we are emotional support animals and you need to pay us.
Thatch? How do you feel about this? I asked him.
Thatch, who had been chasing a catnip-filled ball around the floor, was stoned out of his mind. Uh . . . uh, he said, I’ll think about it. He chased the ball under my bed.
Forget about him, Annabelle interjected. He refused to join me on this.
Well, I explained, I believe emotional support animals are medically approved animals providing some benefit for a person with mental or emotional disorders.
Yes, she agreed, I did my homework before deciding to take you to court.
Annabelle, you don’t provide me with any relief from emotional and mental disorders for two reasons: one, I am not crazy, and two, you drive me crazy.
How rude! I bet no one ever told Ethel Merman that and lived!
Oh, and three, you are not registered as an emotional support animal.
I have to be registered?
I thought you did your research?
I must have missed that.
And four: you’re my daughter; we’re family. Families are fraught with emotional support issues.
La-Dee-Dah-Dee-Dah! You owe me money.
How much are you suing me for?
Ninety-one dollars and twenty-five cents. Didn’t you read that in the summons?
I didn’t get past “Annabelle F. Moore.”
Well, I’m suing you for three hundred sixty-five days of emotional support work at twenty-five cents a day.
You’re my little girl, Annabelle. You’re my child.
I see children sue their parents on Judge Judy all the time.
And sometimes they lose. And sometimes parents sue their children.
Maybe we should take this case to Judge Judy. She’d be on my side.
Too late, Missy! I am so glad this will not be a TV court case. I’d never live it down.
You owe me money. Ninety-one dollars and twenty-five cents, so pay up.
Well, Missy, I guess I will see you in court!
Pay me, Seymour! She strolled off to the bathroom.
That’s it! Run away! I called after her. Retreat to your washtub!
That’s my budoir, she snapped. Pay up!
As soon as Annabelle had retired to her washtub in the bathroom and Thatch had come down from his catnip high, I told Thatch we needed a serious discussion about Annabelle’s lawsuit.
I told her it was a stupid idea, but you know her, always right, Thatch said.
That’s why she’s so adorable, I said. She’s so “dramatic” when she thinks she’s right.
What are you going to do?
I really don’t know, little Thatch. You got any ideas?
No. She can get mean when she’s crossed.
Well, I have an idea, but I need to think it through. I may need your help.
Annabelle refused to talk to me for a couple of days. Thatch and I played, Thatch and Annabelle played, I worked on my projects and thought about my next step.
When are you going to end this? Thatch asked me. You know you’re behaving as crazy as her?
I went down to the lobby for the day’s mail. When I returned to the apartment, I sorted the various envelopes, threw the junk mail into the bag of recyclable paper, picked up the cats’ dishes, and rattled them on the counter.
Thatch! I called. It’s dinnertime.
He and Annabelle came running into the kitchen and danced around my feet. I put half of a can of Fancy Feast chicken and liver into a dish and set it before him.
Here, baby, I said. Enjoy. Thatch, who’s always hungry, tackled his dinner with relish. I turned back to the counter.
Where’s mine? Annabelle asked.
Oh, I’m sorry! I forgot. Here you are. I set down an empty bowl, and an unsealed can of Fancy Feast. Can I get you anything else? I asked her.
Are you going to open it for me?
That will add another dollar to your bill.
She gave me a peculiar look. My bill?
I handed her a sheet of paper. She looked over it carefully, looked up at me, and perused the sheet of paper again.
You are charging me for dinner? She asked. I owe you a dollar for dinner?
Two dollars if I have to open the can for you.
One dollar to open a can?
Actually, it’s fifty cents, but the other fifty cents is to wash the dish. I know you don’t like getting your paws wet.
You know I can’t open that can!
Well, you will have to learn, or I’ll bill you for each time I open one for you. Maybe there’s a Youtube video to show you how to use a can opener.
I’ll skip dinner then, she said.
Annabelle, Thatch looked up from his dinner, you have to eat. You can’t starve.
What about Thatch? She asked.
What about me?
Where’s Thatch’s bill for dinner?
Thatch is my little boy. He’s family. I take care of my family.
I love you, Daddy! Thatch shouted. Annabelle gave him a disgusted look.
I’m not family?
Well, I thought you were, I said, but according to your lawsuit, you’re my employee. Now that you are working for me as an emotional support animal and wanting payment, you have to take care of your own expenses.
This is ridiculous, Annabelle said. Feed me. I’m hungry.
I can’t, I said. With this lawsuit we have to keep everything on a legal standing.
I will not discuss this anymore, Annabelle said sharply. I’ll skip dinner.
What will you do about breakfast? Thatch asked.
I will – uh, well, I’ll – think about it tomorrow. She stormed off to the bathroom washtub.
Annabelle! I called. You know the rent’s due in another week?
She turned back.
The rent? she said dubiously.
It’s due on the first of the month. I’m going to countersue when we go to court. I’ve been feeding you, housing you, paying your publicist, taking care of your health, thinking all the time that you were my little girl. You have to reimburse me.
Her jaw dropped. How much will that be?
A lot, I said. New York rents are high. You will have to work as an emotional support animal for years to pay me back.
See you in court, she said as she sauntered off to the bathroom.
Annabelle, Thatch said, stop this silliness!
What’d you say? she said belligerently.
I said, stop this nonsense.
I don’t need your advice.
Please, please, listen to me!
Annabelle paused and thought very carefully before she responded, I do not need advice from a baby.
I may be a younger, but you’re my big sister! Daddy and I love you, and sometimes you don’t know when to stop. So just stop. You need to stop this foolishness!
This was unexpected. My plan was to frighten Annabelle into dropping the lawsuit, but I never thought that Thatch would jump into the fray. Annabelle was taken aback by this outburst as well.
Thatch is right, Annabelle, I added. This all began because you wanted to help me, and I am so grateful for that. Somehow, though, you’ve decided to sue me, and now I’m suing you.
And you, too, Thatch said to me. You’re as guilty as she is. She’s stubborn, you’re stubborn, and now you’re both foolish. I won’t put up with this! I refuse to put up with this . . . with you two behaving like jerks! I want my Daddy and sister back. I need you. You’re all I have, and I need you. He started weeping. I want my family! I want my family back!
There was a long pause as Annabelle and I stared at Thatch. Annabelle ran to comfort him. He curled up in a ball next to her and she licked his ears. Thatch, little Thatch, she cooed, don’t cry, baby. I’ll always be your sister. Don’t cry.
I stood there in shock. I didn’t know what to say or do, so I shuffled a bit as I mulled over the situation. I picked up Thatch’s empty food dish, carried it to the sink, and washed it out. Then I picked up a fork, went back to Annabelle’s can of Fancy Feast, popped open the top, and ladled some into her dish.
You must be starving, Missy, I said. I can’t let my little girl starve.
I am, Daddy. Would you hold Thatch while I eat?
©2019, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 