You’re back in Facebook jail? Again?
Yes, Annabelle, I sighed. I’m really sorry.
Sorry doesn’t help me out! I cannot access my accounts. How will “Cats Against Trump” survive without me? I know his Covid-19 claims are a hoax!
Annabelle, I tried to be patient with her, you don’t know that.
You wait, Daddy, they will declare he’s died just to claim he rose from the dead.
I laughed, Well, that would certainly prove to his followers that he’s God’s chosen!
I betcha he’d rise from the dead in two – count ‘em! TWO!! – days to prove he’s bigger than Jesus.
Annabelle, really!
Well, you need to straighten out this Facebook mess. Thatch and I can’t post our photos. We are Cats Against Trump, you know.
What? Thatch called from the cat tree where he and Stella wrestled for the best sleeping location.
I’m sorry, everyone! I yelled. Those hypocritical Facebook bastards are playing petty games and I’m furious.
There was a long, embarrassed silence. Thatch and Stella stopped wrestling, and Annabelle looked stunned. After a minute or so, Annabelle quietly crawled onto my lap, stood up, and looked into my face.
What happened? she asked me. It was a bit too quiet and a bit too intense for comfort.
Oh . . . I added a photo to your album “Trump’s Master Race” of all these morons waving Confederate flags and some bully in a uniform clearly mouthing threats. Then an hour later Facebook deleted it for violating their community standards.
You never learn! You ‘re always getting suspended for violating community standards and you never learn!
Well, this time I wasn’t guilty. I found the photo I posted on another Facebook site.
That’s funny, Thatch called. Really funny!
So, Facebook apologized and put the photo back. I then deleted it, just to be safe. I figured that was the end of it, but they still banned me for thirty days. They said I had violated their ambiguous community standards too many times this year.
So they punish you for something they started? Thatch asked.
I see it that way, but there’s some little piece of crap who’s clearly watching me closely. I’d like to know who it is and smash them to hell. I am so angry over this.
Well, Thatch, Annabelle said, I think we need to find another social site. Could we start one?
Oh, lord, I thought, this is all I need.
Just then the buzzer rang. It was the grocery order I had placed online two hours earlier. My legs were killing me as I hobbled to the buzzer to let the delivery person into the building. I then grabbed my cane, went to the door with curious Stella running ahead of me.
No, Stella, get back. It’s just a delivery.
I opened the door carefully and stepped out, blocking Stella’s attempt to follow me. The elevator opened and a young lady holding three plastic bags of groceries stepped out. She came down the hall, handed me the bags, did something with her scanner, wished me a good weekend, and headed back to the elevator. Holding a cane, three plastic bags, and the door knob for balance, I walked back into the apartment, calling, Look out, Stella, get back! Get back, baby.
As soon as I put the bags on the floor, Annabelle and Thatch came running to sniff everything and help me put things away. I cautiously lowered myself to the floor and began to tear the bags open, I had no patience to untie three tightly tied plastic bags. My legs hurt, my lower back hurt, and I just wanted to clean up the mess and get back to my bed where I could doze, watch mindless television, and hold the babies.
I’m too old for this, babies, I told them. I really need a sherpa to come by every other day just to help me with things.
We’ll help, Daddy! Thatch said.
I know, I know, and I’m grateful for that. My own personal sherpa could climb the ladder and change a light bulb or bring down cans of cat food from the shelf.
I finished unpacking the bags, opened the refrigerator and began to put items away. I had a few things that needed to go to the freezer so I set them on top of the stove. I put the canned items onto the rolling cart. Then I noticed the jar: Indian relish? What was that? I ordered sweet relish for tuna salad.
Rats! I said. I didn’t order this. Why didn’t the shopper call me and ask?
I guess you need a new shopper, Annabelle said.
Yep, Annabelle, I need a sherpa and a shopper. I braced myself with my left hand on the stove top and the right one on the rolling cart. Then I slowly and painfully pulled myself up as I raised my left foot to a standing position and rose off the floor. As soon as I stood, I gave myself a moment to relax and let the pain go away. Then I put the things I had set on top of the stove into the freezer while three cats watched me in silence. I put the wadded plastic bags into my recyclable bag, grabbed my cane, and headed back to bed. As soon as I lay down, Annabelle, Thatch, and Stella leaped onto the bed beside me.
Okay, babies, I asked, what shall we watch?
Is it time for Judge Judy? Thatch asked.
Nope. She’s on after I give you all your dinner.
Is it time for dinner? Annabelle asked.
Nope. Sorry, I told her.
I had an idea, Thatch told me.
What, Thatch?
Annabelle and I will be shoppers and Stella can be your sherpa. She’s bigger than us.
Yes! Annabelle told me. You will give Thatch and me your shopping list and your debit card and we will shop for you.
Oh, Lord, I thought, if I give Annabelle that debit card she’ll run straight to Petco and buy gaudy kitty jewelry for herself. Instead, I said, that’s so nice! But, you know, I can’t see you and Thatch making it back up Broadway with heavy shopping bags.
He’s right, Annabelle, Thatch told her. Then we would need a sherpa.
I’m bored with sherpa shopper talk, Annabelle told us. Let’s get back to me and my career. And how you are ruining my life on Facebook.
What do you think, Stella? I asked. Do you want to be a sherpa?
Stella jumped off the bed, ran to a five-pound bag of Meow Mix, bit down on the end and dragged the bag across the floor to the side of the bed. Annabelle and Thatch applauded. She then jumped onto the bed and walked up my chest. She stopped when she reached my face.
Stella, I said, aren’t you amazing? You are the world’s greatest sherpa!
She bit my nose.
©2020, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 