There was a crash. I looked up from the computer. Who wants to die? I yelled.
I looked over the computer to the hall floor where Stella was playing with a can of Fancy Feast. Annabelle was the problem this morning. She sat on the dresser next to a drowsyThatch and tossed objects off the dresser onto Stella who was rapturously chasing the tossed objects around the floor. I saw a spoon, another can of Fancy Feast, and some of my various name tags lying about.
Annabelle! What the hell, Missy? I demanded.
She gave me a long look, then slowly moved her paw toward another can of Fancy Feast. There was a little flip, then a big splash as the can landed in the water dish. I stood up, and shouted, You are dead meat, Missy!
There was a rush of movement as Annabelle and Stella ran giggling to the bathroom. As I kneeled on the floor to clean the mess, I could hear the sound of two cats landing in the bathtub and wrestling.
Oh, Thatcher, I moaned. They’re killing me.
Thatch looked up. I know they’re not and you know they’re not. They’re just pestering you this morning, and you don’t think it’s funny because your surgery still hurts.
You’re right, Thatch-cat. I just don’t want to move. Let me clean this up and we’ll lie down and watch some TV.
At that, Thatch jumped off the dresser and ran to my bed, where he settled and waited for me. I picked up the spoon, the badges and name tags, and the Fancy Feast. I rose and went into the kitchen for some paper towels. All right, I muttered, let’s clean this up. Annabelle and Stella observed from the bathroom door.
Can we come out? Annabelle asked.
Why do you even ask, Missy? You seem to do just as you please any way.
Not with the threat of death! she said.
You know I’d never hurt you or Stella. It’s just that somedays I’m not feeling well enough to put up with your games.
Annabelle and Stella conferred before they both boldly strutted past me. As soon as they had moved about three feet beyond my prone body, they ran to the windowsill and danced on the ledge while the pigeons outside cheered and applauded. After the dance, Annabelle burst into “Memory” and Thatch ran to join them. I mopped up the water to the accompaniment of Annabelle’s belting to Thatch’s harmonization. It was hell.
I stood up, stretched, and turned to toss the wet paper towels in the garbage. At that moment, Stella came running up to me. She rose on her back feet and her front paws grabbed my knee. As I turned back from the garbage to pat her head, she dropped down, bit my toe, and ran back to the window.
As Stella strutted back and forth across the windowsill, the pigeons, Thatch, and Annabelle sang, “Midnight, not a sound from the pavement . . .”
Kill me now. ©2020, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 