Jeez, this carton is heavy, I thought as I dragged it from the elevator to my apartment. When I got to the apartment, I stepped inside and left the carton in the hall. It was the Saturday morning before Thanksgiving, and UPS had dropped the carton off around 7:30 on Friday night. I was already settled in for a movie with the cats, so I figured I would bring it up in the morning.
What did you leave out there? Annabelle asked me. She, Thatch, and Stella wore their Cats Against Trump caps. They’ve worn them every day since the election.
You know, I told her, Biden’s won the election. You can take off those caps now.
He won? Thatch asked.
Yep, Thatcher! We still have another month or so with the fat SOB, but he will no longer destroy the country after January 20.
Well, that’s good news. I hope this means Daylight Savings Time is over. Whatever gave him that stupid idea?
Annabelle, I have told you over and over: he is not responsible for Daylight Savings Time.
Well, I’m going to insist we wear our caps until he’s no longer president. So . . . what did you leave in the hall?
Groceries, I said.
Anything for us? Thatch asked.
No, Thatch, although Stella will eat nearly anything. I’m sure she will want some Doritos.
Of course, Annabelle sniffed.
Why do I order groceries from Amazon Pantry? I cried. They always arrive in these huge cartons that weigh tons.
Can we help? Thatch asked, as I gripped my walker and lowered myself to my knees.
That’s nice, baby, just let me bring this carton inside.
I opened the door to the apartment and began to drag the carton into my hall. As soon as there was enough space between the door and the carton, Stella dashed forward and ran into the hall.
Stella! I yelled. Get back here, Missy!
Stella! Annabelle called. We have a new carton to play in. Come back!
Stella ignored us, looked back, and then ran down the hall toward the elevator. By the time I was able to look out into the hall, I saw a black tail turning the corner of the hall.
Damn, damn, damn! I moaned. I can’t go after her.
What will you do? Thatch asked as I closed the door.
I’ll put away these groceries, I said as tore open the carton, and then I will think about the situation.
As soon as I removed half of the contents and set them on the floor next to the refrigerator, Annabelle and Thatch jumped into the carton and began sniffing its sides.
Something smells so good! Thatch said.
Well, it’s groceries, darlin’, I said, so there should be lots of good scents.
I claim this carton as my new home, Annabelle stated.
Just then I heard Stella mewing outside the door. As soon as I opened the door, she stepped into the apartment.
Stella, Thatch cried, you found your way back!
I laughed. Annabelle, she’s got one on you. You never find your way home.
I’m a star, and I have more important concerns, she said rather brusquely.
Well, Stella, I am very proud of you, and I am really delighted I do not have to chase you down.
Stella gave me a look, jumped into the carton, and wrestled with Annabelle, who screamed and leaped out of the carton. She jumped onto the computer table, took a moment to calm herself, and then settled down with her latest Backstage.
I don’t know why you bother with that, Thatch called. No one’s casting.
Some day they will need me, and I hope it’s soon.
I hope you’re right, Thatch said as he climbed back into the carton.
Stella jumped onto him and wrestled him to the linoleum before he broke free and ran under the bed.
Well, Stella, I said, want to help me put away these groceries?
As I reached for the bag of Doritos, Stella leaped onto my arm and bit my hand.
Stella, I said, never bite the hand that feeds you!
She’ll never learn! Annabelle looked up from her Backstage.
Well, babies, I told them, I think I will take a bath now. The groceries are put away, it’s only 9:00, and I ache from all that tugging.
I hobbled to the bathroom, hung my cane over the towel rack, and opened the hot water tap. As the tub filled, I undressed and carefully climbed into the tub. As I turned off the water and relaxed in the warmth, I heard Annabelle say, No, Stella, you stay here with Daddy, and then the front door closed.
Annabelle! I called. Missy?
There was no response.
Thatch! I called. Thatcher? Thatch Cat?
There was no response, but Stella sauntered into the bathroom and jumped up on the ledge of the tub.
Stella? I asked. Stella bella, did your brother and sister just leave the apartment? Will you tell me?
Naturally she said nothing.
Oh, you are the quiet lady of mystery this morning, aren’t you?
She gave me a vacant look, jumped down from the tub and left the room. I soaked, I sulked, and I fretted. Where did they go? What are they up to? Will they return? Why did they go out? I had no answers. Well, I thought, maybe they’re up to something with Val.
When I finished my bath, I called him. Val, are Annabelle and Thatch with you?
No, but I saw them a while ago. Outside the building. They wore their backpacks.
Outside the building? Damn! That really pisses me off. Now I’ll worry until they get back.
You don’t think they’ll go missing again?
You know, Val, I don’t know. I’ll be a nervous wreck till they show up. I better check my wallet first. If Annabelle took my debit card . . . no, it’s here, but they took . . . six cans of Fancy Feast. What the hell?
Is there a cat food drive in the neighborhood?
I doubt it, but they are certainly up to something.
Well, let me know.
I will. I hung up the phone.
Ever since they went missing in 2018, I worried about them, much as they pooh-poohed my lectures on running about the Upper West Side without me. Annabelle was headstrong and obstinate, and Thatch at least was sensible. Perhaps I relied on him to get them back safely, but all the same I worried, fretted, and waited for them.
Stella and I passed the day as we usually did. I played on the computer, watched some television, and tried to nap. Stella curled up beside me and slept soundly. She showed no concern that her siblings were out on the Manhattan streets alone, while I spent every moment waiting for the sound of their presence in the hall or anticipating a telephone call with bad news. It was hell.
I held off feeding her at the usual 3:00 dinner time since I hoped that Thatch and Annabelle would arrive safely home and hungry for dinner. Whenever Stella began her “I’m really hungry” pleadings, I gave her a bit of kibble. By 5:30, I gave in and fed her some Fancy Feast. Around 7:00, I heard two kitties pleading for entry outside my door.
About time! I snarled as I opened the door. Annabelle and Thatch erupted into the apartment. They hurried into the bathroom to hang up their backpacks.
We’re hungry! Thatch shouted.
Feed me, Seymour! Annabelle cried as she ran into the living area and jumped onto my computer table.
Where have you been? I demanded. I’ve worried about you all day, dammit.
An adventure, Thatch said mysteriously. We’ve been on a big adventure.
Feed us and we might tell you, Annabelle said. Hello, Stella! Were you good today?
Actually, I said, she was. I’m still surprised.
I hobbled to the kitchen and opened a second can of Fancy Feast seafood. After I put half of the can in each of their dishes, I opened the refrigerator and removed the Fancy Feast can I had opened for Stella.
I’ll let this warm up a bit before I add it to your bowls, I explained. Have a little kibble while we wait.
We had quite a day! Annabelle told me as I offered a handful of Meow Mix to her.
Yes! It’s a long way to Chinatown, Thatch told me. I’m tired.
Chinatown? I asked. You’ve been down there before, haven’t you?
Yes! When you were in the hospital.
Thatch, Annabelle warned him.
Did you go back to see that old witch? What’s her name?
Madame Esmé! She scares me.
Thatch, no, no, no!
Annabelle, why are you trying to shut him up? I wanted to know.
Annabelle gave me a long look. Okay, okay, I’ll tell you all. Give us our dinner, and we’ll tell you all about it.
It’s a deal. I fetched their dishes and set them down. Did your pigeon friends go with you?
Pebble and Oyster? Annabelle asked.
Yes.
They did, but we had to come back alone, and we got lost.
You should have taken Stella with you, I replied.
I remembered the way back, Thatch added.
Annabelle scowled at him. Stella! This is my dinner. Go away. Bother Thatch.
No! Go away, Stella! he ordered.
Come on, Stella, I said, let them eat. I’ll give you a treat.
Thirty minutes later, I washed their dishes, grabbed a snack, and sat down on my bed. The three cats settled with me.
All right, I said. Tell me about Madame Essie.
Madame Esmé! Thatch laughed.
Sorry. Madame Esmé. Who wants to begin?
Well, Annabelle said, I’ve been worried about you. You’re always talking about death-
I am?
Yes, Thatch said. You say things like, oh, just let me die, when you try to get out of a chair and stand up.
It’s the pain, Thatcher. Some days the pains are terrible, and I hurt like hell. And you know, this pandemic is really driving me up the wall.
And, Annabelle said, you say things like, just kill me, God; everything hurts.
You do, Thatch stated.
I had no answer. It was true. Some days, just getting from my computer chair – or desk – to the kitchen was a slow shuffle to hell and back.
I decided that Madame Esmé might know what’s going on, Annabelle told me, so Thatch and I decided to see her. We took her some Fancy Feast-
So that’s where those cans went?
Yes. The last time we saw her, she wanted Thatch’s right eye for payment, and I hoped we could buy her off with Fancy Feast. She must get awfully tired of Kung Pao Chicken.
And? I asked. Am I dying?
She says, Thatch began.
I’m telling this, Thatch! She says you need to grow up and you are not dying.
Well, I hope she’s right, I said.
Thatch said, I hope so, too.
Awww, that’s sweet, Thatch Cat.
Daddy, he said, we need to help Madame Esmé.
Why?
Well, Annabelle said, she’s got to move because of the pandemic. Her restaurant’s closed, and she’s starving. She accepted those cans of cat food because she’s not getting her Chinese leftovers.
We have to help her! Thatch said.
I’ll think about it, I told them.
I had turned down two invitations to Thanksgiving dinner with friends because of my Covid-19 concerns, and I had decided to order a nice dinner for Annabelle, Thatch, Stella, and me. Learning that I had no plans to step out, Annabelle decided that Thanksgiving Day was our day to move Madame Esmé.
Why Thanksgiving Day? I asked.
Why not? She’ll be through those cans of Fancy Feast, and I don’t want her starving to death in Chinatown. She’s really old.
She’s really, really, really old! Thatch added.
How old is she, Annabelle? Do you know?
I think she came over with the Mayflower. She’s really old.
If she’s that old, she gotta be immortal.
We have to help her, Thatch added. It’s important.
So, you tell me, babies, I said, what the hell do we do?
We have to move her, Annabelle stated matter-of-factly, and her sofa. That’s her home.
Oh, God, I thought, I’ve got to move a fat old cat and a sofa for Thanksgiving? Instead, I said, You know, when you say “we” you actually mean “Daddy.”
Well, Thatch and I will help. You know Stella will be no use at all.
You, Thatch, and I are going to move a fat old cat and her beat-up, mangy sofa to . . .?
I will not discuss this further, Annabelle closed her Backstage. You’ve got three days to figure it out.
So, Missy Belle, you’re just dumping this in my lap?
Yes. Hop to it. Oh, Thatch, there is nothing in Backstage this week. Maybe I should do a Zoom show?
I called Val. I hoped he would come up and talk sense to my headstrong little girl. Instead, he said, Well, we need a van to move a sofa. I think I can borrow one, but I have to be finished by noon. Heidi and I have dinner plans with her mom. Can we do it first thing in the morning?
Earlier the better, I answered.
The next question was, what would be a good location for moving Madame Esmé? I figured it had to be either Restaurant Row on 46th Street or an alley behind a hotel, either the Plaza or the Waldorf Astoria since both hotels had busy restaurants. Annabelle and Thatch insisted on checking out the possible locales before making a decision, so on Wednesday night, the three of us checked out the three areas and their alleys. An unhappy Stella was forced to remain at home. I left her a bowl of kibble and the Kitty Channel for company.
Decisions, decisions, Annabelle muttered as we headed back uptown. The Plaza was perfect, but it’s closed. There was so much room in that alley, plenty of space to hide an old sofa.
Well, I said, Restaurant Row’s doing takeout and delivery, so maybe that’s our best bet?
Annabelle said nothing.
Annabelle, Thatch asked, what do you think?
Annabelle! Missy! Annabelle?
She turned to look at me. Yes? What?
I asked you a question. What do you think? Restaurant Row or the Waldorf?
Sorry. I was thinking about my Zoom show.
At 8:00 on Thanksgiving morning, Annabelle, Thatch, and I waited outside 202 West 82nd Street for Val to meet us with his borrowed van. To avoid the parade, he took the West Side Highway to lower Manhattan. We crossed Canal Street.
So, where’s this restaurant, Annabelle?
Franklin Street? I think it’s Franklin Street.
Val located the alley running behind Franklin Street, and we slowly drove down it while Annabelle looked for Madame Esmé’s location. The area was pretty deserted; the courthouses and most businesses were closed, and we had no problem finding Madame Esmé and her battered sofa. I had never seen a cat so fat or so ancient. The problem was convincing the old cat that she needed to move.
I’ve lived here for over two hundred years, she said. I like this part of the city. I’ve watched it change and change again. I don’t want to move.
We don’t want you to starve, Madame Esmé, Annabelle told her.
We’re here to help you! Thatch added.
Still got your right eye, I see, Madame Esmé snarled.
Why are you so mean? I’m not afraid of you! Thatch said as he backed behind Annabelle.
Madame Esmé cackled in delight. I don’t need your pity, Annabelle. I’m like Manhattan: I’ve lived through rough times and splendid times, and at the moment this ain’t a very good time. You think this current plague is bad? It was worse in 1918, but back then people were more intelligent than this current crop of fools. They wore masks, took precautions and survived. Half of the people in this country are fools, complete fools.. Let ’em die. Good riddance. I will survive. I’m like the city: I know too much. I’ve seen too much, and I’m too wicked to die.
Two hundred years? I asked. Did you really arrive on the Mayflower?
Nonsense. If that were the case, I’d be living in Massachusetts, wouldn’t I?
We came to help you, Thatch said to her, easing out from behind Annabelle’s back.
That’s very kind of you, little boy, she said sarcastically. If you would really like to help me, her voice softened, you two kind gentlemen might move me and my sofa down a block. There’s a nice restaurant still in operation, and they appear to be doing well with take-out. The food was better here, but it may never reopen. The menu there will do. Do you mind moving me?
We came to help, Val said. Let’s get to it.
He and I dragged this wreck of a sofa to the street from a pile of garbage and other refuse and loaded it into the van. Annabelle and Thatch rode with Madame Esmé in the back with the sofa. We finally came upon the back door of a restaurant with a trash bin well stocked with plastic bags of dumped food.
Stop! This is the place, Madame Esmé told us.
After we cleared a nice hiding spot among the junk piled in the alley, we pulled the sofa from the back of the van and did our best to conceal it.
Will this do? I asked her.
I think you did a lovely job. Thank you, gentlemen.
Val bowed to her. Everybody ready to head uptown? he asked.
I know you have dinner plans, she told him, but I would like a moment with Mr. Moore, if you don’t mind.
Not at all, Val replied. Annabelle! Thatch! Get out of that garbage! Come on. Get in the van.
My two devils ran to Val and jumped into the driver’s seat ahead of him. As he climbed into the van, Annabelle and Thatch leaped into the back seat and waved at me from the window.
What did you want to tell me, Madame Esmé? I asked.
First of all, thank you again. You’ve given me quite a nice Thanksgiving gift, and I am grateful for your kindness and time. I’m not used to kindness. I’ve seen too little in my life.
You are very welcome. Annabelle’s the one you should thank.
I will. She will be back to see me. She has questions and a very old soul. You do, too, did you know that?
I did not know that.
Now you do. You’ve lived many lives. You must have interesting dreams.
I do! How did you know?
Your dreams recall memories from your past lives.
Can I ask you a question?
What?
Are you really over two hundred years old?
She laughed. Aren’t you rude? A lady never tells her age. I came to America on a French ship many, many years ago, just after your war with England ended. Parlez-vous français, monsieur?
Un peu . . . a little, I said sheepishly. Very badly, Madame Esmé. I read it much better.
Cats were kept on ships to keep mice and other vermin under control, you know.
I didn’t know that.
Now you do. You must stop worrying your children so much. They fear you are dying, but you’re not. You’re just in pain, and you prefer to get around on a walker and bitch about the pain rather than go back into another round of surgery.
How did you know that?
Take care of your health. You won’t die for some time yet.
Don’t tell me when!
She turned and ambled slowly across the alley.
Wait! I cried. I have one more question. Why did you want Thatch’s right eye?
She turned and came back to me.
Everyone wants help, she said after a moment’s thought. Everyone! But most of them are insincere . . . or they are cowards. They want it easy. Hold my hand, please, they beg. If someone is brave – or desperate – enough to give up an eye to get what they want, then I know they truly want help. Those are the brave ones!
I nodded in agreement.
The old witch laughed, a rather nasty laugh. The problem is, what do I do with an eye once I have it? You have a very loving and sincere little boy there. I have no doubt at all that he would have come back to offer me his eye to save your life-
But he didn’t come back to you.
I never expected him to, since I knew you wouldn’t die in the hospital.
Val honked the horn and started the engine. I could see Annabelle and Thatch watching me from the van’s back window.
Your friend has plans today, she said. Don’t keep him waiting.
I had one more question . . .
No more questions. I’m bored now. Go away.
She turned and slowly climbed onto the sofa. She sniffed about, turned, and gave me an evil look. Val honked the horn again, and I turned to see him backing the van up to me. I turned back to Madame Esmé, and she had disappeared into the depths of the sofa.
©2020, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 