Jesus, is it hot! I thought as my walker and I stepped off the elevator and headed to the apartment. The air was very warm and humid, and I moved very slowly down the hall. The temperature for the past week had been in the high 80’s and 90’s, and I could not wait to get back into the apartment and sit in front of the air conditioner. How I live for the first snowfall, I thought. I opened the apartment door.
What the hell? I exclaimed. Three cats dressed in scarfs, ear muffs, and mittens stared up at me. Annabelle, what are you doing now? Take those winter clothes off before the heat kills you!
We’re ready to go caroling! she told me. This is my chance to show the world my “Frosty the Snowman” cakewalk! You know it’s always been a disaster when we go caroling in December.
I don’t understand, I told them. What’s this all about? And get out of those winter clothes! Now! Go!
Three cats ran for the bathroom to remove their winter play clothes, while I put the walker in its place. Oh, dear God, I thought, what possessed these cats today?
I opened the fridge and pulled the vodka and the orange juice. As I reached for a glass, I felt a cat brush against me. Who’s that? I asked.
Annabelle!
Missy, are you behind this caroling nonsense? I poured a small amount of orange juice into the glass and added a lot of vodka.
It isn’t nonsense. I learned something very important today on the Kitty Channel.
What?
Next week is Christmas in July!
Yes! Thatch ran up. Does this mean we get presents?
Yes, Daddy! You owe us three years of back presents.
Annabelle, it isn’t Christmas. That’s in December. This is just a conceit. I picked up my glass and walked into the living area.
Well, on July 25, we three want to go caroling. My public demands.
I logged onto the computer. Let me check something, I told her. I brought up The Weather Channel and checked its 10-Day forecast. Oh, I said ominously, this is not good, Missy!
What? What Annabelle jumped onto the computer table, followed by Thatch. Stella wandered past us on her way to lie in front of the AC.
This is not good news, babies. The forecast for July 25 is rain, and it’s going to be in the upper 80s.
What does that mean? Thatch asked.
It means, Thatcher, it will be hot as hell. Your caroling clothes will kill you in that heat and humidity. “Frosty the Snowman” will have to wait another five months.
No! No! No! Annabelle said emphatically. This is not fair. I want my public to see how talented I am, first my calypso-limbo combo on “Mary’s Boy Child,” then I knock ‘em dead with my cakewalk, top hat, and cane on “Frosty!”
Oh, God, help me, I thought. Instead, I said, do you want to risk getting wet in the rain and dying from the heat, Annabelle? Seriously?
She stared at me for a moment. Thatch, what do you think?
I think we should wait till the real Christmas, Annabelle.
She turned back to me with a long sigh. Well, I hate to admit Thatch is right. I don’t mind dying for my art, but I am not dying to get wet. And besides, If we’re not getting presents, it can’t be the real Christmas, can it?
©2021, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 