You look puzzled, Annabelle said to me when I walked into the apartment and set my keys down. She left her Backstage all over my computer table and jumped into my lap.
I was just thinking about something. You know Ann on the top floor? We visited her the other day and you got to play with Nora?
Yes! Nora is a dog I like. She’s civilized.
Well, I just ran into Ann in the lobby, and she asked me if I had seen a package with her name on it. She said the online tracking claimed it had been delivered yesterday. I told her I hadn’t, but I did tell her that I’d never received an Amazon order last week and Amazon had replaced it.
Oh, that’s too bad. Are you going to feed us? She climbed off my lap and went back to her casting notices in Backstage.
As soon as she mentioned food, Thatch and Stella ran to the scratching post and the cat tree to sharpen their claws. Is it dinner tine already? Thatch asked.
Actually, Thatch, it isn’t. Annabelle has jumped the gun. Again!
She looked up from her reading. I’m hungry. I don’t think you feed us often enough.
Don’t start, Missy. Just don’t. I’ve been thinking about that missing package of Ann’s.
Missing package? Thatch asked.
Our neighbor Ann on the fifth floor.
And yours last week, Annabelle said.
And Maryanne, Thatch added.
I forgot about that! How long ago was that?
Just before you package got lost.
Do you think I should send a complaint to the Post Office? We’ve got a postman who confuses this street with 81st. Remember I got that letter for 202 West 81st Street? I hate opening other people’s mail. There’s a Christmas card in a red envelope on top of the mail boxes, and I can’t read the address because the ink’s too faint.
What do you think, Stella? I asked her. She gave me a wide-eyed look, a combination of “you talking to me?” and “is that a roach on your forehead?” before she jumped onto my shoe and bit my ankle.
Okay, okay, that’s enough, I said. Let’s have a treat.
Two days later, my neighbor Judy asked me if I’d seen a package she was expecting. It was a Hannukah gift for Mark, her husband.
You, too? I asked. We’ve got an epidemic going on!
When I reported this news to the cats, Thatch thought for a moment before saying, I don’t think it’s the Post Office. I think it’s a thief.
Maybe, I replied, but I cannot imagine how disappointed the thief must have been when he –
Or she, Annabelle interrupted.
Or she opened the carton and found twenty-four cans of Fancy Feast salmon in gravy!
Annabelle and Thatch laughed with me.
Well, Annabelle said, it’s getting close to Christmas. I guess this thief is looking for some nice gifts.
Or something expensive to sell, I added.
Very curious, Thatch said.
When I came in the next afternoon from a day of running errands, I carried an open Amazon carton of Fancy Feast salmon and gravy that had been left under my mailbox. Stella was sleeping in the cat tree.
Thatch? Annabelle? I called.
They came strolling out of the linen closet. They both wore their deerstalkers and huge crucifixes around their necks.
Sherlock Holmes at your service, Annabelle said to me. I believe you know my assistant, Dr. Watson.
I want to be Sherlock! Thatch said. I’m always Dr. Whatsit.
You are Doctor Watson. I am Sherlock Holmes, a brilliant detective, Annabelle told him. We will solve this crime. I call it “The Case of the Thief in the Building.” Write that down, Dr. Watson.
Oh, Jesus, I thought. Well, I said, I don’t think you need those crucifixes. It’s a thief, not a vampire.
The next day I brought up the mail along with three packages, one a priority mail carton. I opened the apartment door and Stella ran to greet me.
Hello, little girl! I sang.
Annabelle laughed. I love Into the Woods!
While I opened the three cartons: my new 2020 calendar, a new pillow for Annabelle, and a box of Christmas cards. Christmas cards? I looked at the label: the postman had left a package with the same apartment number as mine with a different address on West 82nd Street!
Dammit! I exclaimed.
Annabelle stopped singing. What? She asked me.
Wrong address! I hate opening other people’s mail. And even worse, I have to get this package to the right person. Maybe we don’t have a thief? Maybe it’s as postal worker who can’t read?
In the following week, more packages vanished. I lost a Christmas gift from my Ohio friends Ginny and Richard as well as a carton of CDs I had done, Pixie on two lost a carton of baking utensils, the new neighbors on one lost a carton of baby items that showed up three days later as an opened carton under the mailboxes, and my neighbor Johnny lost a shipment of frozen meat. Neighbors who usually had a smile on their faces looked at you suspiciously, wondering if you were the thief. Meanwhile Sherlock and Dr. Watson, forcing me to don my deerstalker and patrol with them since I wouldn’t let them outside the apartment alone, sneaked around the halls, smelling doors, climbing all over cartons under the mailboxes, then casually playing in the lobby so they could smell the tenants as they entered or left the building.
Annabelle, this gets old real fast, I muttered.
I’m Sherlock! Do you want us to solve this crime or don’t you?
I never asked you to solve the crime.
Dr. Watson, this man has no faith in our powers of deduction.
I stood up. Sitting on the stairs and watching two cats in deerstalkers chase each other until a neighbor enters the scene gets old fast. Really fast.
Annabelle, I started to say.
I’m Sherlock!
Sorry. I said. Sherlock, you can’t find your way back to the apartment!
That’s not true.
It is and you know it, Missy! You always end up trying to get into apartment 2C or 4C.
That’s why I should be Sherlock, not Dr. Whatsit! Thatch said.
You are Dr. Watson! I am Sherlock Holmes. Get it? Got it? Good!
Sorry, Thatch, I said to him.
If you don’t want to patrol with us, Annabelle said to me, Thatch and I can do it alone.
No way, I told her. After you got lost last year, I swore I would never let you out of my sight again.
I had an idea, Thatch said. What if we made a list of everyone who’s been robbed? Anyone who isn’t a victim might be the thief!
I was just going to suggest that, Annabelle told us.
Okay, I said. We’ll make a form, and I will go to all the apartments and inquire about any package issues.
Well, let’s get started! Annabelle ordered as she ran to the elevator.
I spent a couple of hours that evening visiting every neighbor in the building. I had no idea there were so many packages missing. Out of the thirty apartments in the building, twenty-four had lost packages in the past month. Four apartments – the wife beater on two, the man with the bike on our floor, the creep on five, and Maria, the bitch on the first floor, who makes life difficult for everyone. We have an empty apartment, and I didn’t bother to ask Val, our super.
Who seems the most likely? Thatch asked me when I reported back.
Why didn’t you ask Val? Annabelle wanted to know.
For two reasons, I said. I trust him completely, and I wanted to talk to him about the issue when we take him his Christmas bonus tomorrow night.
I can’t wait! Annabelle told me. She has a horrible crush on Val.
So, what do you think, babies? Is one of these four our thief?
Did anyone seem particularly guilty? Thatch asked.
I was going to ask that! Annabelle scolded.
But you were too busy dreaming of Val! Thatch said. Then he ran through the apartment yelling “Annabelle loves Val!” Annabelle dropped her Great Detective façade and chased him around the apartment. Not to be outdone, Stella jumped off the computer table and joined the chase.
Does anyone want to know what I think about the thief? I asked.
No one gave a good damn. I watched two cats chase Thatch through the apartment for another minute, put down the list of suspects, and went to the kitchen for a drink. Eggnog and a good splash of bourbon can work holiday miracles. As soon as the cats heard the refrigerator door open, the chase was over as they danced around my feet for a treat.
Are my babies hungry? I asked.
I wouldn’t mind something to nibble on, Annabelle told me.
I dragged out a bag of Purina dry cat food and some Meow Mix seafood medley and put a little of each into three bowls. I have to feed Stella first, because if I don’t, she jumps on whoever’s bowl I set down and refuses to relinquish it.
So, Annabelle asked after her snack, do you think any of those four is our suspect?
I would love it, I said, if the thief turned out to be the Man with the Bike, so that the landlord could evict him. I will never forgive him for treating my babies badly.
Well, if the Man with the Bike isn’t the thief, Annabelle asked me, who else could it be?
I doubt it’s the Wife Beater. He’s mean and crazy, but that doesn’t mean he’s a thief.
We need to set a trap! Thatch suggested.
Like what? I asked.
We could wrap Stella in a carton and see if anyone steals her.
Nope. You’re not going to involve Stella in this. What if she got hurt or murdered?
I hadn’t thought of that, Thatch muttered. I’m sorry, Stella.
That’s why I’m Sherlock and you are Dr. Watson, Annabelle stated.
Then I’ll get in the carton, Thatch said.
No. No, I said emphatically. You will not. I don’t want you injured or murdered either. Promise me you will drop this idea. Annabelle, will you . . . Annabelle! Where are you? Annabelle!
She leaped off the windowsill and ran to us. I asked the pigeons to help us.
I don’t know what good they would be, I replied. They can’t see the mailboxes in the lobby.
Silly Daddy! She said, they can sit on the windows and see what’s going on inside apartments.
What a good idea! Thatch said.
That’s why I’m Sherlock and you are Dr. Watson.
I don’t want to be Dr. Whatsit.
Just then, the doorbell rang, and I ran downstairs to pick up my packages from UPS. I completely forgot what I had meant to tell Annabelle.
The next morning, after cleaning the kitties’ breakfast dishes and the litter, I sat at the computer thinking, what was that important thing I forgot to tell Annabelle yesterday? I hate it when my mind goes blank.
Annabelle, I said, remind me to tell you about a Sherlock Holmes musical I think you’d like.
A Sherlock Holmes musical. I’m ready! What is it?
I put the computer to sleep and stood up. It’s called Baker Street. I’ll play it for you tonight.
Not now?
I put on my coat and cap. No, I’m sorry, I said. Not now.
Are you going out? Annabelle asked.
Yes, for a bit, I told her. I picked up my bag and grabbed my cane. I promised to help Josh today. I’ll be away for three hours or so. When I get home, we’ll play Baker Street, and tonight we will visit Val and Heidi and give him his Christmas bonus. Will you behave yourselves till I’m back?
And when do we not? Annabelle haughtily replied.
I rolled my eyes in my best Hyacinth Bucket manner. Thatch laughed. Stella looked blank, and Annabelle snorted and headed for the pigeons on the fire escape.
Just behave! I called as I walked out of the apartment. What did I want to tell her? I thought as I rode the elevator to the lobby.
I returned about three and a half hours later. Thatch and Stella greeted me. Did you bring us a treat? Thatch asked. Stella jumped on my leg and tried to bite my ankle through the corduroy.
No, I just brought you the Wonderful Me! I laughed. Thatch seemed unhappy. Annabelle? Where’s Missy? Annabelle? Daddy’s home!
I wandered about the apartment as I removed my cap and coat. I hanged my bag over a bed post and then turned to put away my cane. Thatch, I asked, do you know where Annabelle is?
Looking like a deer in the headlights of an onrushing truck, Thatch said, Maybe.
Maybe? What does maybe mean?
She’s hiding in a carton under the mailboxes.
You promised me you wouldn’t!
Annabelle didn’t promise anything.
Damn! That’s what I meant to tell her. Damn it! Okay, come on. Let’s get her.
Thatch and I headed to the lobby. There were three cartons sitting under the mail boxes, one was enormous, and the other two were too small to hold a cat.
Oh, no! Thatch said. She’s been stolen!
Dammit! What do we do now? Annabelle, I called. Annabelle? Missy? Thatch, if she’s hurt-
I’m sorry! Thatch cried. I didn’t want her to do it. He started to cry.
Yes, I know, our Missy is very stubborn.
Let’s get back to the apartment. I need to talk to the pigeons.
As soon as we entered the apartment, Thatch ran to the window to talk to the one pigeon sitting on the fire escape. The pigeon flew off, and Thatch turned to look at me.
What? I asked. Did that bird know anything?
Yes! He told me Annabelle’s in apartment 1C-
Maria! Oh, no! I like Maria. She can be a terror, but-
And Maria’s trying to get her out from under the bed.
This is not good, Thatch. I was getting agitated. No one’s going to hurt my Annabelle.
What do we do?
Thatch was moving in circles, and that means he’s anxious and ready to pee on the floor.
We need help, and I know just the person to call.
I picked up my cell phone and called the 82nd Street precinct. I had Detective Kibble’s number since Annabelle hired that chihuahua to mug her. I thought, I hope he’s in his office. The phone rang three times, and he answered it on the fourth ring.
Detective Kibble, it’s Larry Moore. I don’t know if you remember me . . .
Mr. Moore? Do I remember you!? Of course! He laughed. How are your mugged cats doing?
They’re still in trouble, and I need your help badly. I told him the story of the apartment thief, and my fears for Annabelle’s current situation. He told me he would be at the apartment very shortly with a policeman. I hung up the phone and turned to Thatch. He wasn’t there. The apartment door was open. I ran into the hall, followed by Stella.
Thatch? I called.
I’m getting Val, Thatch called from the stairwell. I hobbled slowly down the stairs with Stella walking in front of me. Stella, I said, move it! I do not want to fall over you on these stairs. I don’t want to break your neck or mine.
By the time we reached the first floor, Val was holding Thatch at the foot of the stairs.
What’s going on? He asked. Annabelle’s in trouble?
I turned and headed to the front of the building. Oh, is she! She’s in 1C, and if Maria hurts her-
1C? Val asked as he followed me. What’s she doing in there?
Maria’s the thief, and the cats set a trap.
We got to Maria’s door. Val knocked on it. There was no answer. He rang the bell. Maria? He called. It’s Val, the super. I need to check your bathroom for a leak.
There was a loud knocking on the building’s front door. I could see Det. Kibble with two officers. I think it was the same two who rescued Annabelle and Thatch after their caroling disaster last year. I went to the front door to let them in. I opened the door, and Det. Kibble said, You’re walking worse than when I saw you last.
I need a hip replacement, I told him. After Christmas. I need your help.
Hello, Mr. Moore, the policewoman said. It’s nice to see you again.
I thought I recognized you! Come in, come in.
Val kept ringing Maria’s bell. As Det. Kibble, the officers, and I walked up the five steps into the lobby, Maria finally opened the door slightly and peered out.
I’m awfully busy at the moment, she told him. I can’t help you.
She started to close the door, but Det. Kibble blocked it. Ma’am, we need to check your apartment.
I could see panic in her eyes. No. No, I’m too busy. She tried to close the door again. There was a loud scream from inside the apartment, and a cat wearing a deerstalker suddenly jumped onto Maria’s shoulder. Maria began to yell in Spanish as she tried to get Annabelle off her back. Stella excitedly jumped onto her foot and bit her ankle. As she struggled, she fell against the door, pushing it open. Her fall ended on top of a pile of opened cartons sitting just inside the door.
Hello, Annabelle! Thatch said. Are you hurt?
No. The old lady couldn’t get to me under the bed. You should have seen her face when she opened the box and I jumped out.
We’ll discuss this later, Missy. I think we need to get out of the way.
Val! Annabelle exclaimed as she jumped into his arms.
We’ll let the police take it from here, I said. Let’s go home.
Val and the cats headed for the elevator. I turned back to Det. Kibble.
Thank you so much, I said. I think I speak for everyone in the building who’s lost a package or two.
Thank you for calling me, Mr. Moore. Call any time.
I joined Val and the cats at the elevator. I’m really glad we caught the thief. Thanks for your help, Val.
I couldn’t let anyone hurt my little girl Annabelle.
She snuggled in his arms while Thatch and I rolled our eyes at each other.
When we got back to the apartment, I told Val the whole story. Val laughed. Aren’t you amazing, pretty girl? He asked her.
I’m the great detective Sherlock Holmes, Annabelle told him. You know my assistant Dr. Watson.
I don’t want to be Dr. Whatsit, Thatch told her.
Val said it was time to go, and he set Annabelle down. When we got to the door, I handed him an envelope.
We were going to bring your Christmas gift tonight, I told him, but since you’re here, Merry Christmas.
Well, come down anyway, he said, and see Heidi’s decorations. And the tree. Do you ever have one?
With these cats? No way. That tree wouldn’t survive a day here.
Val laughed. I’ll see you later. And thank you for this. Merry Christmas, Annabelle!
I closed the door. Well, babies, it’s almost time for your dinner.
Let’s listen to Baker Street, Annabelle suggested.
After dinner, the three cats and I visited Val and Heidi. It was a nice visit until Stella decided to climb their Christmas tree. Only a few ornaments were broken, and to my relief, the tree did not fall over. Val and Heidi were very gracious about Stella’s complete lack of etiquette, but I felt it was time to get my rowdy crew home.
As I tidied up before we settled in for a PBS mystery before bed, I hanged my deerstalker next to Thatch’s. Where’s your deerstalker, Sherlock? I asked Annabelle.
Oh! It must have been lost in the scuffle. Well, this was my last case, Thatch, so you can be Sherlock from now on.
Well, who will you be? I asked.
After listening to the cast recording of Baker Street, I will be Irene Adler. I love Inga Swenson! I’m in London again, she sang.
That means, Daddy, Thatch said, you have to be Dr. Whatsit now!
I don’t want to be Dr. Whatsit, I said. I want to be Sherlock!
Are you making fun of me? Thatch asked.
Stella, still wearing a few strands of Christmas tree tinsel, jumped onto my foot and bit my ankle.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
©2019, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 