It all started last June when I refused to let Annabelle watch the DVD of the French film The Baker’s Wife. She had asked me several times to play it, and I kept finding reasons to postpone. After several frustrating weeks, after I had turned down her request to watch Cyrano de Bergerac with Gerard Depardieu, she jumped onto the bed where I was reading something or other and climbed up my T-shirt to stick her face close to mine.
What’s going on? she asked me.
What do you mean, Missy Belle?
You love Cyrano de Bergerac, but you don’t want to watch it? You keep avoiding The Baker’s Wife, and I do want to watch it. Are you down on French movies?
Of course not, I replied.
Well, can we watch Smiles of a Summer Night then? You know my Sondheim obsession.
Oh, Annabelle, I don’t know if I’m in the mood for Ingmar Bergman.
Aha! It isn’t just French films, is it?
What do you mean? I replied. What isn’t just French films?
There’s something wrong, Daddy. What’s going on?
After much pestering – Thatch jumped into the fray – I finally confessed to them that my eyes were so bad that I couldn’t read the subtitles.
Well, Annabelle said after a pause, I think you need to get new glasses.
I know, I know, I shamefully admitted. I’ll call, I promise.
Tomorrow, Daddy. Thatch and I will be watching you.
The next morning I made an appointment to have my eyes checked. In the middle of July, I saw a lovely young lady, Dr. Hoogstratten, at one of my HMO’s Manhattan offices. Several tests were run, my eyes were dilated, and the results were terrifying.
Well, Mr. Moore, she told me, I don’t think you need new glasses. You have cataracts in both eyes. I think you should see Dr. Wong in our downtown office. She does most of our cataract surgeries.
Cataract surgery? The thought of anything sharp coming near my eyes terrified me. Still, both my brother Randy and my dad had had the surgery and swore by it. I had several friends who had been through it.
Okay, I replied. Do I need to call and make an appointment?
No. I’ll send her a message and her office will call you about an appointment. She’s awfully busy, so I suspect you won’t hear from her for several weeks. She’ll do one eye
I thanked Dr. Hoogstratten and returned home to tell the cats what was going on.
Cataracts? Annabelle asked. What are cataracts?
Well, I really can’t explain them.
It’s a medical condition in which the lens of the eye becomes opaque, and the result is blurry vision, Thatch offered.
Annabelle and I both stared at him with our mouths agape.
How did you know that? Annabelle asked him.
I read more than Backstage, Annabelle.
That was rude! Annabelle told him. I read more than Backstage. Right now I’m reading Six Plays by Rodgers & Hammerstein.
And Congreve, Thatch added.
I happen to like restoration comedy.
Okay, babies, I jumped into the fray, we don’t need any fighting over who reads what. I’m grateful that Thatch’s curiosity led him to cataract study.
That’s not quite true, Daddy, he told us. I just came across it one day in your dictionary.
Well, Annabelle and I appreciate your helping us out, don’t we, Missy?
I guess, Annabelle replied. So, when do you see this doctor about your catalogs?
Cataracts, Annabelle.
Oh, yes, cataracts.
Dr. Wong’s office will call me. So . . . I wait. And I work.
I went back to the Motown chart I was writing for my London friend Martin. It was a frustrating experience. My eyes were so bad, I could barely make out anything, and I was losing time rewriting what I put on paper. If I couldn’t read it, how could I expect a copyist to know what I meant?
Dr. Wong’s office finally called and gave me an appointment date in early September. I had in the meantime sent Martin an email asking him to assign half of the numbers I had agreed to orchestrate to other arrangers. As my vision deteriorated, writing was becoming more difficult. I felt guilty about the situation, but Martin, God bless him, was very good about the situation.
Dr. Wong was an attractive Asian woman with a lot of energy and a good sense of humor. After checking my eyes, she said, Your eyes are in very bad condition, and I think we should do your left eye first.
She moved to her office computer. After looking at a page for a bit, she told me, My first available time is Oct. 17 at 3:30. Will that be all right with you?
I think so, I told her.
On your way out, she told me, Selina will set your appointments and give you all your information. I’ll see you next month.
As I got to the elevator, I asked one of the ladies at the check-in counter, Can you tell me where to find Selina?
She’s right here, Mr. Moore.
Come on down, Mr. Moore, she called.
I turned the walker in the direction of her voice. I could see an upraised hand waving over the top of the plexiglass shield. I moved down to her area and handed her the information from Dr. Wong. She entered the information into her computer, printed out something and handed it to me.
All right, Mr. Moore, she told me, here’s your appointment for Gramercy medical Center on Second Avenue. You’re set for 3:30 on October 17. You will see Dr. Wong on Tuesday, the 18th, at 10:30, and on Wednesday, the 26th, you will need to come in and see Dr. Hoogstratten. How does 9:30 or 10:15 sound??
10:15, please. I could never get down here by 9:30. Do I need to worry about eye drops or anything?
Dr. Wong will give you a prescription when she sees you on the 18th.
Well, I guess I’m all set. Thanks, Selina.
Have a good day, Mr. Moore. I’ll see you on the 18th.
Not on the 17th?
No, I’ll be here. But I’ll see you on the 18th.
As I pushed the walker onto the elevator, I thought, Now I have a month to worry about this surgery.
When I told the cats about my visit, Annabelle had one question: Can I come with you? It’s good research for when I play Nellie Forbush.
I went through various anxieties about my decision to have the surgery. My brother Randy said his two operations s were a piece of cake. My friend Ritch Stoops told me the anxieties were far worse than the actual procedure. I refused to let the cats talk to me about it.
I have some Motown work for Martin to do, I told them, and we will not discuss these cataracts. If you want to talk about the Supremes or Stevie Wonder, I’ll listen.
That was a mistake. Every day, as I scored a Motown medley, I had to listen to Annabelle, Thatch, and Stella attempt the Supremes numbers they found on YouTube. “Stop! In the name of love,” they sang as they pranced across my orchestra score if I ignored them. “Babylove,” they crooned as I placed their breakfast dishes on their food mats. “When the love light starts,” they sang to me as I undressed for bed and “Up the ladder to the roof” greeted me as I turned off the alarm and got out of bed.
Stella never sings, much less speak English, but she apparently loved to do their choreography and threw herself completely into their group numbers. When it was time for a solo break, Thatch rendered “Abraham, Martin, and John” or Annabelle soulfully wailed the Theme from “Mahogany.”
Are you certain Brecht wrote this? she asked me.
No, Annabelle, he didn’t. This is Mahogany, a Diana Ross movie; Brecht wrote Mahagonny. It’s a German opera he wrote with Kurt Weill-
I love Kurt Weill!
The next day my three little Supremes sang “The Alabama Song” all day. I continued to put notes on paper as I contemplated the assassination of kitty vocal groups and prayed that Martin would continue to call me for work.
On the morning of October 17, I cleaned off my worktable and turned off the computer.
Hey! Annabelle yelled, Turn that back on! We were working on “I’ll Be There!”
Sorry, Annabelle! I’m off to East 22nd Street for my surgery. I should be home late in the afternoon.
Do you want us to come with you?
Oh, God, no. I don’t think Dr. Wong and the hospital staff are ready for three little cats doing Supremes routines.
I wanted to come with you, Thatch pouted.
Sorry, Thatch. Here’s what’s going on. I go to the surgical center, Dr. Wong operates on the cataract on my left eye, I get an eye patch – I think – and then Ann will pick me up and bring me home. Then tomorrow morning, I will see Dr. Wong for a post-surgery examination. Then I’ll come home and work on my music for Martin.
Well, Annabelle said, I think-
No time to think, Missy! It’s about time for my car to show up. I’ve left you plenty of kibble, so behave till I get home. You have to tell me what happens on Judge Judy today.
Once settled in the waiting room of the Gramercy Surgical Center, I filled out the various forms while I chuckled to myself at the reactions of all those waiting for surgery as three little cats performed their Supremes impression of “Stop! In the name of love.” I had to assure them I could – and did! – pay the $225 co-pay, and that I could allow them to drag up any and all medical histories and mysteries in my 76 years of existence.
I was led back to the pre-op area where a large, very pleasant Russian lady helped me into a hospital gown over my clothes and a large, floppy shower cap. Then she began two hours of several rounds of eye drops, one to dilate my pupil, and several to numb the eye. Around 4:00, I was taken by wheelchair into an operating room where I lay on a table with my feet pointing to heaven and my head at approximately the level of Dr. Wong’s waist. To my dismay, I was informed that I would not be unconscious. After that news, my head was literally taped to the table I lay on. Dr. Wong said hello as a mask with a hole for my left eye was put over my head, and I thought, what the fat hell am I in for?
Thirty minutes later, I was untaped from the table and a plastic eye patch was taped securely over my left eye. As soon as I was upright, I was put back into the wheelchair and returned to my cubicle, where the kindly Russian lady removed my gown and shower cap. I was given a pill for the pain, which was minimal, and I pushed my walker out into the waiting area. Around fifteen minutes later, Ann showed up, an orderly sat me in a wheelchair, and drove me and Ann who carried my walker to the first floor. We walked out onto East 22nd Street.
We’ll have an Uber here in five minutes, Ann told me. How are you feeling? Are you in pain?
Actually, I feel pretty good. I can’t wait to get home.
When the Uber let us out in front of 202 West 82nd Street, Ann helped me into the lobby. As I climbed the five steps to the lobby, Ann walked ahead to summon the elevator.
Can you get into your apartment okay? she asked. Jen’s ordered your dinner, and I’ll go pick it up.
I’ll be fine, thanks. I do feel fine, but I’ll be in bed ay 7:00.
All right. Then I will see you in around fifteen minutes with your dinner.
I rode the elevator to three and pushed the walker down the hall to my door. When I opened it, three anxious cats stared up at me.
Daddy! Annabelle yelled. What’s on your face?
It’s a shield to protect my eye so I don’t injure it.
Thatch! Now we can play Phantom of the Opera! She burst into “Think of Me,” on which Thatch joined her while Stella ran for her tambourine. I folded the walker and put it aside while two kitties sang as Stella beat the hell out of her instrument. I sat down at the computer and logged on to my email. There was a knock at the door, and the racket stopped abruptly.
Come in! I called.
Dinner time! Ann called as she entered with a large white paper bag. It’s shrimp dumplings and soup from Vanessa’s.
Excellent! I said. I love them.
She set the bag on the tea cart and unpacked it. Now, is there anything I can get you?
Yes, please. Can you get me a bottle of water from the fridge?
Ann walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. You need anything else?
No, thanks. I’m going to eat, feed the cats, and go to bed. I have tote picked up tomorrow morning at 8:30. I have to see Dr. Wong for a post-surgery exam.
Okay, if I’m dismissed, I’m going to grade exams.
You are officially dismissed, Ann. Thanks so much for everything. I don’t know how I would survive without you two.
Hello, Stella bella! Ann said to Stella who had jumped onto the dresser to say hello. Well, I’m off! I’ll stop by tomorrow after school to check on you.
As soon as Ann left, three cats jumped onto the table to smell the shrimp dumplings.
Can I have one? Annabelle asked.
Me, too! Thatch called.
No, babies! Go away. These are all mine. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten in – what? – twenty . . . two hours. Let me eat in peace. As soon as I’m finished, I’ll feed you.
I’ve never had a shrimp dumpling before, Annabelle whined.
And you never will! I answered as I picked up the last one and stuffed it into my mouth.
The next day, Dr. Wong said my surgery looked good. She gave me a prescription for three different eye drops that I would take for the next month. Since the age of eight, I had been near-sighted, but my left eye now had 20/20 vision and I was now far-sighted. This change resulted in one major problem: I couldn’t read a damned thing that was closer than two feet from my face.
Your vision in your left eye is quite good now, but you will need new glasses to take care of your issues with close objects. You can use your old glasses for now, but you should remove the left lens. Now, let’s check my calendar for your next surgery.
When I got home, I realized I had no clue about removing a lens from a pair of glasses. The other problem was that even if I did know how to proceed, I couldn’t see well enough to do it. After thinking about a possible friend to help me with this, I called the most technically savvy person I knew.
Hello, Jen? Are you busy at the moment?
I have a conference call at 1:00, but I could come down after that, Would that be okay?
Yes, that’s perfect. Do you know how to remove a lens from a pair of glasses?
I think I could do that. I can try.
Thanks. I’ll see you when I see you.
Around 2:30, Jen knocked on my door. After we retrieved my glasses from Annabelle and Thatch, she examined them for a bit, removed the lens, and asked if I needed anything else before sdhe got back to work.
Yes, please, can you tell me what the instructions on my eyedrops say?
As she read the information, I typed it into a document and added it to my computer’s desktop. A week later, I saw Dr. Hoogstratten, who said my eye was healing nicely.
After your next surgery, I can give you a prescription for new glasses. Is it scheduled yet?
Yes. December 5th. It’s longer away than I’d like, but I’ll be happy when it’s over.
Then I’ll see you some time around . . . Dec. 14th, I’d guess.
For the next week, I stumbled bout amazed by the brightness and clarity of my new vision, frustrated by the near blindness in my right eye, and frustrated by my inability to read. Since I could now read subtitles on the television with great ease, Annabelle finally got to see The Baker’s Wife and Smiles of a Summer Night, Thatch got to watch Cyrano de Bergerac, and I kept thinking, well, December 5 will soon be here.
The next time Ann stopped by to visit, I asked her to read a letter from my HMO.
You can’t read?
No, I’m far-sighted now, and I can’t read a piece of mail, magazine, or book. It’s working my last nerve.
Maybe you need reading glasses. Let me get my pair. I’ll be right back.
Maybe you need reading glasses, Ann told me. Let me get my pair. I’ll be right back.
As she walked out the door, Annabelle asked, You really can’t read?
No, Annabelle; it’s been driving me crazy. Why do you think I keep enlarging things on the computer screen?
I hadn’t thought about it. However, I’ve been thinking about caroling this Christmas. Do the Supremes have a Christmas album?
Oh, I would think they must.
Excellent, most excellent! Thatch! I think we can do our Supremes Christmas caroling this year!
Yes! Thatch enthused. He jumped down from the cat tree and began to sing “Has anybody here seen my old friend Abraham-“
He stopped singing as Ann walked into the apartment. “Can you tell me where he’s gone?” she sang.
Do not encourage them, please! I begged.
Here, she handed me a pair of glasses. You can get these at any drugstore. Do they help at all?
I put them on, and to my amazement, I could actually read the fine print on a vial of eyedrops. These are amazing, I exclaimed. O. M. G!
This is great, Ann enthused.
You have saved my life, Ann! I turned to the computer. Let me order a pair on Amazon. What are all these numbers?
Those are magnifying strengths. Mine are 2.5.
That works for me. I’ll order this pack of three sets.
Well, I’m happy it all worked out. You can keep that pair until your order arrives.
You don’t need them?
No, I’ve got an extra pair.
I do not know how I get through the day without you and Jen. You two are amazing.
Just looking out for you. She rose from the chair. I’ve got to get back. I’ve got to finish grading papers.
Thank you so much!
Any time.
As soon as she left, Thatch went back to his song, and I lay down to read for a bit. The books were piling up.
Early in December, I came down with a terrible cold. I had been feeling puny for several days, so I knew I was getting sick. On the morning of December 5, my cataract surgery was canceled. I was sure that would be the case, but I wasn’t happy for several reasons, For one, the damned cold lasted for over a month. Every time I opened my mouth to speak, I ended up in a coughing jag that went on for minutes. I knew it wasn’t Covid, it was just my usual lousy change of weather cold.
I called Dr. Wong’s office about rescheduling the surgery. Later, I was told. I finally in mid-January sent her an email asking about a date. Several days later, Selina called me.
Okay, Mr. Moore, I’m ready to schedule your surgery. Dr. Wong’s next open date is March 6, at 3:30. Will that work for you?
Sure will! I just marked it on my calendar, Selina. Thanks so much! Do you need to make my appointment for the next morning?
I can do that. March 7, at 10:15 okay?
That’s excellent! Thank you. Do you need to schedule my visit with Dr. Hoogstratten the week after that?
No, Dr. Wong will schedule that on March 7. Okay?
Okay, boss! I guess we are set. Thanks so much.
You’re very welcome. We’ll see you soon!
I hung up the phone and turned to look into Annabelle’s face. Now what? She asked me.
I just got my date for the second eye surgery. I’m very pleased.
When is it?
March 6.
Are you scared?
Nope.
Are you worried? Thatch asked me.
Not at all, but I might be on March 5.
Take off your glasses, Annabelle told me.
I removed my reading glasses. Okay, Annabelle? What’s going on?
Which is your bad eye? Your right one?
That’s correct, Missy! What a good memory you have.
Now, cover your left eye. Good, very good. How many paws am I holding up?
I can’t see a damned thing out of this eye, I can’t see a thing!
We’ll do it again after your surgery. Okay?
Fine, fine, Annabelle. I’ve got work to do, so give Daddy some time for himself, OK?
Oh, she sniffed to Thatch, he must be working on . . . the ballet.
Yes, I’m working on the ballet, Missy.
Fine, she said as she strutted off to the linen closet. It’s your ballet, not mine!
Following her, Thatch turned back to me and yelled, That ballet needs a good calypso number!
I hadn’t said much about the ballet, a project for Indiana University. I had seen a post on Facebook at one Doug Fullington was looking for someone to orchestrate a ballet in the style of George Gershwin’s 1930 musical Girl Crazy. Since I had been an editor on restoring the musical, I applied for the job and got it. That was in January 2022.
I liked Doug, I thought the concept for the ballet was interesting, and I wanted to get to work. All I needed was a contract from Indiana University before I could start. I finally got the contract at the end of December. In early January 2023, Doug, Phil, his partner on the ballet, and I had several intense Zoom meetings, and I got to work. I really like our collaboration, and I love being busy for the first time since March 2020. There was one problem: three angry kittens who were vehemently opposed to this ballet.
Why can’t I dance the lead? Annabelle demanded to know.
Well, for two reasons, Missy: one, you’re a cat, and two, you’re not a student at Indiana University.
I want to dance the calypso in it, Thatch told me.
I’m sorry, Thatchcat; you’re not an Indiana University student.
Will you write a nice calypso for me, so my name will be in the ballet?
I can’t do that, baby. I’m sorry.
This stinks, Thatch, Annabelle said to him. We give him the best years of his life, and then he dumps us.
Well, babies, I said, at least Stella’s not unhappy about my work. Annabelle and Thatch burst into laughter.
What? I asked. What did I say? What?
Oh, ho ho ho, Annabelle scoffed. Stella is very angry, really, really, really angry.
What did I do?
She wants to play her tambourine in the orchestra! Thatch told me.
Really?
Yes, Annabelle snapped.
Well, she’s not enrolled in the university, and neither are you or Annabelle. I’m sorry, babies, I love you all – you know I do! – but this ballet is my project, mine, you hear?
Now I must get back to work. I’d like to finish the first scene before March 5.
Why March 5? Annabelle asked.
Because my surgery is on March 6, and I don’t want to be out of commission while my eye heals.
Oh, get to work, Annabelle told me. I’m going to call my one true friend in the world, R.U. Fémos.
R.U. Fémos is Annabelle’s manager and agent. I like him a lot. He’s worked with every diva in town, and he sees the little girl behind Annabelle’s Big Diva act. They’re great friends.
Well, tell him hello for me. I wish I’d asked him to draw up my Indiana contract.
And I’m going to practice my calypso, Thatch told us.
As I turned to my worktable, something hard hit the back of my head. It was Stella’s tambourine.
©2023, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 