.
Okay, babies, I said as I rose from my computer chair, it’s time for breakfast. Let me feed you.
I took my cane from its place at the foot of my bed, put my other hand on the teacart and pushed it toward the kitchen. I stopped to take two cans of Fancy Feast from the small carton sitting on the edge if the dresser before I turned on the ceiling light in the foyer. I unlocked the door and opened it to check the hall. A small Amazon carton sat on the door mat. Using my cane, I pulled the carton into the foyer and closed the door before Stella could run into the hall.
When I had their breakfasts ready, I put the three dishes onto the teacart and pushed the cart into the living area. The Amazon carton sitting in front of the cart was pushed into the living area as well.
Annabelle, I called, treat! Thatch? Thatch, treat! Stella? Stella baby, time for treat! Come on, babies! Come on!
Three cats ran to the teacart and waited, rather impatiently, for their breakfast.
Is breakfast late this morning? Annabelle asked me. I hate it when my schedule is off.
Yes, Missy, it’s all my fault. I got in so late last night, I just went right to bed. I had a lot of clean-up this morning.
Did your event go well? Thatch asked me.
Yes, baby, it did. I had a fun time at the library, and I think the ballet is good. Some people left at intermission, but the ones who stayed to the end seemed to like it. I really liked it. Doug and Phil did wonderful work, the cast was good, and the orchestra played well.
How was your talk before the ballet?
Thatch, I got a few laughs, but I hope I didn’t come off like a moron.
I do not wish to talk about this ballet nonsense! Annabelle snapped. Just feed us.
Ooh, still touchy, I see, I replied.
I have every right to be; you betrayed us.
There was no betrayal, Missy! You couldn’t be in the ballet, Annabelle; you are not an Indiana University student.
You could have made it happen.
Okay, okay, I do not want to discuss this ever again. It will be over tonight, and you’ll be angry for a couple of days . . .
I will be angry for a long time. Stella and I are quite unhappy. You let us down.
All right, okay, I’m sorry, I yelled. Just eat your breakfast.
As soon as I had set three dishes onto their food mats, I sat in my computer chair, lifted the carton to my lap, and opened it. The carton contained a cellophane bag of bonito flakes for cats. I set it aside and tossed the empty carton into the kitchen. While the cats ate their breakfast, I checked my emails; there were a couple of complimentary ones from friends around the country who had watched the ballet on the Indiana University School of Music’s streaming service. After Annabelle’s tongue lashing, the emails were a pleasant relief. As soon as the cats finished eating, I pushed the teacart into the kitchen and prepared my oatmeal and coffee.
My breakfast was strange. I couldn’t figure out why, but something was off. The oatmeal – apple cinnamon with dried cranberries and walnuts – was tasty, the coffee was hot, and I was happy with both. Still, as I played on the computer, I kept feeling something was off. What the fat hell was it?
It wasn’t the library event; that went quite nicely the night before. The ballet’s opening performance went very well, and the audience reaction to the screening of the live stream was positive. I was tired, though, Friday had been a long day, and I got too little sleep. My legs ached terribly. Was that the problem, I wondered. Nope, what was it? Post-performance depression?
No, it was Annabelle. Every morning, after her breakfast, while I eat mine, she sits on the table and gives me my instructions for the day. I mostly ignore them, but I was so used to hear her chatting at me that it was a daily part of my existence. This morning, she was angry with me. I looked around for her. If she wasn’t sitting on the table or teacart, she was generally in one of these places:
1. sleeping on my bed;
2. sitting in the window watching the hurly burly on West 82nd Street below;
3. in the cat tree reading her Backstage or a script;
4. sleeping in her summer home, an almost empty carton that once contained sixteen rolls of Bounty paper towels; I can’t throw it out; she won’t let me.
Today, however, she was angry with me. This pique over dancing in the ballet, which came and went with her moods, had been absent for weeks, but last night’s ballet opening had stirred it all up. No matter how many times I told her that she couldn’t dance a lead in the ballet, she refused to accept it. You’re not an Indiana University ballet student, I told her, and she only replied, nonsense.
Then she got Stella worked up because Stella wanted to play her tambourine in the ballet’s orchestra. The only sane one was Thatch, who gave up his dream of taking a class while all of us were in Bloomington. When I decided my health wasn’t good enough to make the trip, Annabelle and Stella made my life hell.
I finished breakfast, loaded my dish, cup, and the cats’ bowls onto the teacart and pushed it back to the kitchen. Just before I got to the sink, the cart stopped. I pushed it, but it wouldn’t move. Now what, I thought.
Stop! Annabelle called.
Annabelle? I responded, where are you?
You’re crushing me with that teacart! Stop it.
I pulled the cart back. Annabelle lay in the empty Amazon carton I had tossed into the kitchen. I had been pushing her and the carton into the refrigerator door.
Annabelle! I exclaimed, there you are!
You’re ruining my new bed, Annabelle stated.
Annabelle, I am so sorry. Did I hurt you?
No, but you might have. I like this carton; it’s comfortable, and I can think about dancing in a ballet. I’d be a good Giselle, don’t you think?
That’s nice, I said as I unloaded the dishes and cup onto the ledge of the sink. I washed my cup and bowl and set them to drain on the stove. I cleaned the cats’ dishes, then set them in the sink with a bit of water and detergent. I picked up the garbage bag and my cane and turned to the bathroom.
You coming with me? I asked.
No. I’m guarding my new bed. Stella wants it and she is not getting it.
Okay, I said. I’m going to clean the litter.
As I turned to the bathroom door, I saw Stella hiding behind the paper shredder and watching Annabelle intently.
Hmmm. I thought, this could be interesting.
I sat on the edge of the bathtub and poured clean water into their water dish. After I brushed my teeth, I got on my hands and knees and cleaned the litter box. As I poured the dirty litter into the garbage bag, Annabelle ran in and checked the litter box.
You look anxious, Missy, I observed.
I can’t stay! she yelled as she ran from the bathroom.
Hmmm, crazy cats, I thought. I turned my attention back to the litter box and began to assemble it. As I pushed it back into place, Annabelle ran into the bathroom and leaped into the litter box.
Annabelle! I exclaimed, Watch it, Missy!
She pawed through the litter, but she kept her head turned to the bathroom door. With a leap, she bounded from the litter box and ran back into the kitchen. She almost knocked Thatch over as he entered the bathroom.
What the fat hell? I uttered. Thatch? Do you know what’s going on?
Yes, he whispered. It’s Stella. She wants that Amazon carton and Annabelle is trying to potty and keep Stella away at the same time.
I laughed. Annabelle meets the horns of a dilemma!
Horns? Thatch asked. What horns?
It’s an expression, Thatch. It means she’s got two choices and can’t decide what to do. I laughed, This is a recipe for disaster.
Any minute now! Thatch laughed.
Just then I heard a cat growl, then another, followed by hisses and screams accompanied by the sound of cardboard sliding across linoleum. Stella dashed into the bathroom, leaped onto the edge of the tub, and disappeared from view. In hot pursuit, Annabelle followed, leaped onto the edge of the tub and swan dived into the depths of the tub. This was followed by a lot of hissing and yelling before Stella leaped out of the tub and ran from the bathroom. After a moment, Annabelle leaped onto the edge of the tub and danced lightly from one end to the other.
That’ll teach her! Annabelle crowed. No one – and I mean no one – steals my Amazon cartons!
Is Stella okay? I asked. You didn’t hurt her?
Stella’s indestructible! Thatch told us.
Would you two get out of here? Annabelle demanded. I’ve gotta pee. Thatch, would you watch my carton?
Don’t put me in the middle.
Just do it, Annabelle ordered as she climbed into the litter box. She sniffed about, then situated herself.
Duck! Thatch yelled as a tambourine flew through the bathroom door and knocked Annabelle off her perch.
That cat is a dead cat! Annabelle yelled as she climbed out of the litter and shook it off her back.
You okay, Missy? I asked.
That tambourine! I’m going to make her eat it!
She’s okay, Thatch observed,
But first I gotta pee. Turn your backs, boys.
I’m outa here, I said. I’ve got too much to do before 2:00.
Me, too! Thatch said before he followed me from the bathroom.
What’s occupying your day, Thatch? I asked him.
You, Daddy. I’ve never seen a ballet before, and I want to watch it with you.
Aw, Thatcher Cat, that is so sweet. Let me finish your breakfast dishes. Then we’ll get ready for the 2:00 performance.
I washed the cats’ dishes, took the recyclables and garbage to the basement, and picked up the mail. When I entered the apartment, Annabelle was waiting for me in the foyer.
Thatch says he’s going to watch that lousy ballet with you.
Annabelle, it’s only a “lousy ballet” because you are not involved. I set the walker in its corner and reached for my cane.
I would have made it a brilliant ballet, but you wouldn’t let me.
We are not going to argue over this. Would you like to watch the matinee with Thatch and me? I need to plan your treats.
A matinee! I haven’t heard that term since I was in the Irish rep play. I loved matinee days.
Just answer my question, Missy: are you going to watch the matinee with Thatch and me?
Oh, I guess so. I would like to hear your orchestrations . . . even if the ballet is tres lousée.
We walked into the living area. Thatch, Stella, and her tambourine were waiting at the computer.
Well, I see our audience is waiting! I exclaimed. We have another hour before the ballet, babies. I’ve got just enough time to make myself some tuna salad and give you three bowls of treats.
Three bowls? Thatch asked. Annabelle, are you going to watch the ballet?
Just to hear Daddy’s work, I know it’s going to be lousy.
Stella and I are here to support Daddy’s work as well as Phil and Doug’s. Remember when Doug came by last year? He was so nice. I liked him.
I don’t remember.
I bet Stella does, don’t you, Stella?
She hit her tambourine against the iMac.
If you plan on being a pain in the litter box, Annabelle, you can’t watch it, can she, Daddy?
Thatch, I can do what I want.
You are not going to be nasty. If you are, you are not welcome.
As I walked into the kitchen, I thought, Good for you, Thatch. He hardly ever fights back when Annabelle becomes difficult.
When I pulled three of their bowls, I asked, do you want the same treats in each or do you want three different treats.
Stella smacked her tambourine as Thatch and Annabelle yelled, Three different!
I set their bowls aside while I removed three eggs from the refrigerator and set them in a pan of water to boil. I had thirty minutes to make the tuna salad and slice a few tomatoes. The cats would get three seafood treats, Lucious Lobster, Crabby Delights, and Simply Shrimp.
I was excited about seeing the matinee. The night before was quite an event for the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts and Dance Magazine. I enjoyed the performance, but I was more concerned with the orchestra’s performance, and since I had no program, I had no idea who any of the dancer might be. I had downloaded a program when I got home, so I knew who had danced the leads, and I was ready for today’s two performances.
At 1:45 I pushed the teacart with everyone’s treats to the computer table, and set up the viewing area. I got the computer chair, and Thatch sat in my lap. Annabelle lay on the teacart and Stella and her tambourine lay on the computer table.
Now, Stella, Thatch advised her, you cannot play that tambourine with the music.
If you do, Annabelle, snarled, I’ll cut you!
The Indiana University streaming channel whirred into life, and suddenly we were looking over the auditorium filling up with an audience.
It’s showtime! Thatch yelled.
We watched the first act of the ballet in silence. At one point, Annabelle said of Bryan Gregory, who danced the male lead, He’s got long legs! Is he tall? I don’t think he and I would have looked good together.
At intermission, the cats attacked their treats voraciously, and I ate my tuna salad on Ritz crackers. I would have preferred something else, but I had no money until Social Security landed in mid-April. I was eating frugally until then.
I like Pam! She’s funny, Thatch said.
Yes, Annabelle said grudgingly, she’s okay.
Are you enjoying yourself, Annabelle? I cautiously asked.
Why is no one saying anything? she asked me. The dancing’s nice, but where’s the dialogue?
It’s all about mime – you’ve seen Nutcracker – and dancing.
Oh, he just mentioned Daddy! Thatch exclaimed.
Oh, there’s Doug! Do you remember when he came to visit? I asked.
I do! Thatch said. Stella hit her tambourine, turned back to the bowl, and pushed Thatch out of the way.
Stella! Thatch yelled, stop being a piggy.
Who’s the girl playing the role I’m perfect for? Nikki? Is that her name? Annabelle asked me.
Let me check the program, I said. It’s . . .Maya Jackson.
She’s not bad, you know, but I’d be better,
Don’t start, Annabelle. It’s time for Act Two.
Different cast tonight? she asked.
Different cast, I replied.
Who’s playing the leading man tonight?
I checked the program. His name is Fletcher Barr.
Perhaps he would be the perfect partner for me when I dance the role?
Ha! Thatch laughed. You’ll never be in this ballet.
Annabelle leaped from the teacart, jumped on Thatch, and wrestled him to the floor. After some spitting and hissing, Thatch ran one way, Annabelle ran another.
Stella and I watched Act Two.
©2024, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 