It had been a quiet Fourth of July. The cats sulked because I had refused to take them to the Macy’s fireworks display. They had badgered me for two days, but I refused.
Why? Annabelle demanded to know on the morning of the Fourth. My public hasn’t seen me since my Irish Rep performance, and they need to know I am still alive and ready to be a star once more. They need me!
Sorry, I replied. I went to the fireworks on my very first July Fourth in New York. That was 1979, and I vowed I would never do it again.
Why? Thatch asked.
I was staying with friends on the East Side, First Avenue and 80th Street, so we had to take a bus across town to Riverside Park. When we got there, the crowd was huge and there was no room to turn around. You could hardly move. Then there were all these obnoxious kids running around throwing firecrackers, and I was scared I’d get hit by one.
That was a long time ago, Annabelle said. Things could be different now.
Well, Missy, I told her,. the hell didn’t end there. When the display was over, there were a ton of people waiting for buses to get back to the East Side. When we finally got on a bus, it was jam packed and we had to stand for an endless ride back to my friends’ apartment. There would be no room for my walker and how would my three babies cope?
Two, Annabelle stated. Stella is not going.
Annabelle! That’s very mean. You three – not you two – are my family. It’s all or nothing. I just don’t want you three getting hurt or crushed ion the crowd.
Ugh, Thatch said. I don’t want to go now.
Yep, Thatcher Cat, that’s when I vowed I would never do it again. So, Missy Belle, that is why we are all staying inside tonight. We’ll watch The Music Man – you like that movie! – and be safe at home.
I still want to go! Annabelle stated. Please, Daddy? Please?
Nope, I said firmly, I’m too old to cart you three around in your carriers, and I do not want any possibility of you all getting hurt in the crush or burned from a firecracker. What if a crazy stalker kidnapped you, Annabelle? I couldn’t stop him.
Rats! Annabelle jumped off the computer table in disgust.
Sorry, Annabelle! I’m laying down the law.
She ran off to the linen closet to sulk, Thatch climbed onto my bed and took a nap. Stella ran to join him. I rose from my computer chair and limped into the kitchen. I had some serious cleaning to do in the kitchen.
I needed the stepladder, since I can no longer reach high, to wash down the tops of the louvered doors that close off the small kitchen area. I had a solution of water and pine-sol and a heavy sponge in a tub sitting on the edge of the sink as I leaned against the edge of the stove to climb the ladder. Then I gripped the door for life as I washed off the top of the door and worked my way down. Thatch and Stella watched with curiosity. My legs were in agony, and my back ached from the strain opf the washing. My body shook and I nearly fell off the ladder. I then had to repeat the procedure for the other door.
Be careful, Thatch advised me.
I’m trying, Thatch. It’s sooo painful.
What?
My legs. This is killing me.
I finished up and, holding onto the edge of the stove, climbed off the ladder, relieved to be standing on the floor/
That’s better, I said to the cats. Is Annabelle still angry with me?
She sure is, Thatch told me.
Poor little girl! She thinks “her public” will be happy to see her at the fireworks. You can’t see anyone in that mob.
She’s impatient to be performing again.
I know, Thatch. We all want life to go back to something we remember, but will it ever?
I poured the pine-sol solution down the drain and washed out the tub. I set it on its side to dry, folded up the ladder and carried it back into the living area.
Oh, God, I told them, I am so happy that’s over. Let’s lie down for a while and give my legs a rest.
I staggered to the bed, lay down, and turned on the television. I checked both PBS stations and settled on The Great British Baking Show marathon. Thatch and Stella jumped onto the bed and watched with me.
Where’s Annabelle? I asked. She loves Mary Berry!
After a couple of hours, I thought I smelled gas. The window fan kept blowing the scent of gas – or was it propane? – and I thought, someone’s working on a car outside. It sure stinks.
Annabelle eventually crawled out of hiding and joined us. After fifteen minutes of viewing the program, she turned to me. They never bake anything appealing to me, she told us. I do love Mary Berry’s accent, though.
She said nothing about the fireworks so I relaxed, happy to have my babies with me.
Well, what do you want for dinner, kids? I asked them. I was thinking salmon.
Yummy! Thatch said. I wandered off to the kitchen and fixed their three bowls with salmon and gravy and salmon and sole. I went back to bed and dozed for a while.
When I woke, it was nearly six, and the smell of gas was worse. I lay there, thinking about the situation. The building was nearly empty for the long weekend. What if it were a leak in the building? The more I thought about the situation, the more worried I became. That condo had just collapsed in Florida, and I didn’t want us to be a July 4th tragedy. What do I do? I decided to call 911.
I gave the operator my concerns, and five minutes later, the firemen from the station on West 83rd Street rang my bell to let them into the building. I then opened the door and waited for the elevator to bring them up. The elevator did not move from the first floor, but I could hear several firemen climbing the stairs.
Boy, are they taking their time, I said to the cats at my feet. Eventually, a tall, rather young, rather handsome fireman rounded the corner from the stairs and walked to my door.
I thought you’d take the elevator, I said.
We’re checking all the floors, he told me. He was holding some sort of a meter. He held it to my door, and it went bananas. Your apartment has the gas leak, he said.
I was stunned. Really? I asked. Come in, come in.
I stepped back in amazement and let him enter the apartment. Two cats ran for cover. Annabelle watched him.
There’s your problem, he said. It’s your stove.
Sure enough, one of the knobs for the four burners was turned down, and because it had not lit, it had been leaking gas all afternoon.
Oh, no, I moaned, I must have turned it when I was climbing the stepladder earlier. I’m so embarrassed. I never thought of checking the stove. I was sure it was coming from outside!
Well its a good thing you called. We might have been carrying you out tomorrow in a body bag.
I’m so sorry.
Don’t worry about it. Be glad you called 911. He turned to leave. You should open your windows and get some ventilation going.
I will. Thank you again.
I watched him walk down to the hall. He turned the corner to the stairs, and I closed the door.
He was handsome, Annabelle said.
Yes, Missy, he sure was. He’s probably thinking, what an old fool. I feel so stupid.
Well, open the windows before you kill us.
I walked to the window and opened it. Thatch and Stella jumped onto the windowsill.
Oh, no you don’t! You’re not going out tonight! We’re staying in and you’re staying away from the windows! Let’s go see who won the baking competition, and I will brush you all.
I limped back to bed as three cats ran ahead and jumped onto the bed. PBS was gearing up for the National Symphony celebration.
This will be good, Annabelle told us. Maybe they will ask me to sing on that when I’m a really big star.
That would be nice, baby, I told her. If I’m right, there should be some fireworks on tonight’s program.
I hope so, she told me, since you spoiled my Macy’s plans.
Oh, Annabelle, baby! Just be glad you’re not down there dodging firecrackers and rowdy kids.
I want to be up where the people are!
You’re not Molly Brown, Annabelle, Thatch said.
Fireworks, firecrackers, aren’t they the same?
Don’t think so, Thatch told her.
You know, Annabelle, I told her, it’s better to be a hot firecracker than to light one.
What? Say that again.
What? It’s better to be a hot firecracker than to light one?
That makes no sense at all.
I started to brush Stella. She let me brush the top of her head and her back. I then went to brush her under her chin. She immediately tried to eat the brush.
Stella! Don’t break your teeth! I cried.
Stella stoped for a moment and stared at me. Then she dropped the brush, threw Thatch into a headlock,
Stella! he yelled, get off me!
She ran to Annabelle, who stopped her with one look. Looking completely puzzled, Stella ran around the bed several times, then ran to the bottom of the bed, jumped onto my foot, bit my big toe, jumped onto the bed frame, and leaped from there to the cat tree.
Annabelle turned to me. Is she off her meds?
©2021, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 