43. PUT IT BACK THE WAY IT WAS!

Well, Annabelle, I told her, this weekend we turn the clocks forward.  Don’t forget to remind me.

Annabelle looked up from her current issue of Backstage.

What did you say?

I said that we have a time change this weekend. We lose an hour.

She put down her Backstage, jumped down from the cat tree, and sauntered over to me.  Is this another lousy Trump policy? she demanded.  

No, it’s been going on for ages, but it seems to last longer these days.  It seemed like it was only a couple of months when I was a kid.

This is so irritating! she said,  I have a hard enough time adjusting to human behavior.

Well, if it’s any comfort, I said, it’s worse for me.

And what does it do for me? she asked.

And me! Thatch added.  He put down the catnip Trump toy he had been tossing about and joined Annabelle any my feet.

It means you’ll get you breakfast an hour later in the morning, but since the old 6:30 will be the new 7:30, it will be the same time for at least one day.  But after the first day, you’ll start wanting breakfast at the new 6:30 time, and my body will tell me it’s really 5:30, and i won’t cope.

Not again, Annabelle moaned to Thatch.  Every time this happens Daddy sounds like Gertrude Stein and it makes my head spin!

Are you sure this isn’t a GOP conspiracy? Thatch asked. 

Thatch! Trust me, I said.  It isn’t.  It just means that I will walk around like a zombie.until I adjust to the time change.

That takes about six months, Annabelle said.  You never adjust.

I do, too, I said.  Eventually.

This is pure evil.  It must be a GOP plot, Thatch insisted.

You’ve got a conspiracy theory for everything these days, Annabelle told him.   It’s boring.  I told you not to read All The President’s Men! 

She returned to the cat tree and opened her Backstage to the casting notices.  

Will this stupid time change affect audition times? she asked.

It shouldn’t, I told her.

Anything right for you, Annabelle? Thatch asked her.  

Hold on.  I’m checking.

He climbed the cat tree and looked over her shoulder.  As she turned the pages, her moans became louder.

She looked sadly up at me.  No one’s producing CATS, she said.  I’m sure it’s a Republican conspiracy.

Can’t be, Thatch told her.  They’re too busy messing up global warming and the environment.

Annabelle nodded.  And, she said, that stupid time change.