Three cats wearing their “Cats Against Trump” caps glared at me. I tried to ignore them as I played on the computer, but each time I looked up, they seemed to be a little closer. I turned my eyes back to the YouTube video I was trying to download, when a loud thump on the table made me look up. Three cats had leaped onto the computer table and, looking over the top of the computer screen, six feline eyes looked at me with intense anger.
No, don’t look at me! I cried in shame. Not like that! Please, babies, I’m sorry.
You did it again? Annabelle asked. I cannot believe it! You didn’t last more than a week.
Eight days, actually, Thatch said.
I’m sorry, babies! I cried, Mea culpa!
So, how long is Facebook blocking you? Annabelle asked. Tell me.
Thirty days, I whispered/
Thirty days? Annabelle yelled. If I had a flourishing career, instead of sitting out this pandemic, you would kill it. Why do you keep doing this to me?
I don’t mean to, but my anger over this riot that Trump provoked really pissed me off and I perhaps posted something on Facebook that they felt was too hostile.
What did you post? Thatch asked.
I posted that I thought he should be executed. Not impeached, not removed from office by the 25th amendment, just executed. He’s a traitor and he tried to lead a coup against our democracy.
Why would he want to stay in office? Thatch asked. He hasn’t been acting like a president since the election.
It’s true, Thatcher, I told him. He doesn’t seem to like the job at all. I think he likes using the office to steal from the government . . .
And, Annabelle interjected, as long as he sits in the White House, he thinks he won’t face prosecution for all the charges he will face after Jan. 20!
Very good, Annabelle! I applauded.
I’m not just a pretty face, you know. I’m well read.
It’s so difficult being a Cat Against Trump, Thatch sighed. I can’t keep up with all of his crimes.
I don’t understand why Pence won’t use the 25th Amendment and sack him, I said.
That’s easy, Thatch said. He doesn’t want to be President for eight days or so. He wants to run for president in 2024, and he doesn’t want to lose Trump supporters.
What a smart boy you are, Thatch! I said.
Yeah, yeah, let’s get back to execution – what a good idea, Annabelle said. Just like A Tale of Two Cities! Is there a musical in that with a good role for me? They could sell tickets and we could all go to DC, and I could check out the Kennedy Center! Maybe I could entertain the crowd before the execution. You know, warm them up for a good time.
Uh-oh, I thought. Instead I said, You know, I doubt an execution like that would be a public event.
Why not? They could sell tickets and pay off the national debt!
Even if it were public, I’m not sure what numbers would go well for an execution.
Maybe Thatch and I could do “Pore Jud is Dead?” Or “You Were Dead, You Know?”
“Ding Dong the Witch is Dead!” Thatch suggested. Or Jacques Brel’s “Funeral Tango.”
Maybe you could dance to “Funeral March of a Marionette” or Ravel’s “Pavan for a Dead Princess,” Annabelle, I suggested.
Oh, I like that idea! Annabelle laughed. People love to watch me dance.
Any other ideas, Daddy? Thatch asked.
And there’s “That’s Your Funeral” from Oliver!, you know. I do want to play Nancy some day. Annabelle started singing “As Long As He Needs Me.”
“I’ll Be Glad When You’re Dead, You Rascal You!” might be the theme of your act, I suggested.
Annabelle removed her “Cats Against Trump” cap. This is all well and good, she stated, but at this moment he’s still president, and I can’t waste my time on this. It makes my head hurt. My head is shpinning, she said in her best Lotte Lenya accent.
A pineapple . . . Thatch sang.
Get it? Annabelle asked.
Got it! Thatch said.
Good! They both yelled, before they rolled around my computer table laughing wildly. Stella became excited and leaped onto my shoulder.
Okay, okay, I said, you can calm down. Ouch, Stella!
She bit my ear and leaped back onto the table to roll around with Annabelle and Thatch, who suddenly sat up and looked serious.
I thought we were wearing our caps until Jan. 20th, Thatch said.
I know, but I can’t think while I’m wearing it. I’m ready for a nap . . . unless you want to take some Instagram shots, Thatch. I’m still thinking about my Zoom show.
Oh, that could be fun. Maybe we could do some shots on the fire escape.
Like Tony and Maria! I love it.
Daddy, will you open the window so we can go out?
Well, if you need me, I told them, you know where to find me.
We need some props. Come on, Stella. This is your photo-op.
My three little kittens leaped off the computer table and ran off to the linen closet. I got out of my chair and walked to the window while “Hit the Road, Jack” played in my head.
©2021, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 