119. THE RED DEATH

Annabelle, is Thatch okay? I asked. Has he said anything?

I had noticed that he had been acting strangely the past couple of days. He usually spent his days helping Annabelle with her career or working on their musical, playing with Stella, or finding ways to amuse himself in his spare time. For the past couple of days he had seemed jumpy, easily startled, and at night he seemed to cuddle closer to me than usual, something that only happened when he had a nightmare.  I had begun my radiation treatments, so I was no longer in the apartment between 11:30 and 2:00, and for the first time in over a year I often had no idea what was going on when I was out.

Is he okay? She asked me. I haven’t noticed anything.

He seems jumpy and tense, and that worries me. Have you frightened him with something?

What? She laughed. Of course not.

Well, take care of the baby while I’m out.

He’s no longer a baby, she said, and then, after a pause, she burst into song, He’s no longer a gypsy . . .

Annabelle! Stop, please stop! Now listen to me, little girl. He’s still a little boy, and he will always be my baby. You’re his big sister, so take care of him. I’ve gotta go.

I headed to the door, picked up my walker, and left the apartment to wait for the car service in the lobby.  As I stepped onto the elevator, I thought, it’s Wednesday, so on Saturday I’ll make chicken soup before those veggies go bad. Do I need anything?

As I stepped off the elevator and pushed my walker down the hall, I wondered, What’s spooked Thatch?

That night I got a call from the neighbor below me. I’ve got bad news, she told me. I’ve got Covid, and since I’ve exposed you, you should get a test.

One more thing I do not need in my life, I thought. Instead I asked, When did you find out?

Today. I’ve caught it from someone at work, but you should get tested.

I saw you on  – when -?

New Year’s Eve.

That was, uh, one, two . . . five days ago. She had brought me a berry cake she had baked, and we’d visited for over an hour.

I don’t know how long I’ve been infected. Get tested as soon as you can.

Okay, I’ll do it tomorrow. Thanks for letting me know. I hung up the phone, thinking, damn! damn! damn! damn! I turned to the three cats watching me and said, Well, that wasn’t good news.

What’s wrong? Annabelle asked.

Uh, I need to get a Covid test tomorrow. Where do I go for one?

Are we going to die? Thatch yelled.

No, of course not.

He looked at me helplessly, then walked in circles before he sat down and wept. I don’t want to die!

They’ve killed animals with Covid, Annabelle cried.

Oh, Thatcher baby, it’s going to be okay. I opened the computer and Googled “covid test upper west side.” There were several locations with walk-ins near the apartment.

I’ll get a test tomorrow. I don’t think I’m infected. I’d know by now . . . I think.

You were tight, Annabelle, Thatch said. It is like the Red Death.

Sh, Annabelle said quietly.

I heard that, I said. Red Death? Like “Masque of the Red Death?”

Yes, Thatch told me. We watched the movie last week.

Annabelle! I turned on her. I told you to stop scaring him!

I was educating him.

By showing him a horror movie?

It’s Vincent Price, Daddy. It’s art!

Damn it, Annabelle. Why did you do that?

To educate him. This “Red Death” movie is just like Covid. No matter how safe you think you are, it can still get to you.  All those guests dancing at Count Prospero’s party thought they were safe, but the Red Death got them.

It’s just a Vincent Price movie, Annabelle! And a story by Edgar Allan Poe.

I sure hope your test is negative tomorrow. Thatch! Stella! Keep away from him.

She turned, and, followed by Thatch and Stella, ran off to the linen closet. At the door she turned back to me.

That test better be negative!

And it was. The next afternoon, after my radiation treatment, I got the test. By the time I got home, the results were in my email.

Happy now, Missy? I asked Annabelle.

For now.

I am! Thatch shouted from the dresser.

Thatch, I said, you know that movie about the Red Death is not real, don’t you? I asked hm.

It still scares me.

I know, baby, but I’ll protect you.

Ha! Annabelle scoffed. Who’s protecting you? 

When I realized she had me there, she smugly sauntered off to the linen closet.

I was stymied. Who would protect me if the Red Death entered my cloister? I worried about my health constantly. Every trip out of the apartment could be a Covid exposure. People, both friends and deliveries, could be an exposure. And if I caught it, would it kill me? I hoped not; I had my two vaccinations and my booster shot, but I didn’t know how I would react to the Red Death if it managed to invade my safety zone. As I pondered all of this, my doorbell rang. Amazon Fresh had brought my grocery order.

Stella helped me unpack the four cartons. As I put things away, I organized everything I needed for the next day. I thought I would spend my Saturday making chicken soup. When the cartons were unpacked and broken down, I carted them to the basement while the threnody from Albert Herring ran through my head: In the midst of life is death . . .

On Saturday morning, after the kitty cleanup and making the bed, I tossed the chicken thighs and breasts into the Dutch oven my mother have given me forty years ago, filled it with enough water to cover the chicken pieces, and tossed in a chopped onion, three or four stalks of celery, and several teaspoons of chopped garlic. After the ingredients had cooked for several hours, I pulled the chicken pieces and set them aside to cool. Fighting off Stella who smelled something appealing, I strained the broth, tossed out the mess left in the sieve, and then poured the clear broth back into the Dutch oven. I added a container of chicken broth to that and went back into the living area to work on my 2021 tax receipts.

Something smells good, Annabelle announced.

I could barely work with Stella underfoot. I swear that little piggie eats twenty hours a day.

Is that chicken I smell? Thatch asked. He leaped onto the bed, followed by Stella.

Hey! Watch my receipts, babies. I hastily chased down the small taxi receipts that Thatch’s jump had sent flying.

Maybe you shouldn’t use your bed as a desktop, Annabelle observed.

Don’t start, Missy.

He’s getting irritable already, Thatch!

All right, all right! I stuffed the receipts back into the shopping bag where they would live until I saw my accountant. I’ve got to clean through the chicken anyway.

While Thatch and Stella paced around my chair, I pulled the meat from the bones and shredded it. Occasionally, I would offer a bit to Thatch and Stella, who did her best to see that Thatch got none. When the shredded meat was ready and the bones, skin, and gristle tossed into the garbage, I added the meat to the boiling broth.

This soup will be more of a potage, I announced as I stirred the pot..

Let me see! Thatch pulled his front legs up to my knee.

Ouch, Thatcher! Those claws hurt.

Sorry.

That’s okay, baby. Let me turn off the stove, and then I’ll lift you up here to see. Nope, you might get burned. Let it cool a bit, and then I’ll show you.

Are you finished with it?

No, Thatch. I’ve still got vegetables to add, so I’ll peel and chop tomorrow after breakfast.

Is it time for dinner, Annabelle called from my bed where she slept on my pillow.

I looked at the clock. OMG, I announced, it is time for your dinner. You want salmon or chicken?

Chicken! Thatch yelled.

I opened the chicken hearts and livers and fed the babies. After I had my dinner and washed up their dishes and mine, I set the Dutch oven into the refrigerator, got myself a bottle of water, and wandered into the living area. Okay, babies, I asked. What movie shall we watch tonight?

The Masque of the Red Death, Annabelle announced.

Oh, no, Thatch cried. It scares me.

You can be a mean little girl, Annabelle, you know that?

You’ve got no sense of humor, she said.

Let’s watch The Court Jester again! I suggested. I turned back to the filing cabinet holding the comedy DVDs.

Get it! Annabelle ordered.

Got it? Thatch asked.

Got it! I held up the DVD.

Annabelle, Thatch, and I laughed through the movie, which has to be one of the funniest movies ever made. Stella slept next to me.

The next morning, after the daily cleanup of dishes, toys, and litter, I took the recyclables to the basement. When I returned, as I struggled to get the walker through the door, Stella ran under my legs into the hallway.

Stella! I called. I stood there irritated, wrestling a walker, unable to turn, and watching Stella run off down the hall. Damn it, I thought as I watched the apartment door close. I’ll let her run about for a bit, then bring her in. I looked at the clock. It was just about 10:00.

I set the walker in its usual place, opened the refrigerator, removed the Dutch oven, and set it on the stove over a low heat and gathered the things I needed to peel and chop a bag of potatoes. I put everything onto a cart and rolled it into the living area.

What are you doing? Thatch leaped onto the tabl;e to investigate.

Hello, baby! I’m going to prepare potatoes for the soup. I’ll put them in with the chopped carrots, and when they’ve cooked, I’ll add the peas. What are you doing?

Selfies with Annabelle. She says her Instagram page is getting stale.

Okay Well, have fun.

He jumped off the table and ran opff to the linen closet. I finished the soup, which had grown to three pots once all the vegetables were added. I turned off the heat and opened the cupboard for my storage containers. I set them aside and opened the freezer to make room for them. I looked at the clock. It was 12:45.

While the soup cools, I’ll vacuum the kibble littering the floor, I thought. I reached for the Dustbuster and carried it into the living area. Thatch and Annabelle lay on my bed.

Hello, babies! I said cheerily. Did you finish your selfies?

Yes, Annabelle said. It went fast without Stella in the way.

That’s nice, I said. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’ve got to vacuum. It won’t be long. I lowered myself to the floor.  Then I remembered that Stella had run into the hall three hours ago.

Oh, no! I cried. Dammit! Dammit all to hell! I stumbled up from the floor and hobbled as quickly as I could to the door and opened it

What? Annabelle called. What’s wrong?

Stella! Kitty kitty! I called. There was no response. Usually, when she gets lost in the building, she screams like a banshee. I grabbed my cane and staggered to the elevator. I pressed the “Up” button. I thought I would go to five and check every floor. As I stepped into the elevator, my neighbor’s door opened, and Judy stepped out.

What’s going on? She asked.

Stella’s somewhere in the building. I’m going up to five to look for her.

Stella! Judy called. I’ll go downstairs and check.

Neither of us found her on any floor. We rode to the basement together, although I could see no way she could have got there without a tenant’s help. Judy opened the door to the alley and walked out. I could hear her calling for Stella as I went back to the elevator and rode to one. Maryanne was waiting there.

Did you find her? She asked me. I heard you calling on five, and I came to help.

I don’t think she’s in the building, Maryanne. What if she fllowe3d someone out to the street?

I’ve got my coat. I’ll go out and see if she’s on the street. Hopw long has she been out?

Three hours, I moaned. I completely forgot about her.

The elevator door opened, and Judy stepped off. She isn’t in the alley.

Michael, who lives on two, came in the front door. Is there a conference? He asked.

Larry’s lost his cat, and we’re looking for her, Maryanne explained.

A black cat? She was standing by the elevator when I went out, he said. Good luck finding her. He opened the elevator and stepped onto it. The doors closed.

I don’t think she’s in the building. What if someone threw her out? Maybe trhey called animal control and they took her away? I can’t believe I forgot about her.

Well, I’ll check the street, Maryanne said.

I’ll come with you, Judy said. We can go in different directions.

They left the building, and I waited for the elevator. Oh, God, Stella, I thought, where are you, baby? I started to cry.

I returned to the apartment. As I walked in, Annabelle asked, Did you find her?

No. I don’t think she’s in the building anymore. I sat at the computer and opened the “Shelter Buddies” page of the New York Animal Care Center to see what animals had been brought in. There were several cats, but none of them were my little girl. There was a knock at the door.

Come in! I called. The door’s open.

Judy stepped in. We couldn’t find her outside. We couldn’t find her outside. I think you should put Annabelle in her carrier and take her outside. If Stella smells her, she might come to you.

All right. Let me put my shoes on.

I’m going to check the halls again. She left the apartment.

Thanks, Judy, I called after her. Okay, Annabelle, you need to step outside with me. I slipped into my loafers and went to the closet for Annabelle’s carrier.

It’s cold out there. I don’t want to go out, Annabelle stretched, jumped onto my bed, went to her pillow, and lay down.

Oh, no, you don’t, Missy! I set the carrier on the bed, picked her up, and stuffed a complaining cat into it. I carried the carrier to my walker and set it into the bag hanging on the walker’s handlebars.

Stay warm, Annabelle! Thatch called from the dresser as cat, walker, and I lurched into the hall.

That cat is a dead cat, Annabelle snarled as I moved the carrier to the elevator.

Oh, Annabelle, Annabelle, don’t complain. Don’t you want to help find Stella? We stepped onto the elevator.

It’s your fault she’s missing, not mine.

Don’t you want to help Daddy find her?

What I want is for you to stop jerking that walker around. It’s really uncomfortable in here. This walker is already too tight.

We stepped off the elevator. Judy, Maryanne, Ann, Jen, and a young girl all waited for us. Maryanne, Ann, and Jen were dressed to go out.

Well, I exclaimed are you all here to help?

Jen and I walked to Zabar’s, and we saw no sign of her, Ann said.

I walked over to Amsterdam, Maryanne said, and I didn’t see her.

Aw, I am so grateful to have such good friends. Thank you. I’m the guilty party. I’m the one who completely forget about her.

Maybe things will change when she gets Annabelle’s scent, Judy suggested.

Can one of you help me with the walker? I can’t get down the stairs to the street with all this weight.

C’mon, Ann said as she headed for the stairs.

As soon as I moved the walker and Annabelle’s carrier rocked as I tried to remove it from the bag, Annabelle emitted a loud cry of outrage.

I’m sorry, Annabelle, I said. Just then I heard Stella’s cry. Stella? I called. I just heard her. Stella?

I heard that! Ann said. Stella?

Wait! I said, Let’s hear where she is.

Stella cried again.

I turned to Ann, Help me back up the steps. I think she’s in Apartment 1A or B.

That’s the echo, Ann said.

She’s in the building! Judy said. She turned back toward the staircase behind the elevator shaft.

Stella, baby! I called. Stella cried in answer.

By the time Ann and I reached the lobby level, Judy had reappeared with Stella in her arms.

She was under the stairs! Judy said. I looked there several times. How did I miss her?

I did, too, Maryanne and I said at the same time.

Look, Stella! Ann said, Annabelle came to help us find you!

I’m so glad she’s found, Maryanne told us. I’m going to the market. Anyone else coming out?

We have to take my goddaughter to the train station as soon as we get her luggage.

Thanks, Maryanne, I said as I watched her walk down the hall. I turned back and pressed the elevator’s “Up” button.

There’s not enough room for all of us, Judy said. You go on up.

God knows what she’s got into under those stairs, I said as I set her on my shoulders. Wash your hands, everybody. There’s rat poison under there, and all kinds of crap. I don’t want you to get sick. Okay, baby girl, let’s get you home.

As soon as the doors closed and the elevator moved up, Annabelle and Stella began a conversation in Cat. I understood none of it. When the doors opened on three, I pushed the carrier off and moved down the short hall to my door.

Before you open that door, Annabelle said, I need to tell you something: take Stella into the bathroom, remove all your clothes, and put them in the hamper . . .

What? I asked. What did she tell you?

 Scrub yourself good and give Stella a bath. Don’t let her touch anything.

I need to get you out of the carrier.

I can wait. Just do what I told you. Oh, anything Stella rubs against, clean it with alcohol. I’ll explain later.

I opened the door to the apartment, pushed the walker into the foyer, ands stepped back.

Stella! You’re home, Thatch called from his bed on top of the dresser. You smell awful.

Take her to the bathroom now! Annabelle ordered.

I followed her instructions. I closed the bathroom door and removed Stella from my shoulders. I quickly slipped out of my clothing, stood in the tub and showered, washing myself while Stella used the litter box. I stepped out and dried myself while the tub filled with water. As soon as the tub was three-quarters full, I picked up an unsuspecting Stella and tossed her into the water. The battle was fierce, but I washed her off as she spit and hissed.

While the bath water drained, I wrapped her in a large bath towel and rubbed her down. When I thought I had dried her enough not to drip water everywhere, I set her down and cleaned the sides of the litter box and all objects sitting on the floor at cat height with paper towels and rubbing alcohol. What the hell does Annabelle know? I wondered.

As soon as I opened the door, Stella ran to the window. It was freezing outside, but the radiator was very warm, and she lay on it to dry off. As I dressed, Annabelle continued to call, I’m still in here, you know! You can let me out now.

Okay, Missy, I said as I lifted her carrier out of the walker’s bag. You ready to tell me everything?

First you must call Judy and tell her to scrub herself down. Just tell her it’s a safety precaution.

I opened the carrier and Annabelle stepped out. I really need a new carrier, she announced. Maybe a nice SUV with several rooms?

Sure, Annabelle sure. I was already on the phone, dialing Judy’s number.

We spoke briefly, and Judy told me she had already scrubbed down. There was something kinda gross on Stella’s coat, she explained. I should have known she had already cleaned up; she was the most sanitary person I knew. Looking like something out of Desert Storm or Star Wars, she spent most of 2020 swathed in robes, scarves, gloves, and mask whenever I saw her outside her apartment.

I hung up the phone and turned to Annabelle. Judy’s okay, Missy, I told her. Do you want to tell me what’s going on with all this cleaning?

Death, Annabelle answered. He’s everywhere. Never forget that for a second.

She turned and sashayed off to my bed where she lay down on her pillow. I followed her and sat down beside her.

What does that mean, Annabelle?

Where’s Thatch?

He and Stella are bickering over that Amazon carton I brought in this morning.

Good. This will only frighten him.

You try to scare him all the time!

This is different. Stella told me that, while she was under the stairs, she visited with an old man who told her he was giving her a nice gift for her daddy.

Old man? What old man?

Oh, come on. Do you really think there’s an old man living under the stairs?

Well, no, I –

Have you ever seen him? And he’s going to talk to Stella?

What did he give her?

He rubbed her coat. I could smell something strange as soon as I got close to her. Thatch noticed it, too.

What was it?

Something to harm you. Covid, maybe? The Red Death?

Are you serious about this?

Yes, Daddy. I’m not ready to let Death take you.

Just then Stella jumped onto the bed, pursued by Thatch. She galloped over Annabelle, knocking her from her pillow. Thatch followed as Annabelle made loud complaint. Ignoring her, the romping duo then erupted from the foot of the bed to the trunk at its foot before moving to the window. I could hear the rustle of the blinds as they ran through them.

Oh, that really makes me angry! Annabelle cried. She immediately began to groom herself.

They’re just playing, Missy.

Maybe, Daddy, I’m hoping they’re not dancing at Count Prospero’s party.

©2022, Larry Moore