Okay, Val said to me, it’s repaired. This is the third time this week. What’s going on here?
Val, I really don’t know, I answered. This week, three days this week, when I walk in from my radiation treatments, I walk in to find the window broken and glass all over the floor. I’ve asked, but the cats won’t tell me a thing.
I walked him to the door, and gave him a $10 bill to thank him.
Well, they’re up to something, and if I have to keep repairing broken windows, the management’s going to be watching you very closely.
I know, I know . . . I really can’t blame them. I’ll see what I can learn. I hate cleaning up the mess, but I’m sure you hate replacing a pane more than that.
Annabelle wandered up to Val and reached up to him. Hello, pretty girl, he said to her. What are you three doing breaking windows every day? He picked her up, and, purring happily, she nestled into his neck.
Val, I hate to tell you this, but Little Miss Innocent is conning you.
He laughed, No, no, my little baby wouldn’t do that to her boyfriend, would she?
Yes, she would.
He handed her to me. Here, take her. I’ve got other things to do besides repair your window. Promise me, Annabelle, you won’t do it again.
He walked out the door. I won’t do it! she said. I didn’t do it. It’s Thatch’s fault.
So, I said, we’re finally confronting the Mystery of the Broken Window.
You told! Thatch jumped onto the dresser to be at eye level with Annabelle. You promised!
Caught, huh? I said sharply, setting Annabelle down on the dresser. What’s going on? Who wants to tell me? Annabelle? Thatch?
Ever since Stella didn’t make the Kitty Olympics . . . Annabelle began.
What? You never told me.
Thatch stepped in, She wasn’t fast enough on the toilet paper roll.
Ohmigod, I exclaimed. I sure feel sorry for the cat owners whose cats won.
It’s your fault, Annabelle erupted. You started hiding the toilet paper and she couldn’t practice. She was beating all records.
Toilet paper isn’t cheap. You were costing me money. Well, I’m sorry you didn’t make the olympics. What’s going on with these broken windows?
Baseball, Thatch said. Annabelle’s a lousy batter.
That’s not true, Annabelle told him. Stella’s a lousy pitcher, and you’re a crummy catcher.
I can’t find a mitt to fit my paw, Annabelle. That’s not fair. He started to cry.
I picked him up and held him.
Cry baby, you will never be good at sports, Annabelle turned and jumped off the dresser. I watched her run to the window to examine Val’s work. He’s done an excellent job, she called to us.
All right listen up, I said loudly. Stella woke from her nap on my bed and sat up. Annabelle, are you listening?
Yes, was her surly reply.
No more baseball in the apartment, no more! Ya hear me? Annabelle? Thatch? Stella?
Thatch nodded and I set him back on the dresser. Stella gave me a blank look and lay back down.
Annabelle? Did you hear me?
Well, what if-
I asked, Missy, did you hear me?
All right. I heard you.
I wandered to my computer chair, removed my shoes, and changed out of my radiation-trip clothes.
So, how many more of these hospital visits do you have? Thatch asked me.
After our long weekend, two more.
Can you find me a catcher’s mitt my size?
No, Thatch, I’ve never seen a catcher’s mitt made to fit a kitten’s paw. I’m sorry.
Rats.
I stood up. I’m taking the garbage down to the basement. Anybody wanna come with me?
I’m very angry with you, Annabelle said from the cat tree where she angrily flipped through her latest Backstage.
I told you, Missy Belle: No. More. Baseball!
You can’t stop us.
You are very lucky, little girl, that since this Sunday is National Love Your Pet Day, I’m not going to kill you.
National Love Your Pet Day? Thatch asked.
National Love Your Pet Day? Annabelle looked up from her Backstage. Really?
Yes, I said as I opened the door to tote my walker into the hall. But I love my babies every day.
And so you should, Annabelle replied as she returned to her Backstage.
©2022, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 