December 2023 was a very quiet month. Why is this year different? I wondered. Several days before Christmas, I realized I had heard no sounds of three cats rehearsing for their caroling night, no fights between Annabelle and Thatch, no demands for caroling accessories.
No caroling this year? I asked Annabelle.
No. Thatch and Stella wanted to, but I told them my career was too important to waste on non-paying customers who stand around and watch them get through it while I’m busting my chops to be professional.
That’s harsh, don’t you think?
It’s true, Daddy! You know I’m right. I’m an artiste. They just want to have fun.
Well, there’s nothing wrong in that, Annabelle. You like to have fun, too.
Not with my career!
Well, maybe they should go without you.
Amateur night, that’s what it’s gonna be.
Well, if they want to go without you, I’ll support them. I might even dance the calypso on “Mary’s Boy Child” with Thatch.
Hah! On that walker, you’d fall over.
And on that, she triumphantly sauntered over to the linen closet and vanished inside.
When she bites, she goes right for the jugular! I said to Thatch, who had been watching the discussion in silence.
Well, that’s why I said nothing.
Are you sorry you’re not going caroling this year?
I was until you said Stella and I might go without her. Could we?
Well, let’s think about this for a moment. Stella never sings; she just beats that tambourine. Are you up to singing everything?
No, maybe not. I’m too shy. I get energized when Annabelle’s taking the lead.
Well, if you change your mind, you know I’ll support the two of you.
Stella ran up and hugged me. She put her paws around my ankles and rolled onto my shoes.
Aw, Stella, little baby cat, I said, did you like my comment?
She appreciates your support, Thatch observed. I’m grateful, too, so . . .
So? I asked. You think you might want to go caroling before New Year’s Day?
Stella and I will discuss the matter. Is that good, Stella?
She rose from the floor and my shoes, ran to Thatch and wrestled him to the ground.
Ow, Stella! Stop it! he yelled as he ran from her to the windowsill.
She followed him at a fast clip, and when she reached the windowsill, she gently approached him and put her forehead against his.
I picked up my oatmeal bowl from the computer table and placed it on the tea cart. I then kneeled on the floor and picked up the cats’ breakfast dishes. I pushed the cart into the kitchen to wash up the breakfast debris.
Late in the morning, I fell asleep watching our soaps.
Daddy! Daddy! Thatch whispered.
I opened my eyes. Thatch sat next to my pillow.
Thatch? Why are you whispering?
Stella and I want to go caroling, and we don’t want Annabelle to know just yet.
That’s gonna be tough, baby. You know Annabelle lets nothing get past her.
We just don’t want her to dump on our enthusiasm, and she won’t be happy we’re doing something she’s not starring in.
Wasn’t that her decision?
Yes. but you know Princess Annabelle.
I understand. Let me sit up; I’m tired today. Did I miss anything good?
No, two crazy killers, and three love triangles, the usual. Oh! and there’s a stolen baby!
Another?
The phone rang, and I answered it. Hello?
Mr. Moore? This is Detective Kibble. Merry Christmas! I hope you are well?
I’m surviving, Detective. And Merry Christmas to you . . . and Happy New Year!
I hadn’t spoken to you in some time, and I was wondering what your plans were over the next week.
Plans? I laughed. Outside of the cats’ caroling night, I have no plans at all. Oh, wait! My plan is to survive the holidays with as little discomfort or inconvenience possible. Why do you ask?
I thought we might meet for coffee and catch up.
That’s nice. Yes, I would like that. You know, I’m playing bodyguard to caroling cats this week, and I thought I’d invite Annabelle’s manager R.U. Fémos to come along and then have dinner with us.
R.U. Fémos and his All about Me agency are the hottest public relations firm on Broadway. He’s been Annabelle’s PR man and agent for the past couple of years, and she adores him. I like his sense of humor and his ability to see the little teenage girl behind the Big Star attitude.
R.U. Fémos?
Yes! I think I introduced you to him some time ago. Would you like to come along with us?
I don’t know. The last time you introduced me to R.U. Fémos, he kept urging me to give up the NYPD for show business.
Well, that’s the curse of being a handsome man. He thought you’d do well in TV work.
Hah! I don’t think so. I’m no actor. I’ll stay with the NYPD.
Well, the invitation for a dinner with two loony older men and three cats is open. I hope you’ll say yes.
Do you know what day?
I’m thinking the Tuesday or Wednesday after Christmas. I’ll call you.
Let me give you my personal number; you may not be able to reach me at the precinct.
I wrote down his number and we finished the conversation with a fast summary of our Christmas day plans. I put the phone down and turned from the computer table. Annabelle grabbed my leg.
Daddy, was that Detective Kibble?
Yes, Missy, it was.
Did he ask you out? He likes you, you know.
Annabelle, we’re friends. That’s all it is.
Ask him out.
I invited him to dinner. How’s that? That reminds me: I have to call R.U. Fémos.
As I turned back to the phone, Annabelle jumped onto the computer table.
Thatch and I would like Detective Kibble to be our other Daddy.
Annabelle, listen to me: I am seventy-seven years old. I am very fond of Detective Kibble – you know? His name is really Kebbel, not Kibble – where was I? Oh, yeah . . . He’s a good man, but my dating days are over, and he’s too young for me; I don’t want to date anyone with a grandfather complex.
The morning of Christmas Eve, I sat on the bathroom floor and cleaned the litter box. Annabelle, who had been watching me wash my face, brush my teeth, and change the water in their water bowl, sidled up to me.
Do you need to use this? I asked her.
No, Daddy, I just wanted to visit while you work.
Annabelle, we talk every morning while I clean the litter box.
Yes, it’s our time together.
I love our time together, Missy Belle.
It’s nice.
I poured the dirty litter into the garbage bag, set the litter tray down, and tied off the garbage bag. Annabelle watched me assemble the litter box in silence.
You’re awfully quiet, Missy. Something bothering you?
I was just wondering how Thatch and Stella are coming along with their caroling plans.
I honestly don’t know, Missy. They’ve been awfully quiet about it.
I cannot believe you are letting them make fools of themselves . . .
Hold on! Let’s get this straight. Thatch and Stella love you, and I know you love them, but . . . Annabelle, if you make one disparaging, demeaning, snarky, or snide remark about their caroling, I will personally kill you. There will be pieces of you up and down Amsterdam Avenue, you hear me? You decided not to go caroling this year, and you will not spoil their fun.
You always take their side!
I like to think I’m keeping the peace. I’m serious, though, I really am. If you are intentionally trying to spoil their fun, I will stop your acting career-
You wouldn’t!
I would. I’ll cancel your contract with R.U. Fémos . . .
No! You can’t!
And, Missy, I’ll throw out your headshots.
You wouldn’t!
I would. Will you promise to behave?
She gave me a very hostile glare. We’ll talk! she stated before she bolted from the bathroom.
I dragged myself to my feet, picked up the garbage bag with the litter, took my cane off the doorknob, and walked into the kitchen. I dropped the garbage into my junk bag hanging on my walker, washed their breakfast dishes and wandered into the living area. It was Christmas Eve, and I still had much to do to prepare for our Christmas Day.
Daddy?
Yes, Thatch?
Did you decide what day Stella and I can go caroling?
I was thinking maybe Tuesday night, around 6:30? Then we’ll all go to dinner somewhere on Amsterdam. Are you two set?
Sorta.
And that means? I prompted.
We’re going to be a bigger bomb than Moose Murders!
Christmas day passed quietly. My legs were in great pain so I preferred to stay in bed most of the day. The cats opened their presents in the morning, then Thatch and Stella ran off to rehearse their caroling. Annabelle played with her new toys listlessly, looked over her new books listlessly, and then climbed onto the bed to lie beside me.
What’s wrong, Annabelle? I asked. You seem rather listless.
It’s no fun when Thatch and Stella don’t want to play.
Well, they’re excited about caroling tomorrow night. You’re the one who didn’t want to do it this year. I thought you loved caroling.
I did . . . and I do. I wish now I had never said I wouldn’t do it this year.
You love a good adventure, and most of your caroling nights have been adventures.
I know, Daddy. What are you watching?
A Christmas Carol. You know, Scrooge and the ghosts?
Oh, good! I like this.
Annabelle settled beside me and we watched Fezziwig’s Christmas party and Young Scrooge’s broken engagement.
This part always makes me cry, Annabelle observed.
Annabelle? You up there? It was Thatch.
What, Thatch? she walked over me to the edge of the bed.
Stella and I have a favor to ask.
A favor? What?
Favor? I thought. I sat up and turned my attention from Scrooge to two cats.
Annabelle, Thatch said, our caroling night is going to be the biggest disaster since Donald Trump was elected president.
Really, Thatch? I’m so sorry. She sounded about as sad as a $750,000,000 Powerball winner.
Do I need to stop this now? I wondered. Instead, I said, I’m sorry, too, Thatch
So, Annabelle, Thatch said, Stella and I . . . well, we wondered if we could beg you to save us tomorrow and come caroling with us. I know it’s short notice, but . . .
Well, you know how busy I am, but I would hate to see our caroling reputation ruined this year-
Annabelle, I mustered, watch it.
And I’ve actually been thinking about a couple of holiday numbers I would like to try out. So . . . if you and Stella are certain you need me, I’d be happy to help you.
Stella banged her tambourine. Thatch shook with relief. Oh, what happy news! he shouted.
When are you rehearsing again? she asked.
Whenever you want.
Well, give me thirty minutes to get myself together, and I’ll see you in our office. She leaped off the bed and ran to the bathroom. I looked very carefully at Thatch.
How long have you been planning this, Thatch?
What, Daddy?
This means of getting Annabelle into the act.
I knew the closer we got to a caroling night, the sadder she would be to not be a part of it.
You know your sister quite well, I chuckled. You do realize, baby, that you’re in for a day and a half of hell.
Yes, I know, but it will be worth it to have all of us caroling.
I sat up in bed and threw my legs over the edge. Stella dropped her tambourine as she dodged my feet.
Where are you going? Thatch asked.
I’ve gotta find Frosty’s top hat so Annabelle can rehearse her big cakewalk.
Stella hit the tambourine and she and Thatch shrilly burst into song:
Hippity hop hop! Hippity hop hop! Look at Frosty go!
Now where in the fat hell, I wondered, did I put that stupid hat?
©2023, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 