A Valentime for Aunt Paulie

“When I was just a little kitty, I asked my Slammie what will I be, will I be bitey will I scratch here’s what she said to me, your name is annastasia, and you are a chunkie monk, a little fat chunkie monkey, you re a chunkie monk,” sang Annie.   She had only been singing it for the last half hour.

Spam wrote it with help from Annie cause she said it didn’t rhyme and needed to fix it and Duh-Wayne played a zither while  Spam tapped a tambourine.   Normally, I wouldn’t have minded but we were all stuffed in a car, and the window was wide open and the wind blowing through the car added a musical accent to Annie’s song.

We were all trapped in a car on a snowy cold (negative 30 kind of cold) because I had a doctors appointment.   I’d gotten another hernia back when Annie was, ‘dead Annie’ and weighed in at 708.4 and convinced me she was able to climb the stairs with her walker and just needed to me to walk behind her.  She got half way up and lost her balance.  I managed to get us both up the stairs, I am not sure how I was able to do it, Annie was screaming, “Oh my God Slam! Don’t drop me.”  Annie Jr. was running up and down the stairs between my feet, Asa Annie’s ghost friend was behind me on his lawn mower beeping the air horn Duh-Wayne installed for him and Duh-Wayne was leaning out the door with his hand extended saying, “Watch yourself.”

I had the hernia repaired and was returning for a visit after the surgery.   Annie wanted to go because she had never been out that way.   Actually she had, as Annie, as Dead Annie and just the week before when I had my surgery.    Annie explained that sometimes the Caralyle part of herself didn’t remember; but I think it was just an act so Annie could get her own way.

Lately we had been carting Annie along where ever we went and it wouldn’t have been so bad if it had just been Annie, but Annie Jr. had to go along, and Duh-Wayne and Spam and sometimes an odd chicken or that goat Duh-Wayne got for a six month free trial.    Even worse was if Annie wasn’t her cute chunkie monkey self and was dressed as a 5 2 furry because a lot of times she would be in costume.   A little kitten riding along in a car with a net out the window was odd enough but more accepted than a little kitten dressed up as a fat short life sized cat.

That’s why the window was opened and the wind was whipping through because Annie had to ride with her net out the window.    In this way she could catch stuff like, birds, rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, golden retrievers, cows and horses grazing in a field, foxes hidden in grass, deer staring from afar and our car wasn’t that big but Annie kept catching and singing while I screamed, “Annie bring your net in,” while trying to turn the heat up with frost bit fingers.

“I’m really Annie and I’m Annie Real,” Annie began as Duh-Wayne and Spam played along; Spam now adding a harmonica and Duh-Wayne a cheap kazoo.  “You better believe me, I just caught a seal.”   Yep a seal was barking and clapping it’s paws or flippers or whatever they were.

We were slowly running out of room with the amount of animals, Annie was scooping up in her net.   She really didn’t need any of them.   Most of them she just let loose in the back yard, she had woods, a prarie, a lake, a frozen tundra, a desert, a golf course, a ocean with a beach and a zillion other things in the back yard; although the shopping cart museum was still only half done.

There just wasn’t that many people selling shopping carts.   The shopping cart race track would be up and running early in the Spring though.  Duh-Wayne got a deal on some carts, from a place that went out of business.   They all currently read OK-Fart.

The bottom of our car was scraping the ground as we pulled into the parking lot.   Annie was able to catch a rare singing Moose in her net.   He had a bottle of Moose made around his neck and was pleased to make it full time for Annie in exchange for a nice place to live and three squares a day.

Thankfully Duh-Wayne and Spam had driven a couple cattle trucks nearby the hospital so they could take all of the animals Annie had caught in her net home enabling Annie to catch many more on the way home.    Just a simple trip to the doctor’s office was such an adventure.

It’s weird because no one ever thought it was weird that I seemed to always have a couple of cats in tow along with their best friends; not my best friends; theirs.   They were always obnoxious too.   No one seemed to even care about the things they said and did; except me.  Everyone around us seemed to think their actions were totally normal.   They didn’t even try to hide it.

The nurse came out and called someone ahead of us.    “Van?” Annie screamed, as soon as the nurse said the name.    “Who names their offspring (yes Annie says offspring) Van?”

Then Annie looked right at the man and asked, “What do YOU call your offspring? Mini?”

Everyone including the man laughed; then Duh-Wayne not to let Annie outdo him asked, “What’s your father’s name? Cara?” Then Pam suggested he had  a cousin named Bus, and Annie Jr. said it was funny because he looked more like a steam shovel than a van.   Everyone including Grandfather roared in laughter except for me.  I was embarrassed.

Finally it was over and we were on our way home, Duh-Wayne and Spam following behind in the cattle trucks, a hole cut in Duh-Wayne’s so a giraffe could stick it’s head out the top and another cut in Spam’s for the ostrich. I was glad they were out of our car because we had to have the windows open and the ostrich kept shedding feathers we were still pushing them out the window.

Both the Annies were facetiming with Duh-Wayne and Spam and each other so they knew that Grandfather was stopping for gas.   Annie was begging for a snack but I knew we were stopping for lunch soon so I said no.  Besides it was just a little gas station and I knew she would have to get something crunchy and I hated the way she sounded when she crunched stuff.   She crunched it 9 thousand times louder than she should have and normally sprayed crumbs all over me.

Duh-Wayne and Spam had psychic ability or Annie must have sent them a message because Spam brought them some crunchy pork rinds and Duh-Wayne got them a container of salted minnows which are actually fishing bait but he had gotten Annie addicted to them those few times they went shark fishing in a near by lake.

The smell was horrible.   Annie kept putting a minnow between two pork rinds then crunched and coughed really loud getting bits of fish stuck in my hair.   “Want some Slam?” Annie Jr. screamed pushing his minnow sandwich in my face.

“No, Annie Jr.” I replied, “And stop licking my hair.”  He was licking out the crumbs and minnow pieces Annie kept spraying into my hair with her coughing and loud talking’; with her mouth open and full of food.

We continued on our journey for another hundred feet and Grandfather turned into a place for lunch.   Our total was $185 dollars and that was just for one Annie.   It was really an event filled trip but it was far from over.

Annie was still using her net, not only making everyone cold with the window down; though she did offer to start a fire.    “Get that net in the window,” I screamed, as I did an elephant jogged out in front of the car.

Grandfather hit the brakes, as Annie scooped him up in her net.   “An elephant!” Annie screamed excitedly.   “I needed one of these.”

“Annie, you have 75 elephants  already.   How many do you need?” I yelled as the car once again began to drag on the ground since we had an elephant in the back.

“It’s not for me, it’s for Aunt Paulie.  It’s a Valentimes for Aunt Paulie.”

“Annie Aunt Paulie can not have an elephant in her apartment,” I yelled, knowing full well I was going to wind up having another one in mine.   “Her land lord Donamick won’t allow it!”

“He has to,” the elephant said, ” I’m an emotional support elephant.   My name is Elton.” and he pushed his trunk in my face.  “She can ride me.”

Annie grabbed a bucket of paint and painted a bunch of pink and red hearts on Elton’s ears and called Aunt Paulie to let her know that she was dropping off her Valentine’s gift.  Aunt Paulie was waiting for us and easily climbed on Elton’s back and rode him into the building.

I saw Donamick running out of his office looking hysterical and waving his arms around.  Aunt Paulie handed him the emotional support paperwork, Elton had given her.  Donamick started yanking his hair out of his head.   He looked like Donald Duck when he is angry.

Elton carried Aunt Paulie on his back off towards the elevator, letting large elephant sized turds as he walked.   Donamick ran after them waving his arms and slipped in it and laid unmoving on the floor.   Aunt Paulie gave him a little wave as she and Elton got in the elevator.   At least he wasn’t coming to my house, I thought as we drove away.

He was just a Valentime for Aunt Paulie.







T’was the Night before Christmas by Annie

“Gather around, my children, gather around,” screamed a five foot two slightly chubby, furry namd Annie worn by a cat who weighed less than a pound, she clapped her paws together and yelled, “come along children while old Anna-sTASIA, tells a true Christmas story.”

Annie sat down in a chair next to the tv where a yule log burned and an elf on the shelf eeirely moved it’s eyes back and forth.    Annie had forty two of them placed in various spots around our apartment.    Christmas seemed to get more and more out of hand every year.   No more a dolly for suzy a scooter for jim, it was more like a private island for Annie, a sports scooter for Duh-Wayne, Grand father needs new $700 socks and the matching kicks and that was just the stocking stuffers.

But Annie was always all into Christmas, her favorite time of year she screamed the absolute second pie was served, for Thanksgiving dessert.   Annie was cramming minced moused pie into her face as she jammed a forty foot tree up out stairs into our tiny almost studio apartment.    Train tracks were set up through the entire apartment and they chugged  and whistled 24/7, they almost drowned out the christmas music which blared like store music.

Things had to be moved around at Christmas time; to make room for things.   Annie’s elves were showing up with their equipment before we had the Thanksgiving table cleared.    Of course they all had to have, ‘just a little’ before heading off to make toys and cookies and magic reindeer food so oridnary reindeer could fly.    There were 8 tiny ones in our back yard, attached to a sled.   A big sign read “Free rides, $18 a piece.” Someone that looked like Duh-Wayne was dressed like Santa and he was yelling, “Ho ho ho.”

There was a stable in the back yard, with a real camel named Ruben, and an ass name, Brownie.   A snow glob so big and so bright it lit the entire neighborhood.    45 blow up yard decorations including a black and white cat in a santa suit and one as a snowman,  a merry go round playing some song about Cajun Christmas, and an entire fleet of double decker buses that people were stuffing full of gifts for the Annie’s.

Annie’s favorite part of christmas though was gathering all of her family and friends together to celebrate the holiday.   Family like, Aunt Paulie’s sister Scoob and her husband, Scoop and friends like some guy Annie rammed her cart into at Walmer, and the guy who used to run the register at a store we used to buy gas at 14 years ago who was now living in Tibet.

Annie settled back in  her chair and crossed her legs as everyone else took their places.  Philly climbed on one knee, Annie Jr. on the other and K8 leaned over the back.   Grandfather sat nearby looking straight at Annie with his eager face on.   Duh-Wayne smoking a bubble pipe and wearing his ‘fanciful’ holiday sweater.   Annie ‘wouldn’t lower herself’ to having an ugly sweater party.   Duh-Wayne’s had Uncle Eddie in his bathrobe on it.   Annie wore one with a cat wearing glasses and a Santa suit, along with a pair of pants with Christmas Llamas on them.   I was wearing the same thing.   Annie thought it would be cool for us to be twins.   Annie was also wrapped in jingly bells.

She patted Annie Jr. then petted Philly, cleared her throat and began.   “This is a true story called, ‘Cara-lyle the Christmas Kitten,’ and it is the story of how Slamma Aunt Loosewheels and Aunt Dorky got their kitten one poor cold dreary Christmas day.”

“Wait, Annie!” I yelled standing up in the back.   I was seated next to an elephant named Paco who was an African Prince, and a duck named Linda who was tossing pieces of buttered corn in her beak and crunching loudly.   She wore a wreath around her neck.

Annie stopped rocking, pulled her glasses that had somehow magically appeared on her face down over her nose, and glared at me; one eye over the top of the frame the other through the lense.   “You said Cara-Lyle was a test tube kitten,” I continued.   I was so sick of Annie lying and making up stuff with her time machine nonsense.

Annie kept glaring at me and continue to do so even when I sat down and lowered my eyes.    “Slam,” Annie said after she had tisk tisked me repeatedly for 15 minutes.   “You certainly are NOT a stable genius.   They did not even have test tubes back then, I had to make her up here and take her back there.   Besides Slamma Aunt Loosewheels would have never believed there were test tube kittens, I had to make it believeable. ”

“Oh like your time machine?” I asked.   “Everyone believes you can travel through time in a worn out cardboard box that has seen better days that you attached some old wrapping paper to and a couple of dials; right Annie.”   I noticed everyone was starring at me like I was stupid so I sat down.

“Thank god that is over,” Annie sighed as she continued.   “It was the year Slamma Aunt Loosewheels was taking her old cold potatoe to school in a cigar box because her father had broken his leg and was unable to work on the farm.   Slamma Aunt Loosewheels walked 15 miles to catch a ride on the milk wagon to school.   The other children laughed at her feed bag dress and her cigar box lunch box and her old cold pototo.  But she knew they wouldn’t laugh when Santa brought her something special for Christmas.

In a pet store on the other side of the planet in an entirely different zip code, in a century that was further in the future than Slamma Aunt Loosewheel’s lived a little tiny, tweeny weeny small baby cat named Cara-Lyle.  All Cara-Lyle wanted for Christmas was to get out of the big city and live way out in the middle of no where on a farm that was so far back in the past that social anxiety was not even invented yet.

All day long, the pet store owner, reassured Cara-Lyle that some family would definately scoop her up and take her home for Christmas.   “Here comes a lady in a long fur coat and her hair is black and white just like yours,” he said.   “She will definately want a kitten.”

She didn’t she wanted dalmation puppies.

Next was a fat little man wearing glasses and a topee.   “He looks like a cat lover,” the store keeper insisted.   But the man just needed a bag of bat feed for the homeless bats in his neighborhood, however he did take a long look at the bald Eagle in the cage next to Cara-Lyle.

There was the man with the surf board, looking for a seal, the little girl with a hankerchief full of pennies who bought an untrained monkey for her brother, and the lady who purchased a little christmas pig for her grand daughter.   In and out all day long, fish flew off the selves, birds flew out the windows, hamsters, gerbils, puppies and goats all went home to be wrapped in paper, decorated in ribbons and shoved into stockings and under Christmas trees.   All of them each and every one found a home, all but little Cara-lyle.

Eight O’clock and closing time.   All alone in the pet store little Cara-Lyle kitten laid down and cried herself to sleep knowing she would not be someone’s Christmas kitten.   She was soon awoken with a loud ho ho ho.   She saw a light and heard a voice ask, “Where are the kittens, I need a black and white kitten.”

Cara-Lyle was too frighten to even speak so Annie screamed, “Over here, Santa.” Santa picked up little Cara-Lyle put her into his coat and left her under the tree of Slamma Aunt Loosewheels and Aunt Dorky.   And that is the story of Cara-Lyle the Christmas cat.”

“Annie!” I screamed.   “My mother used to tell me that story, she made it up.   I told it to you.   That never happened.”

“Didn’t it Slam?” Annie asked.

I just shook my head and drank another glass of rotten egg nog.





It’s a Wunner-fur life

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 of 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.



One morning,  Snoopy stood in the window watching the big trucks traveling down the highway that went passed our house.   “I could do that couldn’t I Slam?”  he asked, putting down a cup of sludge; although smaller Annie still made a morning pot of sludge.

Snoopy was kind of a laid back quiet boy, kind of shy in a crowd.   He liked basketball, hunting, tools, anything manly.   He wore a hat and a flannel shirt when it was cold otherwise his nice orange pelt was enough for him.   I nodded at him.   “Yup,” I said, “I could really see you driving a truck.”  Even though he was a cat, he seemed the type who would drive the big rigs.

“Well it probably won’t happen,” he said.

“Brussel drives a truck, maybe he can take you for a ride,” I suggested.

“Brussel? That guy great aunt Jodi knows? The  Great Aunt Jodi who is Phil, Moo and Annie’s Mom, and Norbert and Annie Jr.’s Slamma Jr. and your daughter; Great Aunt Jodi Slamma Jr?” Snoopy asked.

“Yes, that  guy” I said.

Snoopy nodded.   “He’s okay.”

I could tell he was excited when I  told him that Brussel was coming by with his truck to take him for a ride. I had called Great Aunt Jodi, aka Slamma Jr aka Mom or Mooom as Annie spelled it.   She saw no reason why Brussel couldn’t come by and give Snoopy a ride.

It was still a couple days away and Snoopy could hardly contain his excitement.   I figured at some point Annie would try to horn in on it.   She always did, because everything was always about Annie.   She actually looked really bored when Snoopy talked about it, however there was that look in her eye, especially when she noticed how enraptured Annie Jr. looked when Snoopy talked about it.    Luckily this time I was one step ahead of Annie.

A few weeks prior Annie Jr had asked to go to Joe’s birthday party.   I worked with Joe’s mom Issy and Annie Jr. was friends with Joe’s cat Archie.   “Why’s his name Joe?” Annie had asked, she always answered a question with a question.

“Cause, it’s his favorite name,” Annie Jr. answered.

“What if his favorite name had been Ethan?” she laughed her crazy laugh, “What time do we eat cake,” Annie,  then  asked because food was still one of the most important things in her life.   In that way everyone knew that both she, Annie Jr and quite possibly Duh-Wayne would be attending Joe’s birthday party.

I was glad that Duh-Wayne was there.  Annie being quite smaller than she had been used to struggled with many things, like reaching the pedals on her car or truck or whatever it happened to be that she was driving.   So Duh-Wayne had to climb down on the floor and work them.

He got stuck every single time because Annie had to pull the seat up so close, and she had to use a crow bar to get him out.   Suggesting her moving her seat was not an option nor was having Duh-Wayne drive because Annie did not want to trouble him that much.

The birthday party was the same day I asked Brussel to come give Snoopy a ride.   The Annie’s and Duh-Wayne had left early in the day to go to the party.   They left so early in fact, I had not even seen them.   There was no sludge in the pot even, it might be a great day I thought as I made a fresh pot of coffee, the kind Annie claimed was weak because it wasn’t thick.

Snoopy was standing in front of the mirror in the kitchen, rubbing some kind of man gel into his fur and brushing his whiskers.   He had his flannel shirt on like his dad, a pair of jeans with suspenders like Uncle Rov, and a baseball cap that said ‘Convoy.”  He was whistling and occasionally singing, ‘roll on 18 wheeler roll on.’

“Do I look good Slam?” he asked.

“Yes, Snoopy you look very handsome.” I replied.

“Brussel is coming, we are going to have breakfast where the truckers do,” Snoopy said.   Then he paused.   “You wanna go?”

I smiled and petted his gel covered head.   “No Snoop this is your thing.”

“You can Slam.  Great Aunt Jodi is going and Phil is too.”

“What?” I asked.

“Yeah! Come on Slam, Aunt Jodi wants you too.”  He showed me a text that said, “Bring Slam.”   His eyes were shining like he was excited.

“Oh, okay, I guess, I could go,” I replied.   Hanging out with Phil was fun.

“She’s coming down the street,” Snoopy cried looking at his phone.   “Come on Slam.”

We grabbed our coats and went running out the door.   As soon as I got out the door, the smell hit me.   A sickening foul obnoxious odor the likes the world has never smelt invaded my nose.   I gagged and plugged my nose.   At the same moment a loud weird foghorn combination fart sound filled the air, one then another and then another.  Engines were roaring from the street.

Snoopy cocked his head towards the weird sound and sniffed the air, “They are here!”   He ran towards the street and I followed.   Then I saw it, a whole fleet of big rigs from Annie’s poop factory.   Each one had a trailer that looked like a turd and smelt like ten of them.

Brussel was driving the first truck, he had his had pulled up on his head in a weird way; Snoopy adjusted his hat.   Great Aunt Jodi, aka Slamma Jr, was next to him with Phil,

Behind them was another truck driving by Annie Jr., the next by Annie with Duh-Wayne working the pedals and Spam behind them and forty more trucks behind that driven by poop factory employees.

“What’s going on?” I screamed.

“What do you mean?” Great Aunt Jodi asked.   “Annie said this was YOUR idea.  A convoy for Snoopy to some kid’s birthday party.  And you were buying breakfast…cause we…”, then everyone began singing, ‘…got a great big convoy rocking through the night we got a great big convoy ain’t she a beautiful sight,” then Annie honked and poop flew into the air along with a foghorn fart sound.

Then they all started tooting.   Poop was flying all over out of the turd trucks.   I couldn’t do it.   I just couldn’t.   Since Annie already had her own copy of my debit card, and would use it to feed everyone generously at some local diner as promised, I turned and went back inside as wet poop hit the back of my new jacket and a piece of old corn landed in my hair.

“Breaker breaker,” screamed Annie.   “Got your ears on Stinking Slam?   Come back?  Ten-four? Twenty-eight? Six ninety nine?” She was still screaming numbers as I shut the door.   I was sure I would hear all about the convoy later on as a matter of fact, my phone had already started going off with a steady stream of pictures Annie kept tagging me in, but this was one adventure, I sat out.



Lil Annie

I still wasn’t sure how Annie had some how transformed into this tiny girly version of Annie Jr.   It was much preferred to dead Annie, or fat dead Annie, or saggy skin braids, callous eating maggoty  dead Annie, or skeleton Annie.

I just didn’t know what to make of it, Annie was smaller, kitten like, but she really looked a lot like Annie did when she was a kitten.   Annie had looked like a little bunny rabbit and she now had that same bunny rabbit look; short fat and big feet.  Annie Jr was sort of long and slender.

The markings were different and she had more black but her eyes looked like Annie.   The voice was Annie’s.   She laughed the same crazy laugh, she drank her sludge, she played on the internet, watched AnnieTV, hung out with Duh-Wayne, she was just smaller.

How did she do it? How did she die and come back? How did she gain 600 pounds?  She was a cat for god sakes, cat’s can’t gain 600 pounds but mine did I saw it.   I saw that saggy skin, we still had an entire room full of hatched maggots; when I shooed them out the window unbeknown to me Duh-Wayne was standing on his stilts outside and ushering them into an open window a couple rooms down; he ‘always wanted to be a bee keeper’ and Annie suggested he practice with flies first.  It inspired Annie Jr. Halloween costume, he was a fly sticker and grandfather was a fly swatter.   Halloween Themes were so popular.

I finally decided to let it be.   ‘It is what it is,’ I thought.   Sometimes it was easier that way.  I couldn’t really explain Annie period.   I mean most people didn’t have cats who talked and drove cars, owned a multi-billion dollar poop factories, and no one but me even felt any of that was weird, so why not hop aboard Annie’s crazy train and let it go.

But I still wondered because although this kitten sounded like Annie, and acted like Annie there was a part of her that was off, like she began watching Little House all over again.  That in itself was not odd, she watched the entire series of hundreds of her favorite shows at least once a week.   What was weird was that she would act like she hadn’t seen it before.   It was her ‘favorite’ show however she claimed but she couldn’t remember it.    Sometimes she would recall with vivid detail some episode, but other times she claimed she’d never watched it before, to her  it was brand new.   She would dig her claws in my arm at the scary parts, she always did that but she would use all four paws.   She’d act surprised when something turned out completely different, but the biggest thing was she didn’t announce what was going to happen before it happened, she always started jigging and do-see-do-ing a good thirty seconds before Papa had his chin resting on polished wood.

As a matter of fact there were several things that Annie acted like; ‘it was brand new.’    Sometimes she would look at the dog with a crazed look in her eye and scream, ‘Who are You????”   She referred to Annie Jr. as her brother son and but he called her sister mom and Norbert was his brother uncle nephew and he claimed to be his own grandpa, then the banjo would appear.

Sometimes; something would snap and Annie would be playing along on her own stringed instrument other times, she would cock her head and lean her head towards the sound of the banjo, slowly smile and tap her foot, then scream, “I love it what do you call that jig-a-ma-bog.”   Then Annie Jr would correct her saying, “It’s  jig-a-ma-thingy lil sissy.”  Strangely he called her Mom-mom when she was acting herself.

The most logical explanation was, she was either faking it, or it was her multiple personality.   Annie Jr. claimed it was because Annie had not eaten all the soul of the test tube kitten, he and Annie made at Slamma Aunt Loosewheel’s house.   Of course, I wasn’t believing any of that, her time machine; bah and why a test tube kitten, when she was able to just clone herself.

That wasn’t the only thing, when she acted more like herself she was constantly complaining that her legs were too short and she was unable to work the gas pedal on her car, or her favorite pair of footed pajama’s that made her look like a cow complete with an udder bag was suddenly too big, or she needed a ladder to reach the top of the washing machine so she could ride on it when it spun out.

Other times, she was completely comfortable with her size, claiming she had no clue how to drive a car, and wanted no part of being a black and white cow because those were ugly colors if one had to be a cow for whatever crazy reason, brown and white was preferred and why would anyone want to ride a washer.   There was a perfectly good fun park in the back yard with all sorts of rides.

Annie hadn’t used it in years, however she and Annie Jr. had been spending hours out there riding on all the rides while Duh-Wayne ran behind laughing and running the rides for them.   As a matter of fact, Duh-Wayne enjoyed the carney life so much he and Spam had parked an old 60’s model camper out there.   Spam spent her days washing clothes in a sink so she could hang them out in front of her home on a natty old piece of rope and making candy apples.   I would be glad when the snow fell so the sound of the calliope would  end.   It was very annoying.

What was annoying as well was Annie’s mood change.   She was changing her clothes a hundred times a day, true she always changed her clothes several times a day but now it was doubled.    Most of it had to do with Annie’s sloppiness;  her choice was to continue wearing a shirt covered with mouse tails and fish sauce, or a pair of pants she sharted in ‘accidently’ or a pair of slacks with a  torn out crotch she got attempting to leap over a gate to answer the phone and catching her foot in it, then screaming at the top of her lungs ‘get the phone’; she did this at least once a week.   In those cases I made her change.

But now she was changing out of perfectly good clean clothes that moments before she was dying to wear; into something else.  She was trading in her favorite Walking Dead hoodie for a gingham dress, or  a pair of shabby bibbed overhauls, or her favorite, an old feed bag  ’cause no matter how hard a person has it, my family had it harder.’   Before the feed bag had even settled on her hips she was screaming, “I hate  the Slamma Aunt Loosewheels poverty collection!” Then put on something else.

I wondered aloud what my mother’s clothing style had to do with any of this.  “You know Slamma Aunt Loosewheels was poor growing up, Slam,” Annie screamed at me.   “She was darn lucky to even had that feed bag she wore every day to school when she was a teenager and people laughed at her.”

The second the sentence was out of her mouth she began to sob, “I want my Slamma Aunt Loosewheels and my Aunt Dorky.   I hate living with you!” she spat at me.

Annie Jr. ran over and put his paw around Annie and pulled her close and said, “Don’t cry little sissy, I will have Mom-mom take us to see them.   I love Slamma Aunt Loosewheels too.   She hugs me and calls me Mr. Cutie.   Aunt Dorky calls me George though and she is kinda weird especially when she gets out Mr. Thermometer.”

The tears would stop and Annie would laugh her crazy laugh.   “I love Aunt Dorky!” she would scream.   “Me and Slamma Aunt Loosewheel’s chase her with old bird feathers.”

“You don’t even know them,” I yelled.   “They have been gone for years.”

“Where?” Annie screamed and began to cry, then her voice changed just slightly and she screamed, “Where?”     Then, she did something very strange, she put her paw around herself and patted her back and said, “It’s okay Cara-lyle.”   She patted herself back and said, “Thanks Mom-mom.”

“Who is Cara-Lyle?” I yelled.   This was getting weird.

“The test tube kitten,”   Annie said.   “Slamma Aunt Loosewheel’s named her, she said she looks like a Cara-lyle.”

“Annie, I don’t understand any of this!”  I cried, yanking gobs of my hair out in frustration.

“It’s simple Slam, Me and Annie Jr. went back in time when Slamma Aunt Loosewheels and her sister Aunt Dorky were teenagers, we made a test tube kitten, Slamma Aunt Loosewheels named Cara-lyle and I possessed her and here we are.”   She paused and looked around, then walked underneath Annie Jr. lifting Annie Jr. backside up in the air.  She laughed her crazy laugh, then screamed.   “DUH-WAYNE!”

Duh-Wayne came running from his trailer in the back yard, Spam right behind him both dressed in straw hats and bibbed overhauls, each had an old bucket.   “Milking time?” Duh-Wayne asked.

“We are hired hands,” Spam said to me.   “Your mother hired us.”

I shook my head and closed my eyes.   “Say cheese Slam,” Annie screamed.  I opened my eyes and mouth at the same time.  “Ha ha good one Slam, wait til your mom sees this, she will think twice before she has kids. ”

They all jumped into the cardboard time machine that I swore did not work and I left the room.   ‘So much for riding along on the Annie Crazy train,’ I thought as I plopped into my recliner.  “Cara-lyle!” I said aloud.  “Possessed! Blah.   I am off this crazy train.”  I put my feet up and cracked a can of Moose Made.



The Nightmare before Annie

Every morning I would roll over to get out of bed and my feet would hit the floor,  covered with soft mushy rotted carpet.   We didn’t have a carpet though, it was Annie’s dead saggy skin covered in stinky  fur.   She let it down at night and it covered the entire square footage of our apartment.

The smell was awful  and in several spots maggots were growing.   Prior to her loosing all of her weight, she lost a shopping cart full of food in multiple rolls of skin, so maggots had formed eating the food and then into Annie’s flesh so a fresh swarm of flies flew around her.   She looked a little like a pig pen, all she needed was a fence around her but no one had that much fence.

So until Annie woke up we all had to sink our feet into her yucky fur.  She said she didn’t even feel it because under her fur her skin had grown into a hard callous.   She had shaved a few spots on her stomach cleaning off all the fur so she could see the callous.   She liked putting her maggots on it so they could eat it.   She had a whole website on the internet and a show was in the works to come out on AnnieTV.

Once she woke up, Duh-Wayne would put her skin up into a pony tail and Annie would be able to get around; free of her saggy skin.   I still complained.   I mean she already smelled like the ground she dug herself out of and now there was a ton of extra skin covered in skanky fur and fat  maggots munching on her icky hard scaly epidermis. Even if we weren’t always stepping on it we were smelling it as a matter of fact everything was absorbing the smell.  I started smelling like her and no amount of baths could get rid of the stink because the source smelt worse daily.

“Annie you need to get rid of your extra skin,” I yelled one morning.

Annie was at the table gobbling a serving bowl full of cereal.   “Do you really need all that cereal?” I nagged.

“I’m sharing it,” she replied letting the milk drip off her spoon slowly pouring it onto a herd of maggots hanging near her left thigh.

“Annie,” I screamed, “I am not sure how much more I can take.  Those maggots are going nom nom nom when they eat.   And your skin is oozing and it smells.”

Duh-Wayne ran over with a skin brush and comb and began gathering  up Annie’s skin and making a braid on either side of her head, pulling the rotted maggot infested furry skin tight into big fat long braids.   If it wasn’t so gross it might have been cute, I mean what is cuter than a cat in braids.

“Annie call your doctor and tell him your sag skin needs to go.” I insisted.

“Fine Slam!”  Annie said.

Later that afternoon one more time, a camera crew arrived to tape another hour long episode of the reality of Annie’s life.   It began with Annie talking about her skin and her maggots and how I enabled her and made her life miserable by suggesting she exercise to tighten her skin.

She made arrangements to have her skin removed and told me it would take place the following day.   I rolled out of bed early that morning not sure what time Annie had to be in Houston to have her surgery.   She hadn’t really shared all the details with me.  I put my feet down and thought about how I would never have to feel the icky skin carpet on my feet, again, this was the last time.

I cringed as I put my feet down waiting to feel maggots crawl between my toes.   I waited and all I felt was floor.   I knew Annie was home cause I could hear her snoring loud and obnoxious in her Princess bed.   Perhaps she wore her braids to bed.

Another noise was going on as well, a loud loud buzzing.   I turned the light on and I could see it shining but it seemed to be blurred out by a black fog, then I got it; Annie’s maggots hatched into flies.   I opened the window and started fanning them out.

Annie was in her princess bed screaming, “good bye, good bye, good bye!”

It seemed to take forever to get all the flies out.   But once I did, I turned and screamed, “Annie WHY?”

Then I looked at her.   Her skin wasn’t up in a couple fat braids or a big large pony tail, it was gone along with the maggots.  There was no stinky rotting stretched out skin covered with fur, callous’ and maggots.  Just a pile of bones shaped like a cat.

“Hi Slam,” Skeleton Annie said in the bone clicking voice.

Lately, I had been dealing with all kinds of Annie’s, a dead dug herself out of the ground Annie, a fat Annie that made out floor weak in several spots, then a saggy skinned Annie covered in rotting maggot callous covered fur and now a talking cat skeleton that still smelled horrible because there were pieces of rotting flesh still hanging on to her.   I didn’t know which one was worse, I just wanted my cat back.   The cat I had before she ‘died’.

Why did I have a weird cat, why was this happening to me?   Why couldn’t I have a regular cat that just laid around sunning herself and licking her fur?   Nope, I had to have a talking skeleton cat, who would be in some other form with in the coming days.

“Annie,” I screamed.   “I can’t take this anymore.”

“What Slam?” Annie’s bone clicking voice asked, I knew her eyes were giving me that questioning look even though I couldn’t see them just the boney sockets.   She shook her head and her skin fur braids which were somehow weirdly still attached to her head moved as she shook it, a few left over flies flew out and into the room.

Annie Jr. and Grandfather ran after  them, Grandfather with a fly swatter and Annie Jr. who had wrapped several fly stickers around himself.   I knew it was going to be one of those day.    “Got ’em Grandfather,”  Annie Jr. screamed.   “Good job, son,” Grandfather yelled clapping his hands and yelling, “Yahoo” like a loud yodeler.

“I want my cat back,” I screamed.   “I want my regular Annie back, a furry Annie that doesn’t stink and isn’t all rotted and boney.   I wish you hadn’t died.   I know it was on your bucket list but you did it and I can’t stand it without you. ”   I was sobbing when I stamped out of the room.   I vaguely heard a bone clicking whisper of,  “it’s time.”

I ignored everyone that whole day, I just sort of kept thinking about Annie, Annie as she was, when we first got her and reviewing all of her life and how much I missed that Annie.   The soft little black and white cat that would crawl in my lap sometimes and how her fur smelled and felt when I petted her.   I spent the whole day wishing I had her back.   I didn’t want a bone clacking cat with skin braids.   Who had a cat like that?   Me.   I was such a weirdo.   I cried myself to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up and the first thing I noticed was that boney gross smell was out of the house.   It smelled like someone cleaned, I could smell the grass fed cow manure scent; Annie’s favorite scent for house cleaning.   That had was so much better than the rotted flesh smell we had been smelling.

Annie’s princess bed was empty but it was clean.   The grave slime that had covered it for weeks and weeks was gone.    Annie Jr. was sitting in the corner with Janey, they were reading books, Annie Jr with a pair of blue horned rimmed glasses hooked over his ears.  Grandfather was cooking breakfast and it smelled great.    Everything was peaceful and bright and happy; it was almost eerie and I was frightened.

I poured a cup of coffee, for once it was real coffee and not the sludge Annie was partial to.   We had sugar and my favorite creamer.   We were always missing one of the three.   I sipped it and it tasted wonderful, but I just couldn’t enjoy it because I knew.

I took one more sip.   “We have to go get Annie,” Grandfather announced looking at his cell phone.

“What?” I asked.   I knew then this was it.   The morning was too pleasant and it was about to go downhill in  a handbasket.

“She said bring the cat carrier,” Grandfather said still looking at his phone.

“Oh Jesus,” I said.   I knew it was bad.   “Where is she?”

Grandfather mentioned a little hill billy town outside the city.   What in the world would Annie be doing there and then I remembered, it was Annie.

“She said the sooner the better and she is typing in caps.”

“Oh good god,” I screamed.   What was this all about.   “Get the cat carrier,” I yelled.  “I have to get dressed.”

I zoomed into the bathroom to put my clothes on.   I ran a brush through my hair and scrubbed my teeth, then zoomed out of the bathroom to get my shoes.   I found Grandfather kneeling on the floor trying to tie the cat carrier together.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“The clamps are gone,” he responded.

Sure enough the clamps that went around the box were all gone.   “Well where are they?”

Grandfather shrugged, “I looked for them but I can’t find them.”

“Who would have taken them off?” I asked.   “That isn’t even ours, it’s Curry’s.”

“Annie said we need to hurry,” Grandfather said, putting his phone back in his pocket and grabbing the cat carrier and a bungee cord he was trying to tie it with.

Off we went to the little hill billy town.   Grandfather texted Annie to let her know we were there.   The next thing we knew, an older guy knocking on the window of our car.     “I got ya cat,” he said.

He opened the door to a rusted out old red truck and handed me a plastic milk crate with a dish pan over the top.   In it was a little black and white kitten.   It looked like Annie in the face but had a black beard like Annie Jr and was marked more like Annie Jr.

“That’s not my cat,” I said.

“You answered a ad for a cat right,” he asked.

Then I knew, there wasn’t much I could do.   I mean who would believe my dead cat had set me up to get a free kitten.   ‘I hope you got a crate,” he said.

“Well sort of,” I said.

“She’s scared, she will be a bit wild, make sure she doesn’t bolt out of the car,” this old guy instructed.

I got into our car with the kitten and removed her from the box, and she went crazy.   She bit, she scratched, she jumped around the entire vehicle acting like a flying violent winged rabbit.   She was all over the place and I was covered in blood.   She took a chunk out of one finger.   I finally got her and decided to get her back in the milk crate and she went quite willingly.   Grandfather promised to return the man’s crate and dish pan at a later time.

I sat on the back seat and sighed.   My heart was pounding my hand dripping blood all over the white pants I put on.   “What is wrong with Annie?” I screamed.   “Why would she set us up to get a kitten, especially one that is totally nuts?”

“Hi Slam,” said the cat in the crate.

“Annie?”  I said looking at her.

The cat in the box began to laugh her crazy laugh.    I looked at her.   Granted the eyes were hers but the rest of her looked more like Annie Jr.   “How Annie?” I screamed.

Annie was inside the box laughing her crazy cat laugh.   Then she said, “I made the first test tube cat.   Me and Annie were visiting Slamma Aunt Loosewheel’s back in the past and me and Annie Jr made a test tube kitten.   Then I ate it’s soul and took over the body.   Slamma Aunt Loosewheel’s has been watching it all this time, growing it and stuff.   Then Duh-Wayne  dropped it off to some guys house who would wanna get rid of it.   Then I placed a ad looking for a cat and emailed it to that guy. Now here we are.”

I didn’t buy any of it.   She just somehow turned into a kitten and got her skin back and painted herself so she had more black there was no way she ate a sole or went back through time.    At least she didn’t stink or have maggots on her.

“Why did you scratch me and bit me like that.   My one finger looks infected all ready, it’s red and swollen?” I asked.

“I had to make it look real,” Annie replied.

So life went back to normal, with a non dead Annie, a smaller blacker Annie, but my Annie.   One I could let sit in my lap and one I could pet and snuggle.   It didn’t matter, I had her back and she was far from dead.

I wondered what happened to the bones.   I mean there were two cats.   When I went to work however, some of my co workers had come in to decorate for Halloween.   Dead Annie was on that committee.    Our theme was a coven of witches, I had a witch dress, I had been planning for weeks to wear.   I noticed there was a cat skeleton in a cage.   My heart beat hard.   I knew those sockets.   I stayed away and tried to forget and cuddle my little Annie at home.












Annie’s 600 pound life

So another bucket list entry was about to be checked off. Annie or Dead Annie as she liked to be called was slowly reaching her goal weight of 600 pounds.

Annie had dropped a lot of weight prior to her death, she was skinny and almost boney. Dead Annie, began her mission to change all of that ‘stat’; a new word she had begun using. I raised my eyebrow when she said it because my mother used that word and it was so annoying. She was a switchboard operator at a hospital and when she announced ‘stat’ everybody obeyed her orders. So naturally her saying stat at home should get the same results; now Dead Annie who was  not a switchboard operator or in any way, ‘in charge’, was using the word stat.

“I need a donut, stat,”, “no I am not waiting 30 minutes for a pizza, you deliver it stat,”,”Duh-Wayne, Spam, Slam, Mary Jane…stat stat stat.” Life was awful.

At first, she merely filled out and went to her normal weight of a solid, not really fat, 12 pounds. Then a pudgy 25, then a fat 50.

At 75 pounds, she out weighed the dog but was still able to get on her feet but not for long.  On to a hundred and then two, then three, no longer was she able to stand she simply rolled from one room to another looking very much like Violet turning into a blueberry.

Dead Annie would giggle from her princess bed, “I can see the lympodema growing in my tail, Slam.”   Her tail was disgusting, having large fatty growths all down her tail so many in fact it she was barely able to lift it.

She panted when she talked and needed oxygen twenty-four hours a day.   For a while she was able to  wash herself laughing and yelling, “I wash myself with a rag on a stick,” marking that accomplishment off her long bucket list.    Now, she needed someone to take care of her.

That was my job, washing her, changing her bed pads and depends which we had to order online.  Getting diapers for your dead cat who weighs almost 600 lbs is not easy, and one diaper filled an entire garbage bag.

“Annie,” I yelled at her.  “This weight is killing you.   Your heart stops every other hour.”

“I’m already dead, Slam.” Annie panted as I tried to get beneath her fat rolls to wipe her butt.

“This lifting you around is killing me, Annie.” I replied.

“Well you could have been in charge of feeding me but you wanted me to eat that fool lettuce and cottage cheese.”

Just then Duh-Wayne wandered in coming back from a trip to an all night fast food joint because Dead Annie needed a mightnight snack at 2 am.   He had a pile of cheese burgers, 2 gallons of moose made, and a dozen sundae’s with a sprinkle of mouse tails.   Grandfather was right behind him with several dozen blood filled donuts, a feed bag full of pork rinds and a 50 pound cheese wheel.

I groaned, her diet of fast food made her go to the bathroom more often and with the amount of food she ate it seemed like she was going twenty four hours a day.   In fact it was so bad , I had to wear a gas mask and face shield because Annie delighted in screaming,  ‘Here’s poop in your eye Slam,” as she would push down really hard and spray poop all over my face.   The only upside to this, if you consider it an upside was that Annie’s poop factory had increased production 1 million percent.

The day Annie sucessfully hit six hundred pounds there was a sense of jubliation in the atmosphere.   Annie had a huge party.   All her friends came to re-enforce the floor underneath her.   Annie had a huge buffet set up that would easily feed two thousand people with left overs, she ordered one large cheese pizza for her friends and they partied and ate all night long because the following day Annie would make the call to start her weight loss journey.

Once again a camera crew invaded our home, as Annie described her eating habits and rapidly chomped her way through a plethora of food with loud smacking noises; filling up the first half hour of her tv debut.   She called a Dr. Later in Houston a vet specializing in large size animals needing weight loss.

It was one of the few times I was happy that Annie had a teleporter.   I really didn’t want to drive all the way to Houston or try to get a six hundred pound cat down the stairs into our car which she wouldn’t have fit in.   I did have to push her into the doctors office in an oversized wheel barrow however, Duh-Wayne went with us but his back was way too out of whack to even consider pushing her in.

Annie was delighted to see she had gained another 50 pounds since her party but she was honestly ready to loose her weight since her goal was met.   Dr. Later, a badger with crazy hair and an accent, told her she needed to get a lower calorie diet and exercise.  He allowed her 12 thousand calories a day and to decease it as her weight began to come off.  He said she needed to loose one pound over the next month.

Of course, Annie gained weight the first month, lost a half a pound the second month and with the threat of discontinuing the treatment by the third month Annie got on track and lost the first pound.

She had begun to exercise as well laying; on her back and moving her legs like she was running.   It was sort of comical.   By the time she had lost 50 pounds she felt she was able to sit in a wheel chair and go for walks.

Annie picked a route to walk with complete with a hill.   It was a mile and a half, through the absolute worst area of our town, at 4:30 am because Annie did not want people seeing her as fat as she was.   It never even dawned on her that most of the free World or anyone who had access to her AnnieTV channel would see her anyway.  She was  quite popular in South East Asia.

Annie never walked the walks.   I did; pushing her in her wheelchair the entire way.   She would be panting by the time I started pushing her up the hill.  Duh-Wayne would be slowly bringing up the rear putt putt putting up the hill behind us on his scooter with the leaky back tire.

Annie had recently purchased a scooter which would support her 600 pound size, she named it flower and wrapped it in flower contact paper and attached ribbons and a big flag that said FAT CATS RULE.   She and Aunt Paulie started a business decorating scooters, canes, wheel chairs, IV poles and all kinds of medical equipment to make it festive.   Annie’s had a commode that filled the air with stinky confetti when you tinkled in it.

But Flower never went on our walks.   Annie said she got a better work out when I pushed her.   She liked the putt putt sound though so she expelled gas almost the whole way and at least twice she would need a diaper change and she no longer fit on one of those baby changing table not that any place was open at that time of the morning.

We always had to walk through the thrift store parking lot because Annie loved joining in with the rest of the regulars, going through the dumpsters and rescuing a rainsoaked stuffed animal or a handleless soup pot or a flea infested worn out run of carpet.  Annie always found an orange moo-moo, or a rotted piece of wood she could turn into treasure, or some other splendid piece of americanna as she called it.

Over a time lasped 5 months, Annie, Duh-Wayne and I took these walks almost every day.   Well, I walked.   Annie had a large boom box she carried on what was left of her lap.   Duh-Wayne had a large speaker in a wagon he pulled with his scooter.

Annie played rap music, really loud and never ever the edited version.   She claimed since we were in the hood, we had to carry ourselves properly.  By listening to Lil Jon, and T Pain, E40, and Petey Pablo, we’d get our thug walk on and everyone would know we were ‘G’s’.   She made us stuff our pants so it looked like we were packing a piece.   In that way we would be safe.

I was sure no one would bother us.   They would be afraid of us.   A 600 pound cat in a wheel chair  being pushed up a hill by a woman wearing a cat hat.   Annie insisted I wear a cat hat so people would believe she and I were related, she claimed it was magical.   And Duh-Wayne bringing up the rear also in a cat hat dragging the speaker and Annie’s oxygen tank behind him.   Both of them, screaming “Dance with the Dawgs in the Nighttime,” along with Migos the song they had to play on the way up the hill.   Annie loved that song because it was about her favorite food stir fry!

And over time, Annie became friends with ‘the morning people’ as she called them.  The old guy who had a cleaning service and pushed a shopping cart around with broom, dust pan, mop, feather duster and other supplies around town, or ones slowly making their way home from the bars, or those looking for change which the ones making their way home from the bars lost, or the truck loads of contracted workers we walked past heading into their job at the poop factory.   The lady head edout for a morning coffee and a piece of pecan pie, wearing a pair of slacks and a slip.   The elder on a bike wearing two hospital gowns one on top one on bottom.

It was an intresting time and I grew a lot of leg muscle.   By the time cold weather came, Annie had lost 324 pounds and she was ready to be back to normal, so she had lipo-suction to get rid of the rest.   She was finally back to a more normal 20 pounds.

The only problem was, Annie had saggy skin, so saggy in fact she was unable to walk, so Duh-Wayne had to pull it all up into a rubber band which he secured at the top of her head.   Annie wasn’t sure if she wanted to keep it or maybe later do a follow up reality show called, “Where is the skin now?”

It was on her bucket list so who was she fooling.   I knew it would come at some point.   I kept up with the walks every day…it was my quiet time.   As I easily walk the hill now I can hear Annie screaming, “Dance with my dawgs in the night time.”







Buried Alive; Annie’s Story

Annie quickly set about complete bucket list as she called it. She was gaining weight quite rapidly, and her hoarde was finally beginning to work once Grandfather opened his yap and explained to Annie how she was doing it wrong.

Grandfather was very often a know it all or more like a ‘NO’ it all. No matter how you were doing something, Mr. No it all would come along and explain how you were doing whatever it that you were doing wrong then explain the proper way to do it which was how you were doing it in the first place. It did no good to explain that you were doing it his way because he would say something like, “You used the wrong spoon,” then rummage through the drawer and act like he was rooting for a treasure while yelling, “did you even look for it? RIGHT HERE!” he would announce and hand you a spoon that was an exact duplicate but his face shone with this ’em I right’ look and you just let it go.

Sometimes, I wondered if Grandfather learned from Annie or Annie fed off him. A little of both I suppose, but this time Mr. No it all was right. Annie would just make extra room for her hoardes so our little apartment with a dinky back yard was an endless maze of Annie’s collections and golf courses, and Little Houses and prairies, sugar bushes, animal sanctaries, shopping cart museums. It was endless but organized and neat. Most of the time, I couldn’t even see it, but once Grandfather told her to quit making room for it, stuff began to pile up.

I had resolved myself that it was coming; this ‘reality’ lifestyle and just sort of buckled up and went with it. There was not much I could do about her craziness when she was alive but now that she was dead, it was even worse. I figured it would be better for her to do it and get it out of her system. I mean she currently was getting so fat it was hard for her to get around. Every time she stood she screamed, “OH MY KNEES!”; and cats don’t even have knees.

I had hoped that Annie’s hoarde would the type that was just a bunch of unorganized stuff covered in a layer of dust and cobwebs and not one of the gross ones with jars of poo and diapers full of pee. It was Annie though and I knew her hoarde would be the biggest, plus it would be grosser than any other, and it would smell worse than any other. Annie did things ‘bigly’.

It didn’t take long for Annie to have a hoarde the likes this world has never seen growing out of control in our apartment and spilling out into the yard which Annie was piling up with junk as well. Like I mentioned earlier the days seemed endless now, each day seemed like three so it was just a matter of days that we had stuff piled up and shutting off with what little bit of natural light we had.

Finally, Grandfather said, solemnly, “Call them.”

Them was the reality show, Annie had been begging me for days. I resisted and not because I liked the hoarde or wanted the hoarde, I didn’t want the public spectacle end of it. Why couldn’t it be, “Okay Annie you became a hoarder, check it off your bucket list and let’s move on.”

No it had to be putting our dirty laundry, specifically Annie’s dirty diapers which she stored at the end of my bed. Her die-a-rear was acting up she said. The whole house smelled like a radioactive fart. I was glad that at least no one could smell it except for the hoarde of camera people and intervention coaches and directors and stunt doubles and make up artists and a couple of garbage men with a full truck if more was needed for special effects.

There was barely room for the camera crew but Annie was able to move a pile of old fly stickers and used overfilled vacuum cleaner bags. Annie bought both from a supplier in Michigan.

Annie claimed her addiction was caused because she lost her life and that tragic moment caused her impulse to hoarde. Hoardes of old cat litter and a collection of canned goods so ancient the cans were made of tin and there were no expiration dates.

Clean up began, of course true to form all of the contents to our house were dragged out to the yard. Annie’s dried out play dough collection had to be kept, and her collection of ties from famous cadavers. The rolled up carpets that Annie had covered with moose urine and pig poop, garbage, sand and fleas were safely in a dump truck when Annie decided to keep them because of the good memories they held and she wanted to reuse the jars she kept her boogers in, her boogers too but in different containers she had picked up on one of her morning trash runs.

Piles of garbage bags filled with dirt (Annie had a truck load of it brought in), old papers. food wrappers. broken dvds, out dated computer, a pile of red maga hats were all over the back yard awaiting their placement because Annie was keeping it all. In the end she kept it all except for my stuff which made it to the truck then Annie stole it all back in the middle of the night to keep for herself. She even kept a truckload of stuff Duh-Wayne had brought over to make sure there was enough hoarde.

After everything was brought out to the yard and the next yard and the street and the next street Annie gave up nothing. In the end she made more room for all of her stuff, marked a item off her bucket list and life continued with our living space increased.

We needed it to complete Annie’s next challenge her 600 lb life which was finally working for her at a rapid pace.

Annie 2 point oh

Things became completely weird after Annie died and then got resurrected somehow. Part of me believed that Annie never died she was simply pranking me but for her to lay that still for several hours without her sides shaking in a noiseless laugh was difficult for even Annie. Plus there was the fact she looked moth-eaten and dirty and she smelled really bad like rotten eggs and bile that sat in a hot car with ketchup on top. But she had taken to eating that so… I just didn’t believe in all that hoo ha.

I mean it happen in movies and books not in my life, however I had a junk yard in my back yard, a never-ending back yard filled with the nonsense of my cat and we couldn’t even get rid of any of her stuff and use the back yard for something else because if Annie died she had somehow returned and was in her princess bed recuperating from her ‘ordeal’ as she called it and somehow blamed on me.

You see I had gotten up to use the bathroom and seen Annie gasping for air and then she was gone. Annie claim it was not old age that had gotten her. She claimed she was choking on a fish eye and had I attempted to save her, none of this would have even happened. That was why I was in the kitchen cooking 24-7 making up for the hours she had been unable to eat…”BECAUSE OF YOU SLAM!” she screamed.

Annie Jr. was still running around the house screaming, “My mom-mom died!” Annie would hug him while Annie Jr. hugged her back but with only one arm because he had to plug his nose against Annie’s stench. Annie would glare at me and his, “SEE SLAM! SEE WHAT YOU CAUSED!”

People kept visiting paying their last respects to the open ground and the flung to the side cross we had used as a marker. I had heard about that too. Despite the fact Annie wanted to be buried in a walmart bag she really was disappointed in the fact that I had not spent millions on a something a little more monumental like something made out of gold and several stories high with a cross on it. “I could have rented some rooms in something like that….Annie Tower,” she mused closing her eyes as if dreaming about the money she would make.

Then the visitors would come visit Annie spending several hours reminiscing their favorite memories of Annie; with Annie. “It’s true, Slam,” she remarked in between guests, “People visit you more after you’re dead.”

I still was not convinced that Annie was being honest, but there were a few things that made me wonder if she was, like the fact she always felt cold even when she was wearing her feet jammies and the heat index was 106 in the shade.

I also discovered that she could be in two places at one time. She was sitting right next to me watching family feud which she previously detested while at the same time streaming a live video with her mother, phil and annie jr. It wasn’t a clone she used either. I was able to tell a clone from Annie and so was her mother. It was doubtful she had improved her skills.

She had a somewhat different outlook on things too, claiming she was never able to meet any of her goals like have me or Aunt Paulie become hoarders or become 600 pounds, and now with nothing restricting her like morals or values or hygiene or health, because she was dead; she was out to live the reality lifestyle.   She was going to hoarde and gain 598 pounds give or take a few.

She and Duh-Wayne even went to see Don when he came to town.   Not only did Annie pay the $1000 entrance fee, (Annie was tossing money away like a drunken sailor; she had a huge life insurance policy made out to herself in the event of her death and she was plowing through it like a sharpened snow plow on a pile of soft snow),  she also joined the crowd of Trump supporters.   Duh-Wayne bought a cart load of cheese puffs and they made a cool sign, Annie tossed cheese burgers into the street as the limo went by and Annie Jr. was across the street selling balloons shaped like a fat guy in a diaper with gold hair to the protesters.

A good time was had by all except, Curry’s husband, Chuckles got caught in a traffic jam  with all the chaos going on, but Duh-Wayne snapped at him, “Shut ya pie hole, it made Annie happy.”   Duh-Wayne had taken Annie’s death really hard and he was glad to have her back and defended her every whim.

If Annie wanted a large mouse tail pizza in the middle of the night, Duh-Wayne some how got it.   If Annie wanted to go root around in the trash at the second hand store or troll streets on garbage night, Duh-Wayne and Spam drove the old red truck slowly aroud while Annie and Annie Jr drove behind on their scooters, stopping to rummage through things then wave to Duh-Wayne to come load something up.

Slowly  our house began filling up and Annie somehow kept adding more space which was the real reason her hoarding never worked.   She made room for that truck load of old discarded clothes with the worn out sleeves and stains and missing buttons and snaps that would fit absolutely no one in our house not that anyone wanted to wear them other than Annie and now, sometimes she did.   She had this magical sense to tell who at owned the clothes before her.   “Old Bessie’s house coat, she died wearing this,” Annie explained wearing a bright yellow wrapper with a huge brown stain on the back.

She made frequent trips to the past.   She adored going to visit, “grandma aunt loose wheels”; my mother when she was a young girl in the early 50’s and she started wearing poodle skirts, saddle shoes and chewing gum.

Days somehow seemed to drag on endlessly with just a constant switch of Annie going from one thing to another like someone just flipping through the channels.   I knew the death of Annie was going to be difficult for me but I could never have imagined all this.  Not to mention she met lots of dead folks now that she was dead and they visited now as much as all the other people who had visited when she was alive.   It was constant chaos.

One morning Annie wandered out in a pair of old overhauls that were shredded on the bottom and a straw hat.   Farming time I thought as Annie yawned and poured her sludge.

“Miss me yet Slam,” Annie said getting close to me her grave stink was over whelming and the overhauls smelled like barn.   She kissed me on the cheek, and I could feel unshaved whiskers on her face.   She was a cat.   It was creepy.

“Yes Annie,” I replied.   I still wasn’t sure if she was pranking me or she had died and came back but all of it was weird.   I did miss the old Annie because it was bad then but I never thought it could get worse but Annie 2 point oh was proving me wrong.   It was only the begining.



Pet Sandwichtarry

Knowing that fifteen is quite old for a cat, Annie had been planning for over a year.   “Getting my affairs in order,” she explained, when she handed me a sheet of notebook paper.     ‘First will and testify,’ read the top line written in crayon, each letter large scrawling and a different color from the last making the whole thing look like a strange version of a rainbow.   Then it said, ‘Bury me in the Pet Sandwichtarry in the back yard in a Walmer bag.’   Phil had begun calling Walmart Walmer and Annie followed suit.

“Annie it’s ‘last will and testatment,” I said.

“Slam, cats have nine lives and this is my first,” Annie replied, tossing a handful of fish eyes into her mouth rolling them around on her tongue and sighing, ‘ummmm’ when she finally started chewing them.

“Where is this pet ‘sandwichtarry’?” I asked knowing exactly what a sandwichtarry was.   My father had often referred to the cemetary across the road from our house as a sandwichtarry.    I still did not believe Annie had frequent visits with my parents when she traveled in her time machine, but only because I did not believe that her time machine could actually work.

“Slam,” Annie sighed, like I was the dumbest person that ever drew a breath of life, “The old pet sandwichtarry that has been in the back yard for the past 93 years.   Old Sophie’s pet daddy long legs, Bessie Bunch’s 800 pound gorilla; Don, Old Slimy Babcock who passed away last week in the towers,” she pointed to a garden of bird houses she rented to mice and squirels.  Slimy was an elderly gecho.

There had never been a pet cemetary in our back yard, but Slimy had passed away the previous week and Annie, Annie Jr and Duh-Wayne had been seen treking through the back yard with shovels and pick axes claiming they were gold miners and not to bother them.   You know I kind of expect this behavior from a couple of cats but Duh-Wayne he really should have known there is no gold around here.

I probably should have been worried about the Pet Sandwichtarry but I didn’t bother myself with it.   I had plenty of worries already so I didn’t.   Annie was always digging around in the back yard, digging up stuff and planting stuff, like the multiple hamburger trees and mice tail roots she had been trying to cultivate for years.

I should have worried even more when Duh-Wayne took on a Maine accent, and kept saying….’Ahhh yup,’ instead of a standard yes.   The fact he took on that accent after a weekend of scary movies should have worried me more but again I ignored all of it and moved passed the whole sandwichtarry thing.

“What did you mean by first will anyway, Annie,” I asked.

Annie slapped her head.  “Cats have nine lives, Slam.” Annie explained.

“Annie that is physically impossible and what that means is that cats often times live dangerous lives and get into all kinds of scrapes and situations but somehow get through it unscathed and dangerous life means fending for yourself fighting off other cats for a dinner you had to hunt for yourself.   Not like you Annie that lays around watching tv, tweeting and getting your meals served on a silver platter.”  I sighed.

Annie made this weird annoying beeping sound and screamed, “Negative wrong answer.”

Annie was strangely quiet the rest of the day though and later on I heard her answer Annie Jr’s question of , “what’s wrong, Mom-mom,” with a, “I’m dying Annie Jr. life is like a box of chocolate covered mice….”

I interrupted her with.   “Annie stop saying that.   You are NOT dying.   You pretend this at least once a week.   I will think you are dead because you are laying there unmoving no matter what I do and just when I think you ARE dead, you roll around and laugh.”

Annie did not argue this time, she just stared at me from her big princesses bed, she laid in every night with the flannel sheets with little pigs on them, keeping her warm in the winter and cool in the summer.    She remained quiet the rest of the day and rested.   I never thought anything more about it, I mean I knew she was getting old.

Later on, I got up to go to the bathroom and saw she was gasping for air.   She did this often trying to fool me and I laughed a bit at her prank.   But she wasn’t pranking this time.  She gasped a final breath and my beloved Annie was gone.   She had died of old age and my heart broke in a zillion pieces.

Grandfather and I wrapped her in a towel and then the blanket that Annie Jr. wore home to us.   Abe and Bryan had given it to him and I knew how close Annie was to Duh-Wayne, Curry and the girls.   Then as instructed we put her in a Walmer bag.

I held her while Grandfather dug her a little grave and we played her favorite songs.   “Dancing in the Dark”, “Thank God, I’m a Country Boy,” “Nashville Cats,” and we sent her off with her idol Rod singing her to sleep with “You’re in my heart.”

Saying goodbye to a friend like this is always so hard, especially knowing that you won’t have the ability to interact as you once did.    I felt empty inside and my face was wet from crying and my cheeks were red.   Grandfather’s shoulders were all slumped and his head was pointed down as he put his arm around my shoulder and we went back upstairs.

The saga of Annie had ended.   Fifteen years of a life no cat had ever experienced before Annie.   Fifteen years of stories and nonsense; fifteen years of a bizare unpredictable, off the wall crazy cat and it was over.    I missed her already.   My heart hurt, my stomach had lumps in it and the tears stopped sometimes but started again soon after.

Grandfather and I reached out to family and friends, and spent time talking about and remembering our dear Annie.   Duh-Wayne and Spam came.   Spam and I sat drinking a cup of sludge in honor of Annie, Spam knew exactly how to make it.

Duh-Wayne, Grandfather and Annie Jr. went to visit Annie in her final spot.    There were gone for what seemed an eternity.   They returned and I suggested we order a pizza because Annie seemed to like that the best.    Annie Jr. ordered it and I cringed a little when I heard extra mouse tails but that is how Annie liked it best so I decided to go with it.

We’d no more than opened the box of pizza and Duh-Wayne had cracked the first moose made when I heard a familiar laugh.  I thought at first it was Annie Jr. because he sounds a lot like his mother.

Then I heard Spam say, “Grandfather, your cat smells like the ground she dug herself out of.”

Then I knew.   I knew the reason for the pet sandwichtarry and why Annie had not left even one possession to anyone and why she said first will.    She wasn’t going to be a zombie, or a ghost, or a witch, she was something else.   “I’m back Slam, a hundred times more Annie than you can imagine.”  Then she laughed.

It was an eerie laugh, a scary laugh the kind of laugh that makes you get goose bumps.   This was more like death with Annie not life with Annie.   I was a little scared but living with Annie had made me a little braver over the years.   Sometimes her nonsense made you stronger and I feared it would get worse.

Annie, who had taken on a dirty moth eaten look since she had been buried and later reburied by Duh-Wayne, Grandfather and Annie Jr. in the pet sandwichtarry, crawled back into her princesses bed and flipped on her remote as if nothing had occured.  She smelled awful.    Life went on as normal.



Authors note:   My beloved Annie did pass way this morning a few minutes after two she was 15 yrs old.   Her presence in my home will be sorely missed, from her awesome mice catching skills, to her chirping meows.   My heart is really broken, but this blog and making Annie continue her adventures will lessen my grief and heal my heart.   Fly high Annastasia AnnaMaria Albergeti.