As Oscar Hammerstein once wrote, “May was full of promises,” and we watched it turn into June with great hopes. The first good news was that the property in Ohio that my dad left to me and my brothers when he died in 2007 was finally sold, on the contingency that the City of Middletown had to approve the use of the land. The city had already turned down one would-be buyer’s offer to buy the land for a parking lot for huge trucks. The city refused to have such an eyesore polluting the jewel box in which the new hospital, which had been built directly behind my dad’s land, was their priceless gem. So, we got a new offer in May, and we accepted it.
Does this mean I’m an heiress? Annabelle asked me when I mentioned the good news.
You will be one very soon, Missy Belle, just as soon as I get the money from that Ohio property sale.
This is exciting! Annabelle exclaimed. Will Thatch be an heiress, too?
No, Missy. Thatch will be an heir. Stella will be an heiress.
This gives me a headache. I hate the English language. I wish you spoke Cat.
Well, don’t assume you’re an heiress until I’m holding a check in my hands, Missy.
Our building’s wonderful super Val, to Annabelle’s dismay since she loves him, had a family emergency in Europe, and he took a leave of a year to return to his country to deal with it. I always forget what country it is, somewhere between Macedonia and Estonia, I think. He and Heidi have been away for about nine months now, and management moved in a new super. He, his wife and son moved into the building last September. For the first couple of months, he was really on top of things, but unfortunately, that soon ended. There are rumors among the tenants: he no longer lived with his wife and son, he was not even working in the building these days, he was having an affair with a tenant on he fifth floor.
I had no idea if any of this was true; all I knew was that he had always treated me kindly, and I had not seen him in the building for weeks. I did agree with my neighbors that the building was filthy, the laundry room in the basement was a fire hazard with piles of cardboard boxes and overflowing bins of trash. The space stank to high heaven, mice were taking over the basement, the ghosts were in an uproar, and all of our complants to our building management went ignored.
One of my favorite neighbors who had sublet his apartment for what was to be six months of work in Paris in late 2019 found himself stuck there when the pandemic closed things down. Lucky for him, he was able to continue to work from Paris, and he finally moved back to Manhattan in February of this year. Just after he returned. I ran into him on the street one morning on my way to my radiation treatments, and while I waited for my ride, we discussed the mess in the building.
I plan to do something about it, he told me. If I can find the address of the owner of the building, I’m going to let him know what a mess his management has let this building become.
Alan Weisser? I asked. I thought he was dead. He’s got to be one hundred by now! He seemed old in 1980 when I moved in.
No, he’s alive and living in Florida. I’m going to find his address. The fifth floor ceilings are leaking because the roof needs repair, the basement’s horrible . . .
I’ve got a hole in my bathroom ceiling from a leak last November, and I can’t get the super back to repair it. Val would have it done immediately –
Got any photos?
Of my bathroom ceiling? Yep. I sent them to the building management. They did nothing, and neither did Val’s replacement. I miss Val.
Email them to me.
If you need photos of the laundry room, I’ve got plenty. I post them on Facebook.
Send them along. I’m asking all the tenants for whatever they can send me.
I’ll do it this afternoon. Well, good luck, I said. I’ve got to go. Here’s my car.
And I’m off to the office.
And there matters lay until early May, when every tenant in the building got a letter from Alan Weisser, owner of four buildings on the block. He was horrified by the letter and photos he had received. He said that he had always prided himself on the condition of his buildings, that the super would be fired immediately, and that there would be work on repairing the roof and getting the buildings back into what he considered living condition.
Well, I told the cats, this is very interesting Let’s see what happens now.
All I know is the floors need a good mopping, Annabelle told me. Stella says she sticks to the floor whenever she runs out into the hall.
Val mopped the floors a lot, didn’t he? Thatch asked.
He sure did, Thatch, I said. Whenever he mopped our floor, I invited him in for a glass of cold Coke and gossip.
He came to see me, Annabelle told us. I’m the one he loves.
There was a knock at the door, and I went to answer it.
It was Val!
Well, well, well, I said as he walked in and took his usual chair, what a surprise! You’re home early! You’re not due back until – what? -August.
I closed the door, turned and opened the refrigerator and dragged out the two-liter bottle of Coca Cola.
September, he said.
Want a Coke?
Yes, please. I’ve missed our visits.
Me, too, but I’ve been going through a lot, so I haven’t thought of you much. Annabelle really missed you.. So, tell me, how’s the family in Europe?
Usual family madness. My parents are getting old, and that causes problems.
I walked into the living area and handed him a glass of Coke.
Annabelle, let the man have a drink, I said. I know you’re happy to see him.
As soon as he walked into the apartment, Annabelle went bananas, running about the apartment, climbing all over him, and refusing to get off his lap when he sat down. Usually, my little teenager tries to project a calm, poised, star image, but she Val’s presence brought out the teeny-bopper side in spades.
Hello, Annabelle. Did you miss me? She stood up in his lap and nuzzled his neck.
Annabelle, calm down, Missy. Let the man visit.
Aw, she’s happy to see me, Val smiled. Aren’t you, sweetheart.
I laughed. You just egg her on! She’s really missed you.
Well, little girl, I’m back, so I’m ready for you and Thatch to help me.
So, what’s the news? Tell me what’s going on.
Hello, Stella. Did you miss me? Where is Thatch? He’s not . . .
Deceased? Oh, no, thank God. He’s probably under my bed. He’ll come out once he realizes it’s you.
Well, the building management called and asked me if I could come back earlier than our agreed-upon date.
Those cheap asses called Europe? Long distance?
He laughed. They sure did! They said there was a problem with my replacement, and they were breaking his contract. And here I am.
Where’s Heidi? I asked.
She’s here with me.
Where are you staying?
Some third-rate hotel on 74th Street.
I hope the building management’s paying for it? They’re cheap.
They are. They’re paying for the hotel and our move back into the building. We can’t move back until the former super and his family are out.
I’ve heard he isn’t even living here.
That’s true. He’s living on West End Avenue, but she’s still here and really pissed she’s being evicted early. They’ve given her till the end of June.
That’s just another week, thank God. More Coke?
He handed me his glass. Please, sir, I want some more.
I walked into the kitchen.and opened the refrigerator. This is good gossip, I called. She’s really an unpleasant bitch. No one liked her.
Really?
Yep. I liked the super. He was friendly, but he got tired of this place really fast. I returned to the living area with his glass.
I can imagine. The place is filthy. The front windows haven’t been washed in some time. And the bannister? Very sticky.
Thatch crawled out from under my bed and cautiously approached Val.
Hey, Thatch! Val said. Have you forgotten me so soon?
Thatch walked back and forth, rubbing his sides against Val’s leg.
I told you he’d be fine once he recognized you. When I came back from my surgery in June 2020, he hid from me all day.
I’ve got to get back to work. He stood up and set his glass on the computer table.
Did you see the letter from Mr. Weisser?
No, but I’ve heard about it.
Let me get my copy. You can have it. Annabelle, get off of Val. He’s got things to do. I( picked her up and put her on my shoulder so she couldn’t follow him out the door.
Happy ending, right?
The laundry room within days was spotless, and the room was cleaned every day. I didn’t have to force the walker over piles of trash to get to the washers or worry that I’d run into a mouse or rat. Tthen the scaffolders arrived to prepare for the roof work. It’s been hell ever since. The first day they showed up, I thought, this is good, no more ceiling leaks. My fifth floor friends will be so happy about that.
Daddy? Annabelle jumped onto the computer table where I sat trying to avoid my chores.
Annabelle! How’s my little girl? I asked her as I scratched the top of her head.
I’m good. Can you get behind my ears? Aaaah . . .
Did you have a question, baby? I asked her.
What’s going on outside? It’s too noisy. I can’t think.
It’s the crew to repair the roof.
You’re sure?
I can’t imagine what else it will be.
By the end of the day, the racket was intense. When I fed the cats, only Stella came to dinner. Much as I called for Annabelle and Thatch, they remained in hiding. Oh, dear God, I thought, are they going to behave like this during the repairs?
The next morning, the street was quiet, and the cats were happy and frisky, leaping about, eating large breakfasts, and then lounging about in their post-breakfast doze.
I’ll be back in a couple of hours, babies. I told them as I pushed my walker to the door. I have to see my doctor this morning. Be good while I’m gone.
Bye, Daddy! Thatch called from his cardboard carton on top of hte dresser.
Bring me something, Annabelle called from the pillow on my bed.
Stella, of course, said nothing.
As I left the building, I noticed the roofing crew arriving and entering the building through the basement entrance. I hope this job is not a long one, I thought. Then I looked around for my ride.
Two and a half hours later, Access-a-Ride dropped me off at the door to 202 West 82nd Street. Once I had made the climb up the stairs with the walker, checked the mail, and stepped onto the elevator, I checked my watch. Hmm, I thought, fifteen minutes to our soap opera. Excellent.
I couldn’t open the door to the apartment. I knocked on the door.
Hello? I called.
Password, sir, Annabelle’s voice came through the door loud and clear.
What?
Password.
Oh, God, not again, I thought, what is it this time, vampires? Werewolves? Instead, I said, Annabelle, open the door. It’s Daddy, home from the doctor.
Not without the password, sir.
What password?
How do I know you are who you say you are?
Why are you insisting on a password, Missy?
No one enters without a password.
Annabelle, let me in, dammit, My legs are killing me, I need to pee, and it’s time for our soaps.
You could be a goblin posing as my Daddy.
A goblin? I asked.
Yessir, the goblins are back!
Goblins eat cute little carts, Thatch yelled.
The goblins have returned, and Thatch, Stella, and I are protecting the building.
Oh, crap, I thought. Those noisy workmen have them terrified. Things had been quiet since the goblin invasion of 2018 when the new elevator was installed. Instead, I said, No, those aren’t goblins, Annabelle, they’re the crew here to repair the roof. I told you.
You did?
Yes, Missy! You never listen to me.
You could be a big ugly goblin waiting for me to open the door so you can eat Thatch, Stella, and me. We’re cute little cats, you know. Thatch is terrified. Stella is ready to fight to the death.
And you?
Well, I don’t want to die until I’ve made the cover of Time or People, now that Entertainment Weekly is dead.
Annabelle, please let me in.
Not without the password.
Thatch, let Daddy in.
He will not, not without the password.
Annabelle, why didn’t you give me the password before I left this morning?
Oh, well . . . I didn’t?
No, Miss Cat, you most certainly did not.
He’s right, Annabelle, I heard Thatch say.
Well, as soon as the noise began, I knew the goblins had returned.
Annabelle, those are men working on the roof. They are not goblins.
How do you know?
Because goblins wait until after dark to eat cute little kittens who should be home in bed. That’s why.
Oh, I never thought of that. Maybe they are workmen, Thatch? All right, you can come in.
Thankfully, she had forgotten that all of her last goblin fears had occurred during the day. I heard the lock snap, and I opened the door. I pushed the walker inside as Stella ran to me, brushed against my leg, and then bit my ankle.
Hi, Daddy! Thatch yelled.
Hello, Thatcher Batcher Goblin Snastcher!
He laughed. You’ve never called me that before!
Well, that’s because when the goblins were here, you were a little baby.
Peeing on the floor, Annabelle added.
Annabelle, be nice, Missy. And I gotta use the bathroom!
Me, too! Thatch called.
I limped as quickly as an old coot on a cane0 could move into the bathroom to take care of nature’s yelling. Stella lay in the bathtub, rolling about on her back. Thatch followed me in, climbed into the litter box, and began to sniff about. Once he was satisfied, he dug a small hole and positioned himself, Annabelle followed him into the room, ran past him to the ledge of the bathtub, where she crouched, ready to pounce. Thatch finished his business, then spent a good couple of minutes burying the wet litter and scratching about to clean his paws. Just as he was about to step out onto the littler mat, Annabelle pounced, he jumped from the box and bounded into the living area with Annabelle in hot pursuit. Seconds later, I heard the blinds rustle from their leap onto the windowsill. As I walked into the living area, Stella ran past me to join them, and I could hear them laughing.
It was time for our soaps, and I changed the television station. I stretched out on the bed while three cats leaped onto the bed with me. Annabelle ascended “her” pillow, Thatch lay down at the bottom of her pillow, and Stella curled up on my left side between my armpit and hip so I could rub her tummy.
You know, Annabelle, I said, we’re very lucky the goblins aren’t back, but we’re even luckier that we don’t live near a bridge.
Why, Daddy? she asked me.
Because then we would have to deal with trolls.
Trolls? Thatch sounded scared. They like bridges?
Yes, Thatch. Trolls are scarier than goblins, but they only like goats, I believe.
He’s just trying to scare you, Thatch, Annabelle said.
No, I’m not, because trolls come out in daylight. Goblins sleep through the day to catch cute little cats who should be asleep in bed.
Thatch began to cry. Oh, no! Cute little kittens aren’t safe anywhere! He moved from Annabelle’s pillow and climbed onto my chest.
Well, I’m just glad Stella’s fearless. She’ll protect you two.
So, Annabelle asked, that awful racket is a bunch of trolls trying to get at us and not goblins?
No, Annabelle, they are workmen working on the roof. I told you that. You juyst don’t listen to me.
She gave me a long dirty look. Well, it’s been quiet today, so where are your workmen? she asked.
It’s raining, Annabelle. They can’t work on the roof.
So you can’t prove to us it’s not trolls or goblins?
No, Missy, I can’t.
Then maybe I’m right, she said triumphantly. Aren’t I, Thatch?
No, it doesn’t, Annabelle, I told her. Thatch, baby, you need to get off my chest. I can’t see the television.
Thatch moved back to Annabelle’s pillow.
You know, Thatch, Annabelle said to him, someone should build a bridge over Daddy.
Why? Thatch asked.
He’s such a troll.
©2022, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 