Annabelle, get out of the bag. Now! I have to leave.
Not. I’m coming with you.
No, you’re not.
It was 8:30. The cats had their breakfast at 6:00. By 8:15 I had had my two cups of coffee and my own breakfast, cleaned their dishes and litter, taken my morning meds, and dressed for my appointment with my urologist. It would take me fifteen minutes to get myself and my walker from the apartment to the corner of Amsterdam Avenue to flag down a taxi. To my dismay, Annabelle had jumped into my traveling bag containing my cap, several masks, and a book.
You are not going alone, she insisted. You need someone with you, in case the news is bad.
I’m already expecting the news to be bad. And I don’t want to be late. Get. Out. Of. The. Bag.
No, you are not going alone. Let’s go.
And so we did.’
We’ll be back in a couple of hours, I yelled. Thatch and Stella watched me wiggle the walker through the door and into the hall as Annabelle rode in the bag.
Good luck, Thatch called after us as I locked the door behind me.
Behave yourself, Missy! I said to Annabelle as the taxi pulled up, and I reached for the door handle. I took the bag off the walker, then folded the walker up and slid it across the back seat. I turned my back to the taxi, settled my butt onto the seat, and slipped into the taxi. I put the bag on my lap, closed the door, and gave the driver my destination.
You did that very smoothly, Annabelle remarked.
That’s right. You’ve never been outside with me and my walker before.
Where are we going? she asked me.
To the East Side.
Are you frightened?
A bit, but I’m pretty sure it’s cancer. I just want to know how we proceed. I think you’ll like my doctor. He’s a good man.
To my complete amazement, Annabelle behaved herself throughout the taxi ride. When we got to the doctor’s waiting room, I said to her, Just because things have stopped moving, don’t think you can pull any high jinx!
Me? I know a serious occasion when I see one. I’m just here to support you.
All right, Missy. I’m grateful for your company and concern.
I love you, Daddy.
To my surprise, she behaved herself through my session with the doctor, the wait in the hall while I locked myself in the lavatory to leave a urine sample, and the ride back to the apartment. As soon as we entered the building, I congratulated her on how proud I was of her.
I know when to behave, she told me.
Remember that time we stopped in the bank and you ran wild in the teller’s area?
Well, I hadn’t seen so much money before! And there were so many places to climb and run and jump.
Well, I am very happy that you behaved today. Everyone thought you were very sweet.
Well, I am, Daddy!
Oh, Lord, I thought. Instead I said, Well, we have much to tell Thatch and Stella about our trip. Get out of the bag. Come on, Annabelle, get out! We’re home, and I don’t needs to wrestle a walker, my travel bag, and you.
Oh, all right!
She climbed out of the bag, as I opened the door to the apartment. She darted inside as I folded up the walker and lugged it into the apartment. Stella was asleep on the bed, and Thatch lay on the chest of drawers. He sat up.
How did it go? he asked.
He was very brave, Thatch, Annabelle told him. She walked over to the linen closet and disappeared inside its doors.
Are you dying, Daddy?
No, Thatch, but I do have cancer, and now I know how my doctor and I will proceed with the situation.
Well, that’s good news. I was afraid you were dying.
Not yet, thank God, I told him. There’s still more time for you three babies to kill me.
We’re killing you?
No, not really, although some days the things you babies do could give me a stroke.
So . . . what did your doctor tell you?
I don’t understand some of it, but if I do nothing, depending on whether the cancer spreads to my bones, I might have ten years left to live. But . . . with treatment, the cancer might be destroyed and I just might live longer.
That’s good?
Well, Thatch, I’m not ready to die yet, and Madame Esmé told me I wasn’t going yet, so who knows how long I’ll live?
I bet Madame Esmé knows!
Yes, but I don’t want to know.
I’m afraid of death! Are you?
Well, its going to happen whether I’m afraid of it or not, but I don’t think I’m afraid of death itself. It’s the process that scares me.
At that moment Annabelle emerged from the linen closet carrying a sheet of paper. She’s been on her printer again, I thought. Instead, I asked, What’s the paper, Missy?
My bill, she answered.
A bill? I asked. I opened the paper. It was an invoice for $10.00 for “services rendered.” Services rendered? I asked. What did you do.
It’s for my work today as a service animal. You have thirty days to pay me.
Pay you? For coming with me? You insisted I needed you!
I was a good service animal. Pay up!
Stella jumped off the bed and made a dash for Annabelle, who jumped onto the computer table and made a leap for the top of the filing cabinet. She missed, and as she fell backward, she brought down the telephone, an antique toy trumpet from my Babes In Toyland research, and a small bottle of Purell. She landed on the computer table and bounced off it to the floor, taking with her a box of cookies. She landed with a thump. Stella jumped onto her, they wrestled briefly until Annabelle broke free and ran into the bathroom with Stella in pursuit.
I looked at the debris at my feet, walked into the kitchen for a broom, came back to the mess, and said to Thatch, I’m not afraid of cancer, Thatch. Annabelle is gonna kill me first.
©2021, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 