On my way back to the apartment from the basement, I stopped to see what mail had been left the day before. No bills, thank God, but a lot of requests from animal rescues, Planned Parenthood, AARP, and others for donations. I rode the elevator to three, pushed the walker down the hall and entered the apartment.
I’m back babies! I called. I could see Annabelle and Stella on the windowsill, watching the hurly-burly on West 82nd Street. Thatch turned to look at me from the cat tree.
Well, I asked, did I miss anything while I was out?
There was no response, so I put the walker in its corner, dumped all the mask into the garbage, took my cane from its resting place by the stove and walked into the living area. I sat down in my computer chaired turned to the keyboard.
No! Annabelle screamed, don’t open the computer! She leaped from the windowsill and ran to me. She then jumped onto the computer table. Don’t open it, Daddy! Please, please, don’t open the computer.
Annabelle? Missy? Did you break something?
No, Daddy! It’s worse. I’ve been catfished.
Catfished? Really? I asked. When did this happen?
A few days ago.
Tell him everything, Annabelle! Thatch called from the cat tree.
Thatch! I’m gonna murder you! she yelled back at him.
Hold on! Hold on! I said to calm the situation down. So, Missy Belle, where do you want to start the story of the catfish?
At the beginning! Thatch yelled. It all began on the Kitty Channel! He was enjoying Annabelle’s discomfort just a little too much.
The Kitty Channel? I asked her.
There was this ad for a new chat site, Kitty Facebook, and I wanted to expand my fan base, so . . . I joined it on your computer.
Okay, I said, why not on your computer?
Because it’s in our office in the linen closet, and your was so close to the television.
Well, I asked, should we open the computer and look at your Kitty Facebook page?
No! The catfish will be there.
Does he have a name?
Yes. Elvis Purrsley.
And how did this whole megillah begin?
Well, I signed up, and by the end of the day, I had maybe fifty friend requests.
It wasn’t that many, Annabelle, Thatch called,
Yes, it was, Thatch!
Okay, okay, babies! I want to hear Annabelle’s story.
PART TWO
Oh, Annabelle, why didn’t you ask my advice?
Annabelle asking for advice? Thatch laughed.
I’m going to kill me a cat! Annabelle yelled back at him. Stella picked up her tambourine and banged it. She seems to think it’s less a musical instrument and more a form of punctuation.
You weren’t here, Daddy! You were at City Center.
So, Annabelle, I asked, how did you meet this Elvis uh . . .
Purrsley, she replied. He’s so handsome. He lives in Pittsburgh, and he sent me a friend request. Did I tell you he’s handsome? He sent me a friend request ad told me he wanted to be friends with the prettiest cat on the East Coast.
Well, there’s still a lot of USA that doesn’t cover, I said.
Well. I am the prettiest little girl on the Upper West Side. You tell me that all the time.
Yes, I do, and you are.
I haven’t had a boyfriend – besides Val, you know – in some time. Street Cat Bod was murdered and I don’t know where Pip the Beach Cat went to . . . and Elvis was so pretty. I thought, well, it won’t hurt to flirt with him.
So, let me guess, Missy, you accepted his friend request?
I did!
She didn’t talk to me all day, Daddy, Thatch said. He climbed down from the cat tree and approached us at the computer. All she did was chat with Elvis. His pronunciation of the name made it sound more “that scumbag piece of crap Annabelle met online.”
So, Missy, how long did the good times last?
A day, to more than two. I really liked him.
I warned you not to accept him, Annabelle, Thatch told her. He was too friendly too fast, I didn’t want him to break your heart. I read his messages you showed me.
It was so nice to talk to someone who thought I was pretty.
You are pretty, Annabelle, I told her. It might be fun to flirt now and then, I said, but there are monsters out in the real world, actual monsters who could hurt you, you know that. You and Thatch are street-smart kitties.
Stella banged her tambourine.
What about Stella? Thatch asked.
Well. I said, I love Stella, but I think the jury is still out.
Annabelle, Thatch said, tell Daddy what happened.
Yes, Annabelle, I said, why are you afraid for me to open the computer?
I don’t know what he’s going to do. I don’t want him to hurt any of us?
Annabelle, I said, you told meme’s in Toronto, right? You did say Toronto?
Well, she sounded evasive, he might be there . . . or Pittsburgh . . . or Seattle . . .
What the hell, Annabelle? What are you trying to tell me?
Daddy, don’t be mad at me. He was so sweet, and I wanted to help him.
What did you do, Annabelle?
Well, uh, well . . .
Annabelle, do to hyperventilate on me! Tell me what happened.
Well, after we chatted the first day, he sent me an email. He said he needed an Apple gift card because he was out of data. I don’t even know what any of that means!
Why couldn’t he get his own Apple gift card? I asked. What is an Apple gift card? Do you know, Thatch?
No, I’m just a little boy! All I can do is fix Annabelle’s printer when she jams it.
I do not!
You do, Annabelle, you jam it every time you use it.
It doesn’t print fast enough to suit me.
Okay, okay, stop the bickering. I spoke up. Let’s get back to Elvis and his gift card. What did you do,
Annabelle.
Well, I looked it up on Amazon and I sent him a gift card.
On my account.
Yes, she said sheepishly.
Hw much, Annabelle?
Fifty dollars, Daddy.
I blew up. Fifty dollars? You did say fifty, not fifteen?
She said fifty, daddy, Thatch told the world. I tried to stop her.
You are dead meat, Thatch!
You spent fifty dollars of my money on a cat you don’t even know?
I’m sorry. Don’t hit me!
Aw, baby, I’d never hit you, but at the moment I could kill you! Why the fat hell, Annabelle? Why did you do such a foolish thing?
I thought he was my friend!
Well, I thought, I can’t cry over spilled milk and I can’t hurt my little girl, so what do I do now?
Okay, Annabelle, I said. Let me call Amazon and serif I can get that gift certificate-
No, Daddy, Thatch interrupted, it’s a gift card, an Apple gift card.
Thatch, baby, you are taking far too much delight in your sister’s unhappiness. This is not the generous little boy I love.
Stella banged that damned tambourine again.
I’m sorry, Annabelle, Thatch told her.
When you’re sleeping, when you least expect it, I’m going to pay you back.
Okay, okay, I muttered, stop the damned bickering. And, Stella, if you hit that tambourine one more time . . . don’t look at me like that, Missy! One more time, just one more time, you’ll need pills to kill the pain.
I turned back to Annabelle, So what happened with Elvis.
Well, he thanked me for the gift card and then he said he needed bitcoin.
What? Bitcoin? Why?
I don’t know, Daddy, but that’s when Thatch told me I needed to investigate this Elvis Purrsley.
Did you?
I did. I did search on Kitty Facebook, and he’s got over ten pages, all with the same photos of him and his humans – they look nice, daddy! – I was so shocked I blocked all of them so that he can never contact me again. And I unfriended him.
Well, that was smart, Annabelle. You dd the right thing. You know you owe me fifty bucks?
I do. I’m sorry, Daddy.
Are you gonna show me your Kitty Facebook page? I hope you have a nice photo of me on there.
I actually have several, she told me. Let me show them to you.
Annabelle, Thatch called, it’s time for “Hollywood’s Hottest Cats!”
Later, Daddy. The Kitty Channel calls! Come on, Stella.
Just before three cats ran to the television, Stella’s tambourine flew past my head and hit the wall.
©2023, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 