It was a cold morning, December 12, and I had to step out for a doctor’s appointment. When my car showed up to take me to East 54th Street, the driver called to tell me he was outside the building. I put on my cap and limped to the walker.
Okay, babies, I told them. I’ll be out for several hours. Annabelle, are you listening to me? Annabelle?
I’m listening, she yelled from her princess pillow. Get on with it!
We’re listening, Daddy! Thatch called from the window where he sat with Stella.
Good, I said. I’ll be gone for several hours. Now, I do not want to pick you up at the precinct –
Wouldn’t you like to see Detective Kibble? Annabelle asked. He likes you.
Or bail you out of jail, okay? I do not want to come home and find your decorations all over the floor or the toilet seat off the toilet again. Ya hear me? Annabelle?
Yes, yes, yes! she called.
I want to come home and find that you had behaved while I was out. Get it?
Got it! Thatch called.
Good! Annabelle shouted before she rolled over and went to sleep.
I opened the door, pushed the walker into the hall, locked the door behind me, and headed for the elevator.
We were getting close to Christmas, and I had this vibe: those critters are up to something. They had decorated the apartment, and I occasionally heard the sounds of them rehearsing for their caroling event drifting from the linen closet. Still, there had been unsettling moments: Annabelle’s unhappiness that she hadn’t been cast in a holiday show, and all three cats were agitated that Merrick Garland hadn’t yet thrown DJT into prison.
Time’s running out! Thatch had announced as he dressed to go out.
The three cats, wearing their “Cats Against Trump” T-shirts and caps, had been out the night before celebrating the passing of the Marriage Equality Act with Pebble and Oyster, their gay pigeon friends, and I hoped they would be too tired to get into any trouble while I was out.
As I stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked for my ride to East 54th Street, I thought, what are they up to?
I looked forward to my appointments with Dr, Waxman. He had removed my kidney tumor in 2020, so I knew that I would pee into a cup and get a PSA blood test. What I enjoyed was the small talk: my health, his wife’s animal rescue, and their three cats. Ever since Annabelle had come with me to my appointment after the prostate biopsy that revealed the cancer, he always asked about her and the others.
Three hours later, the car turned off Broadway onto West 82nd Street and stopped. The street was jammed with stalled traffic. The air was ringing with honking horns.
Oh, Lord! I thought, what the fat hell’s going on? Are those firemen around my building?
I thought I was going to have a stroke right there in the back seat of the car. Instead, I asked the driver to let me out. I could push the walker up the block and check on the babies sooner than traffic was moving.
Accompanied by the din of honking horns, I pushed the walker down the block. Sure enough, a large fire truck closed off 82nd Street between my building and Amsterdam Avenue. As I approached the building, the firemen were loading up their equipment. I picked up my pace as I approached the front door.
What’s going on? I asked a fireman as he walked out of the building.
Nothing, thank God, he told me as he held the door open for me. Just a scare, but we had to check it out. Everything’s okay. You can go on in. Do you need any help with that walker?
No, thanks. I’ve got this routine down to a fine art.
I set the walker on the foyer and stepped up from the sidewalk. As he stepped out and the door closed, I asked the fireman, Which apartment had the problem?
3C, he responded. Have a good day.
Thank you. Thank you, all.
My apartment! I thought as I watched him walk back to the truck and waiting firemen. Oh, God, what did those cats do today?
I hurried into the building and up to the third floor. Our door was unlocked and partially open.
Annabelle! I called as I entered the apartment. Annabelle? Thatch?
Watching the parade below, our building’s young super Val, Thatch, and Stella were looking out the window. Annabelle was draped over Val’s shoulders.
Val! I exclaimed. What are you doing here?
He turned to face me. I had to let the firemen into the apartment.
I heaved a big sigh of relief. Oh, thank you so much! I’ve been a mess since I saw the firemen coming out of the building. I was so worried about the cats . . .
There’s been a lot of action while you were gone, he explained. First, Johnny fell down yesterday in his apartment, and we had an emergency crew in to rescue him.
Oh, no! I exclaimed.
He lay there all night.
Johnny was my neighbor across the hall. He was in his late eighties, quite decrepit, and for the past six months he had been in and out of hospital.
Oh, no! I’m so sorry to hear that. Is he okay?
They don’t know. He’ll be back in hospital for the next few days while they check him out.
Is that why the firemen were here? They told me the problem was in this apartment, not 3B.
That was the next mess. Thatch had a breakdown.
What? Thatch? I turned to my little boy who sat in the windowsill with Stella. Thatcher baby, are you okay? What happened, Val?
He pulled a resisting Annabelle from his shoulders. C’mon, Annabelle, he told her, I’ve got work to do.
He set Annabelle down on the windowsill and turned back to me. They will have to tell you. I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on. I’m sorry. I wanted to stay with them till you got home.
I walked him to the door. Thanks for being such a good friend, I said. I didn’t think I’d be gone as long as I was. I never know when the car service will show, and they are never on time.
That’s okay. I’ll talk to you later.
I closed the door and turned back to the cats. Okay, I said, who wants to tell me everything?
Annabelle gave me a quizzical look. How much do you know?
I know very little, Missy, and I want to know all. What happened? Are you all right, little boy? I asked Thatch who snuggled up to me. Let’s go sit down, babies; your old man needs to rest his legs.
I carried Thatch over to my bed as Stella and Annabelle leaped from the window to the trunk at the foot of the bed and scrambled up to join us.
Well, Annabelle began, we were behaving, but somebody in this building needs to clean their oven.
Who? I asked.
I don’t know, but the smell got so bad we thought there was a fire in the building, and Thatch panicked. He got really, really crazy-
You did, Thatch? I asked.
I was scared, he whimpered. There was no way out, and I was afraid I was going to die.
I tried to calm him down, Daddy, Annabelle interjected, but he was scaring Stella, and she started to panic. They were both running around calling for help . . .
Stella, are you okay, baby? I asked. She gave me her usual why-are-you-bothering-me look, jumped onto Annabelle, and wrestled her to the mattress. Annabelle pulled herself free and jumped from my bed to the computer chair to the computer table.
Stella, stop! she yelled. Bad! Bad cat! Psycho cat!
All right, all right! I yelled. Calm down. Stella!
Stella turned back to me, jumped onto my hand, bit it, and ran back to the window to watch the hurly-burly below.
All right, Annabelle said very calmly, where was I?
You called 911, Thatch said.
Yes, I did! I reported a fire in the building. By the time Val and the firemen showed up, Thatch had passed out, and I was afraid he was dying.
But I wasn’t! Thatch laughed. I was sure scared.
All I could think was, thank God Val had keys to let the firemen into the apartment. If they had to break in, that surely would have killed Thatch. Instead, I said, Well, Thatch Cat, I am sure glad there was no fire and that Annabelle showed some sense for once.
She bristled at that. I deserve a gold star! she said as she returned to the bed and cuddled next to Thatch. I am a very sensible and responsible cat, you know.
I stood up, removed my jacket and hung it over the back of the computer chair.
That’s enough excitement for one day, I told them. Are we finished decorating? We have little time to get ready for the Big Day.
What Big Day? Thatch asked.
Christmas, Thatcher! I answered. We have to see Heidi and Val and give him his Christmas gift.
I can’t wait! Annabelle said.
Just promise me you will behave this year, Missy.
That tree mess was an accident, Daddy.
I laughed. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse, you know. I can’t believe they actually invited all of us back after last year’ escapade.
I wandered into the kitchen and peered into the refrigerator. I pulled a bottle of cold water and turned to the cats. C’mon, it’s almost time for our soaps. Here, scoot, Missy. Let the old man lie down.
I lay down on the bed, and three cats scrambled all over me in their rush to get to their places. Annabelle climbed onto her princess pillow, Stella curled up next to my left side, and Thatch, who loves television, sat up, leaning on the foot of the bed, to be close to the action.
After a commercial, Annabelle asked me, Daddy, when’s Christmas?
What, Annabelle?
When is Christmas? How soon?
A week from Sunday. Why?
I’ve decided to make some big bucks this year so I can buy really nice gifts.
That’s a nice goal, Missy, but you don’t need to spend any money on me.
They’re not for you. I need really nice gifts for all those producers and casting agents I need to impress. Thatch is helping me.
Oh, Lord, I thought, what now? Instead, I asked, So, what are you doing.
I’m going to sell NFT trading cards of myself in various roles – Cunegonde, Fanny Brice, Hedda Gabler . . . you know, all the roles I’m perfect for. I’m calling it “The Annabelle Digital Collection!” I need your help with my press release.
A press release? What does it say?
It’s good. This is what I have so far: “Get your cards now! Only $99 each! Would make a great Christmas gift. Don’t Wait. They will be gone, I believe, very quickly!”
I had no idea how to respond to this news. Well, I said cautiously, this is something I wasn’t expecting. Let me think about this while we watch the rest of the soap.
When the program ended, I switched channels to MSNBC to catch up on the latest political madness.
What do you think? Annabelle asked me.
Think? I asked. About what?
My NFT collection. We’ve got to prepare this quickly, you know. I need the money for Christmas gifts.
Proceed cautiously, I thought. Instead, I asked, Do you have a plan of action? How do you want to proceed?
So, I need a news conference as soon as possible, and you can help me. I think we need a studio and a crew. I just know these cards will be a huge seller! Don’t you think so, Thatch? Thatch?
There was no response. Thatch had climbed onto Annabelle’s plush princess pillow and fallen asleep.
Aww, he’s so cute, I said to Annabelle.
She said nothing. Instead, she turned around, climbed onto the pillow, and throttled Thatch, who jumped up.
Why did you do at? He yelled at her.
You are sleeping on my pillow, buster!
You’re mean, Annabelle! He jumped off the bed and ran to the cat tree, where he leaped to the top. He settled himself in the small bed and scowled at her.
Annabelle, I said, he was just sleeping. Why are you so mean to him at times?
That is my pillow. Mine!
He may not help you with your NFT cards now.
Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it.
You’ve got a bad attitude, Missy.
I don’t. Not at all.
Aren’t you concerned now about your Christmas gifts?
Maybe, but I run this apartment, and that’s much more important. Now, you, I would like a treat. Any ice cream?
©2022, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 