Thank God it isn’t raining, I thought as I opened the door to 82nd Street and unfolded my walker. I had three payments to mail and that meant a walk to the mailbox on the corner of Amsterdam and 82nd Street. It had rained all weekend, and I luckily managed to step out during a break in the downpour. As I approached the corner, I was caught up in the strong scent of pine; the Christmas tree vendors were setting up for their annual holiday sales, and I at once was caught up oil a holiday mood. I hobbled across Amsterdam Avenue, dropped three bills into the mailbox, and hurried home.
Annabelle, Annabelle! Christmas Tree Lane is back up.
She looked up from her carton of Christmas decorations. Oh, can we go?
I thought you might want to.
We always miss it, and I’ve always wanted to see it. In the past, it’s been something we pass through when you carry me home from the bus in my carrier.
I want to go! Thatch shouted as he ran to me.
Thatcher, we need to get the Christmas music out.
“Mary’s Boy Child” and “The Virgin Mary Had A Baby Boy” are his two favorites, and when they have a good calypso beat, my little boy dances all over the apartment.
Yes! Dance party, he yelled as he danced around my feet.
Now, be careful! I told him. I don’t want to stumble or step on you. It’s raining today, so can we visit Christmas Tree Lane tomorrow? Annabelle? What do you think, Annabelle? Annabelle.
She was sitting in the cat tree and staring at the window.
Annabelle, Thatch called. Daddy asked you a question.
What?
Can we go to Christmas Tee Lane tomorrow?
Of course.I was just thinking about our caroling show this year.
Oh, God, I thought, this means two weeks of hell for me and Thatch. Instead, I asked, you want to try it again this year?
Yes. I am determined. We need to learn a few more songs, Thatch.
Uh . . . more songs? He asked.
A couple.
Why don’t you add one of the songs he likes and already knows, like “Mary’s Boy Child?” I suggested. Thatch looks so cute dancing to it.
I’m the star, not Thatch.
I could see he was crushed by Annabelle’s dismissal. She loves him, but nothing – zilch, nada, not a damned thing – gets in the way of her ambition. She is an aspiring diva.
And there, I said, you have it, Thatch. I’m sorry, baby.
That’s okay, Thatch told us. Annabelle’s the star in the family.
I knew you’d see it my way, Annabelle told him. When we go to Christmas Tree Lane tomorrow, that cat tree could use a good wreath. What do you think, Thatch?
All morning, Annabelle, Stella, and Thatch had been busy trimming their cat tree with twinkle lights and garlands of pine and holly.
Doesn’t it look nice? Annabelle asked me.
It looks like the interior of an Indian restaurant, I thought. Instead, I said, Annabelle, you are the Martha Stewart of feline interior decorators. Are you sure you will be comfortable sleeping on all that pine?
Well, I gave myself plenty of space around my hammock. See? I won’t be lying on pine needles.
And you, Thatch?
I think I’ll be okay on the top level, Daddy. I’ve got room. Look!
Clever kitties! I enthused. There’s a lot of decoration on that tree. Are you sure you don’t want to do more of the apartment? Maybe we could hang that wreath on the door instead of the cat tree?
Annabelle turned to me. I have a question. Can we hang lights in the window?
No, Annabelle. It would be disastrous. You three romping kitties never look before you leap. I’m already worried about the cat tree going to hell.
It will be fine. You worry too much. Stella, where do you want to hang the star?
She rummaged through her small box of decorations and held out a sparkling white star to Stella, who looked at it for a moment. I thought you might want to hang it-
Stella ran up to her, grabbed the star in her mouth, and ate it. Then she threw up styrofoam pieces all over the floor. Thatch stopped dancing in shock.
Stella! You ate that star? That wasn’t a treat!
I think Stella needs an Elf on the Shelf, I told them.
Annabelle turned to me in disgust. Oh! how rude! She’s got no couth at all.
©2020, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 