There had been something afoot since Annabelle, Stella, Thatch, and I had visited this year’s Christmas Tree Lane after Thanksgiving. As the cats clamored for me to buy them this or that, I had to turn down their requests with some embarrassment. I did not want to admit to them that my funds were dwindling down to nothing. I gave up the last ten dollars in my wallet to pay for the small wreath that Stella demolished with wild abandon before I could stop her.
It’s going to be a hard candy Christmas this year, babies! I told them as I forced them to head back to the apartment building.
And what exactly does that mean? Annabelle asked.
It means Daddy is poor, Annabelle. I’m running out of work, and this damned pandemic has destroyed most chances of finding some. I still don’t know how I’m giving Val his Christmas bonus.
Is this true? Thatch asked as we walked into our building.
Yes, Thatcher, it is, but I’m hoping things will change. Maybe my application for financial aid will come through. Keep your fingers crossed.
We don’t have fingers, Annabelle said as we rode the elevator to three.
Oh, yeah, I muttered. I forgot.
Several days passed, but I noticed what appeared to be several conferences between the cats that suddenly broke up whenever I approached.
What are they up to? I wondered.
After several days of witnessing these meetings I thought no more about it. We listened to our Christmas songs, Thatch and Stella danced calypso to “Mary’s Boy Child” and “The Virgin Mary Had a Baby Boy,” all three did the twist to “Jingle Bell Rock,” and I tried to keep things light as I juggled appointments to finish up all the necessary procedures before I could begin radiation treatments in January with physical therapy and prayers that the phone would ring with some work.
Okay, babies, this is my last procedure before January. I’ll be out for maybe four hours. Don’t get into trouble while I’m out.
Before you go, Annabelle asked, would you mind opening the window? It’s so stuffy in here!
Yes, please! Thatch added. It’s so warm outside, and we can visit with Pebble and Oyster!
I don’t want you three out on the fire escape when I’m not here, Thatch. I lost you and Annabelle once, and I am not going through that misery again.
We won’t go outside, Daddy! I promise, Annabelle interjected. We just want to visit with the pigeons.
In my preoccupation about meeting the car service outside the building at 6:45 a.m., I agreed, and I opened the window. It was only later at Lenox Hill Hospital as I changed into a hospital gown, that I thought, what the hell ran away with your mind? Annabelle can’t be trusted at all.
Everything went quickly and smoothly. I was finished with the scan and dressed by 8:45. I canceled my ride home for 10:00 and caught a taxi outside the hospital.
What the hell? I asked as I opened the door and stepped into the apartment.
A line of pigeons trailed from the window to the bathroom door, where Thatch stood. I watched a pigeon drop a seed into one of the cats’ dishes, which contained several seeds, a worm, and a beetle. Thatch nodded, and the pigeon waddled into the bathroom.
After you, that’s the last for this round, he told the waiting birds.
Thatch, I asked, what is going on?
Thatch looked up. Hey, Daddy! It’s the Battle of the Titans.
He nodded at a pigeon who dropped a bug into the dish. The pigeon waddled into the bathroom. I was aware of the cooing and other sounds coming from the bathroom.
What’s going on in the bathroom? Thatch? What’s going on?
I slid past the waiting line of birds and walked into the bathroom where about fifteen pigeons were gathered around the bathtub. In one corner of the tub, Annabelle crouched and stared at Stella who crouched at the opposite end. The was the loud sound of a fight bell, and Annabelle and Stella launched themselves at each other. Stella threw Annabelle onto her back and bit her neck while Annabelle kicked her back legs at Stella’s underbelly. She finally crawled out from Stella’s embrace and jumped onto Stella’s back. Several pigeons cheered.
I looked back at the bathroom door, where Thatch was watching a stopwatch. When I turned back to the tub, I saw Stella jump off the edge and flatten Annabelle who emitted a loud scream before she wiggled out from under Stella. In a sudden motion, she managed to flip Stella, exposing the white diamond pattern on her chest and belly. Before Stella could right herself, Annabelle had jumped on top of her and pinned her down.
Several second later, Thatch rang the fight bell, and Annabelle jumped off Stella, leaped from the tub, and took a long drink of water from the water bowl. Stella returned to her corner and waited. Annabelle finished her water and jumped back into the tub. She proudly strutted to her corner of the tub.
Thatch rang the bell, and there was a flurry of excitement from the pigeons as the two gladiators took their positions before launching themselves at each other.
Okay, I said, that’s more than enough! I flicked the bathroom light switch on and off several times. All activity stopped. Will someone tell me what the fat hell is going on?
I was suddenly aware that fifteen pairs of pigeon eyes had turned from the tub and were watching me with close interest.
Hey, birds! I cried, Pebble! Oyster! This – what did you call it, Thatch? – this . . . Battle of Titans is over! The arena is closed. I need to talk to my gladiators. Now! Please, please, go home. Or Central Park or wherever you go. Please go!
The pigeons ran for their lives. I watched them head for the window in a bustle of gray and brown feathers. I followed them and closed the window behind them.
Now you’ve made them angry, Annabelle said. I am so embarrassed. They already think you’re the craziest old man on the Upper West Side.
Well, now they all know it’s true. You babies can’t pull this stuff whenever I leave the apartment.
I hope they will still speak to us! Thatch cried just before he burst into tears. Pebble and Oyster are our friends!
I hope you are happy! Annabelle yelled at me. We did this for you!
What? I asked. For me? Really? For me?
Oh, you sound like Ethel Merman, she snapped. C’mon, Thatch! Stella!
She turned and walked proudly toward the linen closet. Stella and Thatch fell in behind her.
Wait! I called. Just wait a minute. What do you mean, you did this for me?
Thatch turned back to me. Yes, he cried. We wanted to help you, Daddy!
Don’t bother with the ingrate, Thatch! Annabelle called. We’ll think of something else to do. Let’s go to our office.
Thatch turned back, and I watched my three babies run off into the linen closet.
The days limped toward Christmas in ugly silence and furtive conferences between the three cats. I could hear them occasionally singing carols from deep within the linen closet, but our conversations were curt and unfriendly.
I heard you singing today, I said when I set down their dinners. When do you want to go caroling?
Next week, Annabelle said, if it’s not putting you out too much.
What about you, Thatch, I asked. Ready for a caroling night?
Perhaps, he answered.
After a long, silent pause, I dragged myself to my feet, grabbed my cane, and wandered off to the kitchen.
The nights got colder, but no cats approached my bed for warmth. Usually, on freezing nights, I awoke between 3:00 and 4 to find Annabelle buried under the blankets and sleeping in the curve of my knees while Thatch and Stella cuddled next to me on top of the blankets. Pinned in between three cats, I couldn’t move, but I felt happy and secure. This week the three cats holed up in the linen closet, and I had the bed to myself. I was miserable. When I wasn’t fretting about bills, how to afford Val’s Christmas bonus, and the Ohio property tax bill due in February, I wept quietly over the breach between me and the cats. We had a comfortable co-dependent situation, and while they had often been angry with me, the apartment had never felt so chilly in the past forty years I had lived here.
Annabelle! I called. I think we need to talk.
After a pause, Annabelle’s head appeared in the door of the linen closet. What do you want?
We need to talk, Annabelle. Christmas is coming.
Yes, I know.
We haven’t decorated, we haven’t planned your caroling night . . . don’t you want to celebrate?
We’re busy, she curtly replied before she vanished not the closet.
Well, maybe they’ll talk to me tonight when they show up for dinner, I thought as I wandered off to my worktable to shuffle papers and fret over the hell I was in.
Daddy! Thatch shouted. Daddy! Help us! Help! He ran up to my worktable.
Thatch! Thatch? Thatch, what is it?
It’s Annabelle! Come quick!
Much as I tried to hurry, I rose slowly from the worktable and reached for my cane. I’m coming! I called.
The short walk from the corner of the apartment to the linen closet seemed like miles as I lurched, hobbled, and nearly fell before I reached the door to the closet. Thatch and Stella paced and jumped about.
Hurry! Thatch called.
I am, Thatcher! You know I can barely move, baby. I stopped in front of the linen closet What’s wrong? What happened?
It’s Annabelle. She’s dead, I think!
What? No! Not my Annabelle! Where is she?
She’s in our office. We were talking about caroling and she wheezed and fell over. You’ve got to help her.
We have to get her out first, baby.
Daddy, you have to do it! I can’t carry her out. Stella, stop crying! Please . . . I can’t think.
Okay, I said, I’ll have to crawl. I took the bag off my walker and lowered myself to my knees. I’ll drag her out in this bag. Hey! Wait! Don’t go too fast/ You can get lost in there.
Not Annabelle, I thought as I crawled after Thatch and Stella into the depths of the linen closet. Please, God, I thought, don’t let her die, not my little girl, please . . .
The office was huge. The space contained a large TV and DVD player, a desk, a computer and printer, a CD player, and a sofa. The walls were hung with taped photos of cats that Annabelle thought were cool. She lay awkwardly at the foot of the desk, and I had to push various cat toys out of the way as I crawled to reach her. I hadn’t seen many of those toys since I had fist given them to the babies years before. So that’s where they went!
Annabelle! Missy! I called to her as I leaned over her body. She shook slightly for a moment and then went still.
She’s alive! Thatch said happily.
Yeah, for now, I replied. Let’s get her out of here. We have to get to the vet. I picked her up tenderly and set her in the bag I carried. You coming with me or do you want to wait here?
I’m coming! Thatch said emphatically. Stella mewed in her high little voice.
Stella wants to come too.
Okay, let’s go.
The crawl back was slower because I was carrying Annabelle and it was hell on my one hand and knees. When we left the linen closet, I stood up by hanging onto the walker, set the bag on the walker’s handlebars, and looked for my shoes. I sat down to put them on.
Now, how do we do this? I said. You can ride on my shoulder, Thatch . . . no, no, Stella had better ride on my shoulder. Thatch, I’m putting you in the bag with Annabelle. Cuddle up to her and keep her warm. Stella, if you misbehave, I swear I will leave you at City Vet where you can pray that somebody nice adopts you. Ya hear me?
I got my cap, wheeled the walker to the door, opened it, and we stepped into the hall. As I turned back to lock the door, Stella’s claws dug into my shoulder. I winced and thought, Good, she’s secure.
Can’t you fo faster? Thatch called from the bag as we stepped into the elevator.
Baby, I’m moving as fast as my tired old ass can, okay?
As we left the elevator, we ran smack into Val who was waiting to take his broom, mop and bucket to the basement.
You’re not dressed like that to go out? It’s chilly. What’s going on? he asked me.
Oh, God, Val, Annabelle’s collapsed, and we’ve got to get to City Vet. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I’m so worried. I started to cry. This holiday really sucks.
Don’t cry, please, please, he said. Just hold on. Let me take these to the basement, and I’ll drive you there. I can get you there faster than you can walk to the corner for a taxi. He stepped onto the elevator. I’ll be right back. My car’s right outside. I’ll meet you there.
As I struggled to get the walker and three cats out the front door, I could see Val’s wife Heidi leaning against the front door of his car. When she saw me struggling with the walker, she ran to help me by holding the door.
Thanks so much, Heidi I said gratefully. How are you?
I’m fine. Merry Christmas! Where are you and the cats going?
Marry Christmas to you! Are you waiting for Val? He should be right out.
Yes, we’re going shopping for my mother.
That’s nice.
Where are you and the cats going?
Annabelle’s sick. We’re going to the vet. Val said he would take us there.
That’s good. Let me open the back door for you. It’s chilly, and you’re not dressed warmly!
She opened the door, and I eased myself into the back seat as Val stepped out the front door the building.
C’mon, he said. Let’s get Miss Annabelle to City Vet. Let me put your walker in the trunk.
I removed the bag from the walker gently. Everything okay, Thatch? Is she still breathing?
Sort of, but she’s shaking a bit.
I’m moving you to the back seat. Stella, no jumping. Ya hear me? I shoulda left you at home. Settle down. I settled in the back seat with Annabelle and Thatch on my lap and Stella lay down beside me.
I’m sorry I can’t wait for you, Val said as the car pulled onto 82nd Street. Heidi and I already had plans for tonight.
That’s fine, I said. Who knows how long we’ll be there? We’ll find our way home. There’s always a taxi on 72nd Street.
Ten minutes later, Val dropped us off at City Vet, and we moved as quickly as we could to get inside the building. Luckily, the place was pretty empty, and shortly after that a technician carried Annabelle and the walker’s bag into the examination area. Stella, intimidated by the waiting animals, stayed on my shoulder and Thatch sat in my lap.
I’m so worried, Thatch told me. I don’t want her to die.
I don’t think she’s dying, Thatch, I lied to him.
Are you sure?
Well, we’re here, and Dr. Mohr’s got her now. What happened, Thatch?
Well, she’s been very unhappy since you closed down the Battle of Titans . . .
What was that all about?
It was for you. We know you’re going through a tough patch, and we thought we could raise some money to help you out.
You won’t get much money from a flock of pigeons.
We learned. We got some bugs and seeds . . . oh! we did make about twenty cents. We wanted to surprise you for Christmas.
My eyes filled with tears. Oh, that’s so sweet of you.
Annabelle was really angry when you shut it down. She’s been so mad because she didn’t know how to make your Christmas happier. You’re not happy, I can tell.
No, Thatch, I’m not. This pandemic has screwed up everything, I’m too old and too sick to apply for work, and nothing’s gong right at the mo-
I was interrupted by a dog barking at Stella, who had climbed off my back and got too close in her investigation of small dog in the carrier next to us.
Stella! Get back here, Missy. I scooped her up and placed her in the bag on the walker.
Those cats should be in carriers, the owner of the small dog next to me said coldly.
I know, I know . . . we ran out of the apartment so fast . . . my cat’s really sick . . .
She turned away and went back to hte magazine she was reading.
At that moment Dr. Mohr walked into the lobby. She held a dazed Annabelle, who was awake but not very alert. I grabbed the walker’s handles and pulled myself to my feet.
It’s nice to see you, Mr. Moore, she said. Sit down. I can see you’re not moving well these days.
It’s been a tough afternoon. I sat down, and Dr Mohr sat down between me and the owner of the small dog. She handed Annabelle to me, and I sat her in my lap. Thatch leaned in to her.
Is Annabelle okay? We’ve been so scared.
I gave her a good examiination. She could lose some weight, but everything seems okay, for the most part. At best, I think she fainted from too much stress. Has she been under any stress?
Yes, yes, we all have. It’s been a horrible week.
Well, I’m going to prescribe a mild sedative. I think she needs to relax and, well, chill out. You can give her half a tablet twice a day. I think that should help.
Thank you so much for seeing her.
I’d like you to bring her back after Christmas so I can see if the prescription helps. She stood up. Thatch and Stella look good. Do you want me to check them?
Visions of dollar bills flying out of my wallet danced before my eyes. No, thanks, not now. I just want to get Annabelle home and feed them. It’s past their dinner time. When should I bring her back?
Dr. Mohr stood up. Give her a week with the prescription. If she has another attack, bring her in immediately, but I think the sedative might help.
Thank you.
Have a good holiday. You can pick up the prescription when you check out.
Thank you again, Doctor. And Merry Christmas.
I couldn’t say more. My eyes filled with tears, and I briskly said, C’mon, kids, let’s get home. I set Annabelle in the bag with Stella, put Thatch on my shoulder, and stood up with the aid of the walker. I looked up and watched Dr. Mohr walk back through the doors to the examination rooms. What a wonderful lady, I thought.
I paid with a credit card I only use in emergencies, put the prescription in the bag with Stella and Annabelle, set Thatch on my shoulder, and trudged into the street. We caught a taxi and went home. After I gave them dinner, I made Annabelle swallow half a tablet of the sedative against her will.
Okay, Missy, let’s talk. I know why you’ve been upset, and I know that you’re spending too much time fretting over me and the holidays. Please, please stop it. It’s going to be a very hard candy Christmas, and I don’t know what’s going to help change that . . . but I know, no matter what, that Christmas is only Christmas with you, Stella, and Thatch. Without you, I don’t want to live. Please don’t stress out and die on me, Annabelle. That would kill me. I love my little girl so much.
Annabelle crawled into my lap, and I picked her up and held her to my heart. She purred loudly and brushed her face against my cheek as I wept.
We just wanted to cheer you up for Christmas, she said.
Yes, Thatch cried as he scrambled into my lap. We love you, Daddy.
And I love all three of you. As the song says, we’ll have to muddle through somehow, and we will. You three give me the only reason to get out of bed and live every day. Promise me you will all stop fretting and worrying.
Are we going to survive this? Thatch asked.
We will do our best to, baby.
Oh, God, Thatch, I do hope so! Maybe 2022 will be kinder to us than we think. I have to believe that. Okay?
Thatch rubbed against my belly, Annabelle rubbed my cheek, and Stella ran around the computer table in a frenzy of happiness until she became so excited that she jumped onto the shoulder Annabelle hadn’t taken and bit my ear.
Merry Christmas, babies. I whispered.
©2021, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 