After begging to be petted, which I did for a good 10-15 minutes. Stella had bitten my hand. And it hurt! Since she refuses to speak English, I never know if she’s playing extra rough or angry.
Stella, I said rather severely, you have major oral aggression issues.
She gave me a puzzled look for several minutes and then turned and strolled off to the bathroom, where she likes to lie in the bathtub or the sink, depending on something.
Annabelle? Thatch? I called. I’m home! Daddy’s home, babies!
Annabelle wandered out of the linen closet, followed by Thatch.
Oh, good, you’re home, she said, and you are late. We’re starving.
Sorry, that procedure took much longer than I had anticipated. They told me it was similar to a colonoscopy, but this took much longer.
I looked at the kitchen clock: it said 6:15. I had left for the hospital at 9:45 that morning. It had been a long day. I sat on the edge of the bed, removed my sweatshirt and shoes. My legs were killing me. They had been pulled in all directions as the surgeons, anesthetist, and others in the operating room tried to get my feet into the stirrups. Just anesthetize me, and when I’m unconscious, you can do whatever you like, I told them. Around 4:30 I had awakened in the recovery area.
So, feed me, Seymour! Annabelle shouted.
Okay, okay! Just a minutes.
I pushed the shoes under the bed. All I didn’t need was to stumble over them as I hobbled around the apartment.
Annabelle, Thatch said sharply, he just got home.
No, I know you’re hungry. I’ll feed you now.
I limped to the dresser to pull cans of Fancy Feast: Grilled Tuna and Seafood Feast. I’ll make a bed of Tuna and put the seafood on top.
You’ll like this, I told them. Seafood okay?
Yummy! Thatch said enthusiastically.
I took the cans into the kitchen. As soon as she heard their dishes hit the stovetop, Stella came running from the bathroom to circle my feet.
Stella! Stella, go away, baby. I don’t want to fall over you.
I picked up two dishes in one hand and the third in the other. Carefully balancing myself, I hobbled back to their food mats. I set the one dish on the edge of the computer table, then lowered myself to the floor. Three cats circled me.
Get back, babies! If I fall on you, I could hurt you, Stella. Get back, Missy.
I gave Stella her dish first. It’s the only way to keep sanity at mealtimes. Then I gave Annabelle hers, and finally the patient Thatch’s. He immediately began devouring his dinner. Annabelle sniffed her dish, then walked away.
Annabelle! You’re not eating?
I really wanted pheasant.
God, you can be such a pain. Don’t eat then. I’m making some soup for myself. I’m on liquids for a couple of days.
She returned to her dish and began to eat. Within minutes all three had gobbled down their dinners. I came back from the kitchen after putting the soup on low heat, and looked at the empty dishes.
Wow! You were really hungry tonight, I exclaimed. I sat on my computer chair, and logged onto the computer.
Well. Annabelle pointed out, dinner was three hours late.
I know, I know. I’m sorry, I really am. I was sure I would be home earlier.
So, how was your procedure? Thatch asked. Did it hurt.
No, just my legs hurt. I’m just uncomfortable and a bit crabby.
You’re always crabby, Annabelle stated.
Aw, Missy, you know you love me. I love you, you know.
She jumped into my lap and snuggled.
Don’t get comfortable, I said. I still have to get my soup and check my emails.
She jumped down, and I stood up.
So what was your procedure? she asked.
His prostrate, Thatch told her. He had a prostrate autopsy.
Not yet, Thatch, I said, thank God. No autopsy.
©2021, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 