Harry and Annabelle
Idol Mini-Season 2024
Prompt 11: Haver
October 3, 2024
Haver:
Scottish slang: foolish talk
Hebrew: friend; comrade; companion.
HARRY AND ANNABELLE
It was a cold, grim day, with a biting wind out of the East. Fog shrouded the little cemetery where Harris Stewart cast a handful of dirt onto the casket of his friend, Bryce Robertson. He was the last mourner to leave and he carried Bryce’s beloved cat, Annabelle.
Harry thought it was important that Annabelle should be there, and now she stretched over his shoulder, purring.
“She doesn’t understand,” thought Harry. “It’s better that way.”
Bryce had passed away at 72 after a long struggle with cancer.
In the end it was still Bryce and Harry, as it had been in the beginning. They had been best friends ever since they had met as five-year-olds on the school playground, brought together by their shared freckles and red hair.
Over time, their hair had grown gray and thin and their freckles had faded, but not their friendship. They had drifted apart after high school, but had reconnected in their thirties after each had gone through a divorce. Their friendship, rooted so deep in the past, had been a great consolation. Neither Harry nor Bryce had remarried and neither had had children, disappointments to both of them which each had tried to fill with a series of cats over the years.
During Bryce’s final illness, Harry had promised to take care of Annabelle, which comforted his old friend. Annabelle was a basic brown short-haired tabby cat, no interesting features, and a loud purr. She had loved to sit on Bryce’s lap for pets and purrs.
Bryce had been a highly successful accountant, while Harry had been a sufficiently successful attorney. They had had similar senses of humor, which many had called dark. Dark or not, they had made each other laugh.
Now there was little laughter in Harry’s life, but at least he would have Annabelle.
Annabelle no longer had Bryce and she wasn’t too sure about Harry. He wore glasses and he had a different smell.
Harry brought Annabelle home for the first time after Bryce’s funeral.
“I guess you live with me now,” said Harry, as poured himself a Scotch in memory of his friend.
“Don’t bet on it,” said Annabelle.
Harry dropped the bottle, which shattered on the floor.
“Don’t think I’m gonna help,” said Annabelle. “I’m a cat, not a maid. You’re lucky that I clean myself.”
Harry sat down on a nearby sofa. His mouth opened and closed several times, without a word coming out.
Annabelle sat down in front of him, a furry blob with a tail and two pointy ears.
“Get yourself together - you look like a guppy,” said Annabelle. “Where’s the litterbox, or you’re gonna have another mess.”
Finally, Harry spoke.
“You can talk?”
“Brilliant,” Annabelle said. “But I’m serious about the litterbox.”
“In the laundry room,” said Harry. “Bryce never said you could talk.”
Annabelle’s voice sounded a little like a modulated meow, but it was easy to understand her.
Annabelle came back from the laundry room.
“Bryce didn’t tell you a lot,” she said. “I used to belong to a circus. I was Annie the Talking Cat. Kids loved me.”
“But how did Bryce . . .” Harry started, before Annabelle cut him off.
“He used to do their books, even after he retired. They couldn’t pay, so he took me. He knew quality when he saw it.”
“But how can you talk?” asked Harry.
“Beats me. Better than meowing, I guess. Maybe Igor the Magician cast a spell. Who knows? What’s to eat? I’m hungry and you don’t want me to start howling.”
“I bought some kibble for older cats,” Harry answered.
“First, I’m not older - I’m twelve and I’m just getting started. You’re the old one. Second - kibble? You’re kidding. Bryce used to feed me grilled chicken, fresh fish, or lasagna. Kibble gives me gas.”
“What about milk?”
“Lactose intolerant. More gas.”
“Looks like I’m going to have to find a better home,” added Annabelle. “What would Bryce think? I mean, you made a deathbed promise and everything.”
“I’ve got some salmon with a lemon dill sauce,” said Harry, who liked to cook.
“Lemon dill?” said Annabelle. “Way to ruin a fish. I like ‘em fresh and wriggling.”
While Harry washed the sauce off the salmon, Annabelle wandered around her new home.
“Is your stuff shabby chic or just shabby?” called Annabelle from the living room.
“Neither,” replied Harry. “It’s vintage - like me. And rescue cats can’t be choosy.”
“I’m rescuing you,” retorted Annabelle as she clawed the rug. “You live by yourself with no one to talk to.”
“Claw anything again,” said Harry, “and you’ll regret it. I’ve got a squirt gun and I know how to use it.”
“Hah! You’re old and slow. You’ll never hit me.”
“Do you ever shut up?” asked Harry.
“When I’m sleeping. Bryce was fun to talk to - I don’t know about you. You’re no fun.”
This brought Harry back to his old friend and he grew quiet. He re-heated the rest of the salmon, made a salad, and sat down to eat. Annabelle’s food dish was in the kitchen, and it felt good to have some company, even if it was a mouthy cat.
After dinner, Harry went into the living room and sat down to watch some TV - an old Columbo rerun. Harry and Bryce would sometimes watch old cop shows together and have a few beers.
Annabelle wandered in and sat on Harry’s lap and began purring when he started to pet her. It felt good.
“This is garbage,” Annabelle said after a few minutes.
“You know something better?” asked Harry, who wondered how a cat could have so many opinions.
“CatTV. It’s on YouTube.”
CatTV had hours of videos designed to entertain cats. They were set in gardens or the wilderness and had nuts and seeds to attract birds, squirrels, and other small animals. There was no narration or music, just sounds from the outdoors.
The videos made Harry drowsy, but Annabelle was excited. She couldn’t take her eyes off the little animal dramas. Sometimes she would kick her hind legs like a rabbit, or run up to the TV screen and stare at it.
Finally, it was time for bed. It had been an emotional and exhausting day.
“I sleep on your bed,” said Annabelle.
“Any more demands?” asked Harry.
Annabelle curled up next to Harry and they both fell asleep. Sometimes Annabelle would reach out her paw and gently poke Harry to see if he was awake. She felt like talking.
And so it went. Over time they got to know each other and became happy together.
Finally, a year went by.
“It’s been a year since you moved in,” said Harry.
“You’re not gonna get all weepy on me, are you?”
“No, but I was thinking. Bryce and I always meant to take a long road trip and explore Route 66. Why don’t we do it?”
Annabelle thought about it. “Sure,” she said finally.
Harry watched some videos on how to travel with a cat. Most said, “don’t do it!”
“We’ll just work it out as we go along,” said Harry.
A week later, Harry packed his SUV with everything they’d need, including a litter box and a cooler with fresh fish and chicken. They could get lasagna along the way.
Their days were spent driving along old Route 66, which stretches from Los Angeles to Chicago, mostly in the southwest United States. Harry and Annabelle drove as long as they felt like it each day, with lots of detours for the oddities which dotted the highway, like the nostalgic gas stations and motels, the 30-foot-tall Gemini Giant, and the location of the self-proclaimed "first corn dog!" at the Cozy Dog Drive In, in Springfield, Illinois.
Annabelle talked incessantly and Harry sometimes listened. Annabelle didn’t need much input to keep going.
They were last seen near the Cadillac Ranch, in Amarillo, Texas. Annabelle was sitting on the dashboard trying to scare other drivers, with minimal success. Harry was just having fun, which is as good as it gets when you’re 73 and travelling with a talking cat.
_________________________
Prompt 11: Haver
October 3, 2024
Haver:
Scottish slang: foolish talk
Hebrew: friend; comrade; companion.
HARRY AND ANNABELLE
It was a cold, grim day, with a biting wind out of the East. Fog shrouded the little cemetery where Harris Stewart cast a handful of dirt onto the casket of his friend, Bryce Robertson. He was the last mourner to leave and he carried Bryce’s beloved cat, Annabelle.
Harry thought it was important that Annabelle should be there, and now she stretched over his shoulder, purring.
“She doesn’t understand,” thought Harry. “It’s better that way.”
Bryce had passed away at 72 after a long struggle with cancer.
In the end it was still Bryce and Harry, as it had been in the beginning. They had been best friends ever since they had met as five-year-olds on the school playground, brought together by their shared freckles and red hair.
Over time, their hair had grown gray and thin and their freckles had faded, but not their friendship. They had drifted apart after high school, but had reconnected in their thirties after each had gone through a divorce. Their friendship, rooted so deep in the past, had been a great consolation. Neither Harry nor Bryce had remarried and neither had had children, disappointments to both of them which each had tried to fill with a series of cats over the years.
During Bryce’s final illness, Harry had promised to take care of Annabelle, which comforted his old friend. Annabelle was a basic brown short-haired tabby cat, no interesting features, and a loud purr. She had loved to sit on Bryce’s lap for pets and purrs.
Bryce had been a highly successful accountant, while Harry had been a sufficiently successful attorney. They had had similar senses of humor, which many had called dark. Dark or not, they had made each other laugh.
Now there was little laughter in Harry’s life, but at least he would have Annabelle.
Annabelle no longer had Bryce and she wasn’t too sure about Harry. He wore glasses and he had a different smell.
Harry brought Annabelle home for the first time after Bryce’s funeral.
“I guess you live with me now,” said Harry, as poured himself a Scotch in memory of his friend.
“Don’t bet on it,” said Annabelle.
Harry dropped the bottle, which shattered on the floor.
“Don’t think I’m gonna help,” said Annabelle. “I’m a cat, not a maid. You’re lucky that I clean myself.”
Harry sat down on a nearby sofa. His mouth opened and closed several times, without a word coming out.
Annabelle sat down in front of him, a furry blob with a tail and two pointy ears.
“Get yourself together - you look like a guppy,” said Annabelle. “Where’s the litterbox, or you’re gonna have another mess.”
Finally, Harry spoke.
“You can talk?”
“Brilliant,” Annabelle said. “But I’m serious about the litterbox.”
“In the laundry room,” said Harry. “Bryce never said you could talk.”
Annabelle’s voice sounded a little like a modulated meow, but it was easy to understand her.
Annabelle came back from the laundry room.
“Bryce didn’t tell you a lot,” she said. “I used to belong to a circus. I was Annie the Talking Cat. Kids loved me.”
“But how did Bryce . . .” Harry started, before Annabelle cut him off.
“He used to do their books, even after he retired. They couldn’t pay, so he took me. He knew quality when he saw it.”
“But how can you talk?” asked Harry.
“Beats me. Better than meowing, I guess. Maybe Igor the Magician cast a spell. Who knows? What’s to eat? I’m hungry and you don’t want me to start howling.”
“I bought some kibble for older cats,” Harry answered.
“First, I’m not older - I’m twelve and I’m just getting started. You’re the old one. Second - kibble? You’re kidding. Bryce used to feed me grilled chicken, fresh fish, or lasagna. Kibble gives me gas.”
“What about milk?”
“Lactose intolerant. More gas.”
“Looks like I’m going to have to find a better home,” added Annabelle. “What would Bryce think? I mean, you made a deathbed promise and everything.”
“I’ve got some salmon with a lemon dill sauce,” said Harry, who liked to cook.
“Lemon dill?” said Annabelle. “Way to ruin a fish. I like ‘em fresh and wriggling.”
While Harry washed the sauce off the salmon, Annabelle wandered around her new home.
“Is your stuff shabby chic or just shabby?” called Annabelle from the living room.
“Neither,” replied Harry. “It’s vintage - like me. And rescue cats can’t be choosy.”
“I’m rescuing you,” retorted Annabelle as she clawed the rug. “You live by yourself with no one to talk to.”
“Claw anything again,” said Harry, “and you’ll regret it. I’ve got a squirt gun and I know how to use it.”
“Hah! You’re old and slow. You’ll never hit me.”
“Do you ever shut up?” asked Harry.
“When I’m sleeping. Bryce was fun to talk to - I don’t know about you. You’re no fun.”
This brought Harry back to his old friend and he grew quiet. He re-heated the rest of the salmon, made a salad, and sat down to eat. Annabelle’s food dish was in the kitchen, and it felt good to have some company, even if it was a mouthy cat.
After dinner, Harry went into the living room and sat down to watch some TV - an old Columbo rerun. Harry and Bryce would sometimes watch old cop shows together and have a few beers.
Annabelle wandered in and sat on Harry’s lap and began purring when he started to pet her. It felt good.
“This is garbage,” Annabelle said after a few minutes.
“You know something better?” asked Harry, who wondered how a cat could have so many opinions.
“CatTV. It’s on YouTube.”
CatTV had hours of videos designed to entertain cats. They were set in gardens or the wilderness and had nuts and seeds to attract birds, squirrels, and other small animals. There was no narration or music, just sounds from the outdoors.
The videos made Harry drowsy, but Annabelle was excited. She couldn’t take her eyes off the little animal dramas. Sometimes she would kick her hind legs like a rabbit, or run up to the TV screen and stare at it.
Finally, it was time for bed. It had been an emotional and exhausting day.
“I sleep on your bed,” said Annabelle.
“Any more demands?” asked Harry.
Annabelle curled up next to Harry and they both fell asleep. Sometimes Annabelle would reach out her paw and gently poke Harry to see if he was awake. She felt like talking.
And so it went. Over time they got to know each other and became happy together.
Finally, a year went by.
“It’s been a year since you moved in,” said Harry.
“You’re not gonna get all weepy on me, are you?”
“No, but I was thinking. Bryce and I always meant to take a long road trip and explore Route 66. Why don’t we do it?”
Annabelle thought about it. “Sure,” she said finally.
Harry watched some videos on how to travel with a cat. Most said, “don’t do it!”
“We’ll just work it out as we go along,” said Harry.
A week later, Harry packed his SUV with everything they’d need, including a litter box and a cooler with fresh fish and chicken. They could get lasagna along the way.
Their days were spent driving along old Route 66, which stretches from Los Angeles to Chicago, mostly in the southwest United States. Harry and Annabelle drove as long as they felt like it each day, with lots of detours for the oddities which dotted the highway, like the nostalgic gas stations and motels, the 30-foot-tall Gemini Giant, and the location of the self-proclaimed "first corn dog!" at the Cozy Dog Drive In, in Springfield, Illinois.
Annabelle talked incessantly and Harry sometimes listened. Annabelle didn’t need much input to keep going.
They were last seen near the Cadillac Ranch, in Amarillo, Texas. Annabelle was sitting on the dashboard trying to scare other drivers, with minimal success. Harry was just having fun, which is as good as it gets when you’re 73 and travelling with a talking cat.
_________________________