Are you drinking again? Annabelle asked me.
I only drink occasionally, I responded rather haughtily. Somedays I need a little zip to help me survive your shenanigans.
I set the empty glass in the kitchen sink and sat down at the computer. Annabelle followed me.
Moi? What did I do?
Oh, Annabelle, my little firecracker, what don’t you do? Where’s your new project?
Stella? She and Thatch are wrestling. Somewhere. I can take it for only so long.
Does she talk? I asked. Thatch did at her age.
Thatch was much more mature at three months, Annabelle said, but he wouldn’t talk to you for several months.
That’s actually not true. It was about the third week he lived here that you and he settled in. They were the longest three weeks of my life.
And mine, too, Annabelle added. She sat back on her rear and proceeded to groom her belly.
She looks like Mr. Toad, I thought. Instead, I said, I know, but he wasn’t fond of me. Stella only wants to bite my fingers and toes and jump on me when I lie down.
When she finished, she sat up and became my beautiful little girl again. After a moment’s thought, she said, I don’t know how she’s going to fit in. She wasn’t impressed by CATS or A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC. All she wants to do is jump around and wrestle. You know, she bites. Really hard!
Give her time. She’s just a baby.
We are. Annabelle crawled into her new Amazon carton. I’m just trying this on for size. I need to lounge more often.
More often? You sleep at least sixteen hours a day!
We stars need to keep in shape.
I’m going back to work, I said.
I need to call R.U. Fémos. She opened her cell phone.
What are you up to now?
I’m organizing a Cat Pride March. Our rights have been ignored for too long. We have not been recognized. Thatch will help me. I expect we’ll get every cat in the neighborhood to march, and maybe a few dogs will join us in support.
A Cat Pride March?
There’s a Straight Pride March scheduled for Boston. Thatch and I want recognition for cats!
Thatch gave her a funny look. Speak for yourself, John, he told her.
Those Boston morons are just a lot of insecure men who think they’re straight, I told her. They just want to say up yours to the gay community.
Yes, I know. I’m sure Donald Trump’s behind it.
I refuse to get into your conspiracy theories, Annabelle.
Haven’t you noticed how many stars are political? R.U. Fémos will have a good story here about my fight to be recognized.
I headed back to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Her head turned sharply from the phone.
Are you drinking again?
As the strains of La Marseillaise ran through my head, I poured the vodka into the orange juice.
It’s a toast to you, Annabelle!
She put down the phone and began her little polka dance. Thatch ran to join her. Stella gave me a puzzled look before she jumped onto my ankle and began to bite it.
©2019, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 