My father was born in 1921 in Fallsburg, Kentucky, a small town in Lawrence County, about 40 miles south of the Ohio River. In the 1950s, when I was a kid, I hated for several reasons the 4-5 hour drive from Middletown to my grandmother’s farm nestled in a holler of the Appalachian Mountains near Fallsburg: there was no electricity in the holler until I was around ten years old and that meant no television or decent lighting, and there was no indoor plumbing or running water until my Dad installed it around 1966, when I was in college.
I was a sissy, childish and unprepared to cope with so much nature in the wild. A trip to grandma’s house posed the threat of poisonous snakes like water moccasins and copperheads, and God alone knew what dangerous insects were waiting to bite. My brave brother Tom seemed unfazed by all of it, and he often dragged friends along with us. To make matters worse, my grandmother insisted on flaunting her preference for my cousins, the sons of my dad’s older brother Dewey. The rowdiness of my brother, his friends, and me tended to give her attacks of the vapors. My brother Randy, who was eleven years younger than I was the only one of us she seemed to tolerate.
Now, fifty years after I last saw her, I have much more respect for my grandmother and her second husband Charley, who was the only paternal grandfather I knew. My dad’s son of a bitch father had died in the early 1950s, and he was a total shit. When he came to Ohio to visit my dad, I was still a baby, and he stole the silver dollars I had been given for my birthday. My grandmother left him in 1933 to run off to Baltimore with Charley. When her divorce came through. she married Charley and eventually returned to Kentucky.
Life on the small farm was hard, beginning with milking the cows around 4:00AM, and she and Charley were tough survivors. I can remember the roof covered with trays of apple slices drying in the sun. In the winter the house was freezing once you moved six feet away from the coal burning stove in the dining room or the fireplace in the living room. She cooked on a huge wood burning stove in the kitchen where she turned out wonderful biscuits, fruit cobblers, pies, and seven-layer cakes. Most spectacularly, on a peddle sewing machine – later replaced by an electric one – she made gorgeous quilts from small pieces of the cotton bags containing feed for the farm animals and other scraps of fabric she could lay hands on. I was given one of her most beautiful quilts when I graduated from high school. “You’ll need one for your bed when it’s cold,” she told me. It was truly glorious: primarily a lime green, in a wedding ring pattern, I believe, with splashes of red, white, and yellow. In the 1970s, when I was seriously trying to grow up and find my place in the cosmos, I callously let that quilt disintegrate in the trunk of my car. I was a horse’s ass, and I would kill to have that quilt now.
My mother and father had one of her quilts, very much like mine only the primary color was sky blue, and when my Dad died, I claimed it. I safely packed it for its move to Manhattan, and it now hangs over the foot of my bed. I told Annabelle and Thatch its history when they asked me about it. However, items of sentimental value mean nothing to a feline beyond what they can do with it. Luckily, all they do is sleep on or under it. Thatch had discovered some time ago that its folds were a perfect place to hide out from fetching and schlepping for Annabelle, and I always needed to check for him before lying on it.
Now that things were slow because of the quarantine, I decided every morning after making the bed to turn the quilt into a cave for Thatch. He could put on his miner’s cap and explore to his heart’s content. The worst days were those when he, Annabelle, and Stella played Floyd Collins, and I had to listen to Annabelle sing “How Glory Goes” while Stella beat a tambourine over Thatch’s body. It was hell.
This morning, while I was washing up the breakfast dishes, I could hear noisy sounds of frustration coming from the living area.
What’s going on? I asked Annabelle, who sat on the edge of the sink watching me. Is that Thatch or Stella? I never can tell.
It’s Thatch, Annabelle told me. I’ll check.
She jumped off the sink and strolled away. Since I finally convinced her and the others to stop wearing masks in the apartment, I understand everything she says. I rinsed the last bowl, then reached for a paper towel and dried my hands. Annabelle jumped back onto the sink.
What’s going on in there? What did you learn?
Thatch’s cave collapsed when Stella jumped on it, and he’s frustrated because he can’t explore.
Is he playing Floyd Collins? I asked.
No, he just wants to crawl under the quilt, avoid Stella, and nap away the morning. I’m too busy today to play with him.
What are you doing?
I’m listening to a few cast albums. I want to learn some new roles. When this quarantine ends, I need to be ready for my career.
You’re just a little girl, Annabelle-
Yes, but I am a driven little girl, Daddy.
Well, you got me there, Missy. Let’s go help Thatch.
We strolled into the living area. Little Thatch sat on the collapsed quilt looking quite miserable. Stella had leaped onto the file cabinet next to my bed, and from there she jumped onto my bed, ran around Thatch, leaped back onto the file cabinet, and did it again.
Oh, Stella! Annabelle moaned. She’s got no couth, none at all.
Thatch, you okay baby?
She’s driving me crazy! And she ruined my cave.
Well, let me fix it.
I lifted him off the quilt, refolded it, hung part of it over the foot of the bed, propped up a side with a pillow, and in no time Thatch had a new cave to explore. Thatch gave a happy sigh, cautiously checked the entrance to the cave, and then vanished into the folds of the quilt.
Well, Annabelle said, he’s happy now. I’m off to listen to a few cast albums.
What’s on you listening agenda, I asked.
Grand Hotel, Titanic, and Nine. There must be something for me. She disappeared into the linen closet.
Well, good luck! I called after her.
I lay down carefully on my bed to avoid destroying Thatch’s cave or getting in his way. I looked up. Stella sat on the edge of the filing cabinet watching me.
Well, Stella bella, I said, it’s you and me at the moment. Wanna watch some TV with Daddy?
She pounced, landing on my stomach. She then ran down my leg, jumped onto my foot and bit my toe.
©2020, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 