The alarm rang at 6:00, and I stumbled out of bed. I grabbed my cane and wandered to the window to open the blinds, but, curiously, no cats ran to help me. Usually Thatch and Stella leap up to the windowsill to let me know how high they want the blinds raised. Where are those rascals, I wondered as I made my way to the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the tub and turned on the hot water tap to wash my face. As I waited for the cold water to warm up, I filled their water bowl.
Get it? That was Annabelle’s voice.
Got it. That was Thatch.
Good! Annabelle replied just before three laughing cats burst into the bathroom and danced around my feet. Annabelle jumped onto the edge of the tub.
The kettle with the kibble’s in the flagon with the dragon, she told me.
But the chalice from the palace holds the brew that is true! Thatch finished up.
Screaming with delight, they ran from the bathroom as Stella chased after them. I washed my face, thinking, what the hell have I done?
A few days earlier, I had suggested we might watch The Court Jester, which is one of the funniest films ever made, but I had no idea that Annabelle and Thatch would go bananas over it. We had watched it three nights in a row, and Annabelle was eager to star in a musical adaptation. “Get it? Got it. Good!” had become their new answer to everything.
I went into the kitchen and prepared their breakfast. Stella circled my feet. She does this every time I approach the stove or refrigerator. While I opened cans of Fancy Feast Whitefish and Tuna, Annabelle and Thatch discussed this year’s caroling event.
We really need to give Stella something else to do besides beat that tambourine, Thatch. Any ideas?
I don’t know, Annabelle. I hadn’t thought about it.
You know she will want to join us.
And she should. We’re a family, Annabelle. She’s our sister.
She’s so uncouth and awkward, Thatch. I never know what she’ll do. Maybe she could stand with Daddy and watch us?
We have to make her feel at home.
After a year and a half, she’s very comfortable here. I just don’t want her spoiling my show.
Our show, Annabelle
Well, perhaps. Let’s check our repertoire. We’ve got “Silent Night,” and my fans will expect “Frosty the Snowman.” You haven’t forgotten the lyrics?
No, Annabelle; they are burnt into my memory.
Good. Now, we need a few new numbers . . .
Breakfast time, babies! I called as I shuffled from the kitchen with three dishes of Fancy Feast. Stella circled my feet as I tried to lower myself to the ground. When I landed, I gave Stella her bowl first because she jumps on whoever’s dish I put down first, then Annabelle. Thatch patiently waited for his.
You know, Annabelle, I said, I was thinking, maybe Stella and Thatch could do something with “Mary’s Boy Child.” Thatch loves to dance to it.
Annabelle almost choked on her breakfast. This is my show!
I thought I saw Thatch bristle at that comment.
Well, just think about it. I rose to my feet and shuffled back to the kitchen.
Wait! she called after me. Maybe that’s not a bad idea. Thatch could sing it, Stella could bang that tambourine, and I could do my calypso-limbo combo.
Once again, I thought, it’s all about Annabelle. Instead, I said, well, see how Thatch and Stella feel about that. Get it?
Got it, she responded.
Good, I said.
The week passed quietly, for the most part. From the linen closet, which is huge, I could occasionally hear Stella beating that tambourine, and bits of various holiday songs. Annabelle and Thatch have an office somewhere in there, and a rehearsal studio as well. Whenever I cannot find a book or CD, it’s because Annabelle has taken it to her office, and I know I will never see it again.
The rehearsals were touch and go. At least once every other day, Thatch stormed out of the linen closet, vowing to never sing with Annabelle again.
I was helping my friend Joseph with an editing job. I had just sat down at my worktable and sharpened all my red pencils when Thatch erupted from the linen closet.
No, he shouted, I won’t rehearse with you again. Ever!
She’s getting to you, Thatcher? I asked.
She can be so impossible. I’m the star, I’m the star . . . I know she knows that I know that, and she knows I don’t want to be a star. I just want to have a good time with my big sister, and poor Stella . . she does try, but Annabelle confuses her.
Just let her be Ida Lupino for a bit.
Who?
Ida Lupino? She was an actress and a director. She’s before your time. Long before your time, Thatch.
Oh. Okay.
You know Annabelle’s a perfectionist . . .
I know. And a perfect pain. And a professional. But, you know, when she did that musical at the Irish Rep, she never listened to the director. You were there.
I know.
She bullies me, and she’s worse to Stella.
Thatch! Annabelle called.
How does Stella react? I asked him.
She’s goofy. She beats that tambourine and pays Annabelle no mind.
Maybe you should try that.
Thatch! Annabelle called again.
Well, I have to go back and sing “Mary’s Boy Child” now.
You’re not quitting?
And leave her in the lurch?
You’re a good boy, Thatch. She’s lucky to have you. How’s the song coming along?
You will not believe her calypso-limbo combo!
Scary?
Everything but the kitchen sink.
We laughed, and Thatch ran back to the linen closet. I went back to my editing. I looked out the window to see a light snow falling. That’s pretty, I thought. I looked at my desk calendar: December 16. Tomorrow is laundry day, I thought. Shoot me.
When I opened the window blinds the next morning, three kitties were thrilled to see how heavy the snowfall had been from the night before. While I prepared the laundry for our basement laundry room, Annabelle had sung “Winter Wonderland” and skipped about the apartment with Stella and Thatch. I had just come up from putting the laundry into the dryers when I found my babies dressed to go out.
No, I said, you are not going out today.
Three cats wearing earmuffs, scarfs, face masks, and mittens stared angrily at me.
We want to play in the snow, Annabelle told me. Then she burst into song:
Sleigh bells ring, are you listenin’?
On the pane snow is glistenin’;
The three of us shout we wanna go out,
Playing in our winter wonderland.
Steppin’ out in the snowfall;
In your mitts make a snowball;
And won’t it be fun to watch Daddy run,
Playing in our winter wonderland.
On the sidewalk we can build a snow cat
Lookin’ like a lion in the zoo;
Does it bite? they ask, and we’ll say no, cat,
This chilly chum’s a member of our crew!
See the snow piling higher,
Wish this dump had a fire
Where we dream away the close of the day,
Happy in our winter wonderland!
I want to build a snow cat! Thatch added. Please, Daddy?
Okay, okay, I told them. Let me finish this laundry, and after I’ve put it away, we’ll go out, wander through Christmas Tree Lane, and you can play in the snow. Sh! Shhh! Stop cheering. Go. Take off those earmuffs and scarfs till we’re ready to go out. I don’t want you catching colds.
While you finish the laundry, Annabelle stated, we can rehearse for our caroling night.
Annabelle, I asked as three cats scampered to the bathroom to change clothes, how are your rehearsals coming along?
Quite nicely, I think. What night can we go caroling? And she sneezed.
Getting a cold? I asked.
She sniffed, No, not at all.
You know I put vitamins and Lysine in every meal I serve you three, and half the time you skip it. No wonder you’re catching cold.
It is not a cold.
Okay. If you say so. I’m, going back to the laundry. Wanna come with me?
No. We need to rehearse.
Well, change first.
After I had put the clothes into the dryers, I finished kitty cleanup and made the bed. I could hear them rehearsing in the linen closet.
Okay, I yelled. I’m going down to get the laundry, and when I get back, we’ll play in the snow!
Three cats erupted from the linen closet, and I was surrounded by cheering, dancing cats. As I headed for the door, I reminded them, Now, listen, babies, don’t put on your winter clothes until I get back. I don’t want you getting overheated. Annabelle’s already fighting a cold.
I do not, she yelled, have a cold! And then she sneezed.
Every year, between Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve, vendors set up Christmas Tree Lane on West 82nd Street between the corner of Amsterdam Avenue and our building. There they sell pine fronds, wreaths of all sizes, and trees. Half of the sidewalk to the curb is lost to trees and scaffolding, leaving no more than a footpath to the corner of Amsterdam. Christmas Tree Lane made everything seem more Christmas-y under a heavy coating of snow. It was the most festive time of the year, and my three little kittens were euphoric from the scents of pine and hot bacon from the corner bodega.
We did a bit of shopping first before we played in the snow in front of Holy Trinity Church. Their snow cat was not a success, but they had a good time pelting me with snowballs as I tried to run with a walker through heavy snow to our building. We ended up brushing snow off each other in the lobby.
Monday is December 21, Annabelle said as we entered the elevator. I thought we might go caroling on Wednesday evening. Can we, Daddy?
Are you sure you’re ready? I asked as we stepped off and three kitties ran to our door.
I think so. What do you say, Thatch?
Sure. We’re as ready as we’ll ever be.
Any thoughts, Stella? Oh, forget it. You never speak.
We’ll be ready, Annabelle, Thatch said patiently.
Get it?
Got it!
Good. I just wish RU Fémos was in town to join us.
RU is the head of the All About Me press agency, and he works as Annabelle’s agent and manager. He’s a good man, but he’s retired to his country home until the pandemic is over.
I’m sorry he can’t be, Annabelle, but you can call him and tell him all about how it went.
Absolutely! He’ll enjoy that.
I unlocked the door to the apartment. Okay, I said, Wednesday night it is. Now, get out of those wet clothes and I’ll dry you off with the hair dryer.
I like this part! Thatch enthused.
I don’t know why you have a hair dryer, Annabelle observed. You don’t have any hair.
I did. Once, long ago, Annabelle, long, long ago.
I want to see pictures, please.
I even wore it in a ponytail.
Photos! We want photos!
Later, Annabelle; get out of those clothes. Now!
As my three little devils ran for the bathroom, Annabelle turned back to me. We need to go shopping tomorrow!
The next day was a Petco trip. Annabelle insisted on caroling accessories for all three. Thatch wanted a festive scarf and stocking cap. Stella got a bright red scarf, which looked great with her black and white tuxedo coat. After trying on everything, Annabelle settled for the usual holiday attire: black scarf and a sprig of holly behind her ear. I hope they don’t sound like crap, I thought, but they certainly will look spectacular.
On Wednesday night we headed out to our usual caroling spot on 82nd Street and Amsterdam. In my bag I carried Frosty’s top hat, Stella’s tambourine, and other items I thought we might need to get through a performance. We made quite a parade through Christmas Tree Lane where several late shoppers looking for a tree stopped to compliment me on how festive my babies looked. Annabelle danced, Thatch strutted, and Stella hopped and jumped.
When we reached the corner and waited for the light, Annabelle turned to Stella and snapped, Will you behave? Just behave.
Annabelle, I said, she’s so happy. She’s having a good time. Let her enjoy herself.
She’s got no discipline!
The light changed and we crossed Amsterdam Avenue. A rather chi-chi boutique for ladies’ cosmetics now occupies the corner spot where once a rather shabby barber shop sat for years. The shop’s Christmas lights provided a nice stage for my three carolers.
The set began with “Jingle Bells,” which Annabelle and Thatch sang while Stella shook a string of sleighbells. That was their ice-breaker, and I could see their stage fright dissolve as they got into the fun of the number. This was new to their set, and so I had not seen it before. Annabelle and Thatch played off each other quite nicely. I was a very proud papa.
Stella stepped back out of the way, and Annabelle and Thatch sang a tastefully quiet “Silent Night.” Very nice, Stella, I thought. Their “White Christmas” was shaky. After two previous years of caroling, their harmonies still were poor, but a crowd was forming, and I could see a few people taping the event on their cell phones. My babies are so photogenic, I thought.
Stella and Thatch were adorable backups to Annabelle’s overly baroque calypso-limbo combo to “Mary’s Boy Child.” My sweet little girl has never learned when simpler is better. When she finished her dance and began her second solo, she suddenly sneezed.
Everything stopped. Stella dropped her tambourine. Thatch stopped swaying and, when the pause became really awkward, he yelled, Gesundheit!
The crowd laughed, and Thatch began to giggle. Annabelle sneezed again, and again. The crowd shouted, Gesundheit! Thatch’s laughter was out of control, and I could see panic in Annabelle’s eyes.
Do something! she wheezed before she sneezed again.
Stella stepped forward, and in a very clear, tiny voice, sang, I wonder as I wander out under the sky–
It was beautiful and completely unexpected. Stella had refused to speak nothing but Cat for a year and a half, and yet she sang this folk carol perfectly. The crowd’s laughter faded as they strived to hear this fragile little voice. Thatch gawked, and Annabelle stopped sneezing. Time stopped as the three of us watched this awkward, rough little tuxedo cat break hearts with such unexpected beauty and grace.
I wondered, Is Christmas a time of miracles because we wish it so, or is it something so far beyond our ken that we will never understand why or when a miracle might happen. Was It a miracle or do we simply want or need miracles so badly around Christmas that anything out of the ordinary can seem like one? It sure as hell seemed like one to me. As long as Stella sang, there was definitely something miraculous in the air.
I wonder as I wander . . . out under the sky.
When she finished, the spell was broken. The crowd applauded, Stella stepped back, looking slightly stunned, and picked up her tambourine. Thatch ran to stand beside her.
Stella, he said, you were amazing! That was beautiful.
She gave him a blank look.
I took Annabelle in my arms. Well, Annabelle, I whispered, are you ready for “Frosty the Snowman?”
She shook her head. Nope. That’s it for tonight. I know when I’m beat. I can’t top that. Take me home.
Okay, babies, I said, Missy’s catching a cold and I’m calling it quits for tonight.
Curtain call! Annabelle said. Smile!
The cats took their bows and posed for photos. As we gathered our things, and the crowd dispersed, I thought, as we lurch through life, hoping to dodge the harsher blows and wanting to hold onto the good things, how often do we miss completely the grace and beauty surrounding us? Why did Stella burst into song, and why was it that one? What secrets and longings lie hidden in the heart of that little terror, that paper shredding kitty? Did our awkward little ugly duckling suddenly become a swan for a moment or forever? I guess we will have to wait for the answer to that.
As we crossed Amsterdam, Thatch asked, Annabelle, are you sorry we didn’t get to perform “Frosty?”
Sorta, but I can’t risk losing my voice because of a cold. Stella, thank you for saving our performance.
So, babies, what do you want to do when we get home? I asked.
Let’s just lie down and watch a movie, Annabelle suggested. And have a snack.
Well, any movie in particular? Can I choose it?
Well, Annabelle said as we entered the lobby of 202 West 82, there’s one DVD I wouldn’t mind watching again.
Like The Court Jester? I suggested.
Perhaps, she purred.
Life could not better be! Thatch observed. Get it?
Got it? Annabelle answered.
Good, we all yelled.
©2020, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 