Early one cold winter morning, I sat drinking my cup of sludge and I saw a cat head; just a footless cat head walking; yes walking; somehow, without feet across the kitchen floor. I wasn’t even the least bit scared, after all if your cat dies and spends several months hanging around ‘dead’ and then somehow returns with a new kitten body that she claims she created using a test tube back when your mother and your aunt were teenagers; things just simply don’t frighten you anymore.
“I no longer feel afraid,” a voice came from the head as it walked into a wall. “I feel confident, I can keep my chin up,” said the head as it turned and walked towards another wall.
I picked the head up before it could bump into the next wall, and saw Annie look up at me and cringe a little. She began racing her feet like she was running away, but she stayed in the same spot. It was kind of funny in an eerie way, then Annastasia began to laugh. The feet stopped moving and the fat little bunny rabbit cat with more black than Annie ever had rolled over on her back kicking her fat little rabbit feet and emitted that crazy Annie laugh.
My phone starts ringing and I see I am tagged in a video, from Annie, it’s live and it says ‘ROFLMRO’ Rolling on floor laughing my rear-end off. I can hear Annie laughing next to me and on my phone and my phone keeps beeping and so does Annie’s with all the likes and comments. It goes on for an hour. I don’t dare say a word as it would be viral; all over the world. Yes Annie rolling around on the floor laughing for an hour went viral. But everything Annie puts on the internet goes viral, like her fart Christmas Carols where she farts out a tune, or the video of her making Christmas ornaments out of boogers and pimple pus, and her how to hang callous and toe nail clipping garland properly. The Christmas season was approaching and Annie got crafty around the holidays.
Finally the ringing stopped and I was able to ask, “Annie why are you running around in a head?”
“It’s for Cara-lyle. See Slamma Aunt Loosewheels and Aunt Dorky live way out in the middle of nowhere, farm country,” Annie began, by this time she had poured her own cup of sludge and was leaning back in a chair tipping it so it balanced on just the back legs, as she blew over her cup of sludge (it was iced). I knew it would be just a matter of time.
“I love being young again,” Annie commented, sipping her iced sludge then blowing on it again. I waited for it.
Annie took another sip, put her cup down, stretched out her arms, tipped back a little further and said, “Old Slampa-pa and Old Slamma-ma were farmers…in the old country…” Annie crossed her legs leaned back once more. Here it comes I thought then BAM, I was on the floor shaking my head not even aware of what had happened. But it happened every time Annie leaned back in her chair and I fell on the floor.
“Cara-lyle was sheltered back there on the farm,” Annie continued. Her chair firmly back on the floor, now that I had fallen.
It was true that sometimes I would pet that cat and she would be nudging at my hand, screaming, “Scratch my back Slam, oh baby scratch my face, scratch my arm pits,” and then other times she would back away from my approaching hand so fast that her fat little butt would fall off the table or the counter; seemingly to prefer that over a pet. Although I did not entertain the idea of Annie making a test tube kitten, I did agree at times she appeared to have a social anxiety.
“Okay Annie but why is she running around in a mascot head that weirdly looks exactly like you did before you died?” I asked.
“Because I don’t have the costume built yet.” Yes she said built.
Then she said, “That’s where you come in.”
“What are you talking about?”
Annie was waving her arms around, all excited, “You are going to be my mannequin for Cara-lyle’s furry costume.”
“A furry costume? What’s a furry?”
“It’s where people dress up as animals to ease their social anxiety,” Annie explained.
“But you or ‘cara-lyle’ are cats.” I said. “Shouldn’t you dress up as a person.”
“YOU!” Annie screamed standing on her hind feet pointing at me, “ARE DUMB AS A ROCK! ”
I just shook my head, Annie just looked funny, because she was now, small, fat and squatty. I shrugged then asked, “And you want me to be the mannequin?”
“YES!” Annie screamed.
“Wouldn’t it be better if you were the mannequin, since it will need to fit you?’
Annie looked at me and spat, “You certainly don’t have a smocking gun with all of your education.”
“Annie none of that made any sense,” I said.
“Because you don’t have any,” she replied, “Don’t you say fake news either, cause I went through your purse looking for a dime and you didn’t even have a penny.”
The rest of the afternoon, I spent standing in the middle of the living room in a pair of worn out white pants. Over those I wore a pair of worn out black pants. Annie crawled around me puffing on a bubble pipe with a mouthful of straight pins, using them to mark off a pattern and poking me in the process. She was wearing a hairnet and curlers. She would later cut the parts she had marked with the pins away so the white pants would show through and then sew the pairs of pants together. She did the same thing on top with black and white shirts.
Oddly it did look a great deal like Annie. The pattern of the black and white was exactly like Annie, the old Annie; the Annie before she died complete with her plunger tail. Her entire backside was black and rounded with a black tail and it resembled a plunger.
“Well, it’s done,” Annie announced, slipping the costume over her tiny body, then adding the head and a pair of paw mittens. She suddenly transformed from a tiny fat little kitten not even weighing a pound to a five foot two slightly overweight, giant Annie.
“Hi Slam,” Annie waved at me. “Now Duh-Wayne won’t have to drive…NOW I can buy Moose-made without ID…” she danced around.
“Annie you make Moose-made in your poop factory. Why would you need an ID to buy it?”
“I?” Annie asked glaring at me, even with the mask on, I could see that glare. “Me?” She asked again. She pointed at herself and glared.
“Yes you! Moose-made; made from fermented moose poo,” I sang, she kept staring, “that’s your jingle. Moose-made for all your holidays back home,” I suggested. “That commercial with the pair of Moose clinking those antler cups in front of a fire and Christmas tree? You teleported them from Alaska and they stuck their heads through the wall so you and Duh-Wayne had a spot to hang your scarves? ” She had no clue what I was talking about.
She took a deep breath and yelled, “Now I can go chase cows with Slamma Aunt Loosewheels and Aunt Dorky,” she paused a moment, cocked her head then suddenly, screamed, “I CAN DRIVE THE MILK WAGON!”
She pulled a shirt with a cat that oddly looked like her over her head, “now I’m Annastasia.”
It was weird having Annie the same size as me. “Well Slam if anyone besides Duh-Wayne decides to read your fool blog and you need to go autograph stuff I could be your mascot; for a price.”
Just then Duh-Wayne and Spam came in not that I knew it was them. Duh-Wayne was dressed as a rat and Spam an elephant. They were off to a furry convention. Not that they had social anxiety but they loved the adventure.
“I’m driving the milk wagon,” Annie screamed as the headed out the door.
What a wunnful life with a five foot Annie.