You are very rude to laugh at my discomfort, Annabelle told me.
It’s your own fault, Missy! I’ve told you too many times to stay out of the kitchen sink.
I’m not speaking to you.
Annabelle turned and left the kitchen. I turned back to washing the cats’ dinner dishes.
I had tried for the past couple of years to keep her out of the kitchen sink, but not was impossible. If I were opening cans of Fancy Feast, making a cup of coffer, or preparing a meal, she liked to leap onto the sink and sit in the basin to watch me work. Some nights she sat there waiting for a juicy roach to show up.
Tonight, she had hounding me about her treat, which usually occurs between 6:30 and 7:00, before I settle in with my Three Little Kittens to watch a video or read them a story. For the past week, Annabelle’s forced us to watch Katharine Hepburn movies, and Thatch and I are ready to mutiny.
So about this nightly treat: lately, Annabelle’s been pushing the time back, and her begging for a treat began around 5:30 this evening. I had a light meal, then picked up the cats’ dinner dishes, scraped out the uneaten food, and set the dishes in the sink to soak. As soon as I carried my plate into the kitchen, Annabelle followed me, leaped onto the sink, and ended up with her front paws in soapy water of one of the soaking kitty dishes. I burst into laughter as she retreated from the sink and leaped to the kitchen floor.
I washed out their dishes, washed my plate and glass, and followed her into the living area.
Annabelle, aw, baby, are you okay?
She was sitting with Stella and Thatch. She turned and gave me a look. I’ll live.
You behave around water just like the Wicked Witch of the West, Thatch observed. Silent Stella said nothing.
I know what you want, I sang to her. I know what you need. I know how much you want it! Yeah, yeah.
She immediately perked up, since she loves a good show tune, and Barbara Harris is one of her goddesses. She sang back at me, I know my father would kill me if he knew . . .
My heart was set on giving what I’ve got to you! Thatch joined in with us, and Stella looked blank.
You’ve got to stop begging for your treat so early, Annabelle.
Feed me, Seymour, Annabelle said as she sashayed over to the cat tree and waited for the treat.
Treat? Thatch asked. He ran to the nearest scratching post and sharpened his claws. Stella jumped up and ran to join him. She may not speak English, but she knows the word “treat.”
I checked my watch. It was 6:25. That was close enough. I poured a bit of dry kibble to go with her party mix and Meow Mix seafood medley. Annabelle leaped about, behaved as though she hadn’t eaten in three years, not three hours, then settled in for her snack while I gave Thatch and Stella their freeze dried salmon and bonito flakes.
While I pulled a Katharine Hepburn DVD from a shelf, the cats checked out each other’s treat. Stella ate what was left of Annabelle’s, while Thatch sniffed it and turned it down. Annabelle checked out the freeze dried salmon and bonito flakes, and said to Thatch, How boring! You really like this?
Yum! was Thatch’s brief response, as he ran back for another piece of salmon.
All right, babies, I announced, tonight we’ll watch “Holiday!”
Is it as good as “The Philadelphia Story?” Annabelle asked.
I’ll let you decide.
I sat on the bed and watched the cats approach. Thatch strutted slowly and deliberately, Annabelle did her little polka step she always does when she’s happy, and Stella erupted violently, madly streaking and jumping from bed to floor to bed before she settled.
Hey, watch got, Annabelle scolded her. Stella responded by jumping on Annabelle and wrestling with her. Annabelle leaped up, jumped off the bed, and ran. Stella ran after her. We could hear two cats fighting somewhere between the bathroom and kitchen.
You might as well hold the movie till they get back, Thatch said to me.
I’m way ahead of you, Thatcher, I told him. Do you think Annabelle’s okay?
She’s fine. She really likes playing with Stella. She makes all that racket just for fun, you know.
I didn’t! I was afraid Stella was hurting her. She’s a really strange cat.
Well, Thatch said cautiously, I’m not sure she’s really a cat. I think she might be a pooka. She’s not at all like Annabelle or me.
Really?
At that moment, Annabelle polkaed back to the bed. She settled down next to me as Stella erupted onto the bed. She trotted over to Annabelle, licked her ear, and lay down next to her. Annabelle groomed her for a moment, then turned to me.
Well, come on now. Start the movie!
I grabbed the remote and “Holiday” began. Annabelle and Thatch settled back to enjoy it. Stella jumped on my foot and bit my ankle.
©2019, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 