I pushed the bed back into place after making it and looked about the apartment. Annabelle sat in the window reading something. I knew Stella was napping in the bathroom sink, but Thatch was in neither of his post-breakfast napping spots.
Thatch? Thatcher? I called. There was no response, so I wandered over to the window.
Annabelle, I asked, Missy?
She looked up from the book. It was the King James version of the Bible I had received in Sunday school over sixty years ago.
Yes? she asked me.
Do you know where Thatch is?
I am not my brother’s keeper.
Ha ha, Missy! Aren’t you the sassy one? Did you read that in the Bible?
Right here in the Old Testament. It’s one of the few things I understood. The language is like Shakespeare. It’s pretty to read, but I cannot make sense of most of it. Maybe if I saw it onstage.
Well, don’t take any of it seriously. Too many do, and that’s a mistake.
Are you pontificating again.
Okay . . . okay. I’m off my soapbox.
She looked around. What box? Sometimes you make no sense at all.
I can’t beat logic like that, I told her. So, do you know where Thatch is?
No, Daddy, I’ve been too busy trying to make sense of this book. It’s a hard read. Maybe I should listen to Cats to clear my mind? Maybe a snack? I hope Stella left me some kibble.
I don’t know if there’s any kibble left, Annabelle. Stella’s a little piglet.
She rose, stretched slowly, yawned, and then jumped off the windowsill to the floor. As she ambled off to the kitchen area, I called after her, If you see Thatch, let me know.
I just saw him. He’s under your work table.
I walked around the television to my work corner and looked under the table. Thatch was sleeping on the top of a covered bed that had ended up between the legs of the table and the bookcases.
Thatch! Are you asleep? I asked.
I was.
Why aren’t you in your usual places?
I needed a change. I was becoming a creature of habit.
He wandered out from under the table and we walked back into our living area.
I’ve taken the recyclables to the basement and made the bed. Now I’m trying to avoid dragging out the vacuum cleaner. Do you want to have a nap with Daddy?
Yes! He leaped onto my bed, and I lay down beside him. I turned the television onto “Hot Bench.” As soon as Annabelle heard the television, she came running to join us. Stella followed.
Court shows! she called as she jumped up beside my prone body and walked across my chest to “her spot,” a large pillow she’s claimed as her own. Stella leaped onto the bed and moved down to my feet. She doesn’t give a damn about the court shows, but she likes our group naps.
Hello, Annabelle, Thatch said as she walked over him.
I love court shows, she pronounced. It’s such a nice change from all those thees, thous, and begats. My head is shpinning, she added in her best Lotte Lenya accent.
A pineapple! Thatch sang. Get it?
Got it?
Good!
During a commercial, she turned to me. Daddy? Are you awake?
I opened my eyes. I was dozing.
I do not understand this Colonial Penn life insurance commercial.
Why?
Well, they’ve decided to get the nine ninety-five plan, but they never ask what amount they will get when they cash in the policy. I want to know exactly what I will get from your life insurance when you die.
Very little, Annabelle, very little, I’m afraid.
Well, if Stella keeps eating all the kibble, I may have to get the nine ninety-five plan for her . . .
And? Thatch asked.
Show her the view from the roof!
©2021, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 