I figured my sweet pussycat would wake up eventually, so I decided to prepare dinner. I started setting the table when I heard her waking.
"Ah, you are awake." I said greeting her.
The pussycat then darted for the door, which I had locked to keep her safe.
"You don't want to go outside. Its cold out there."
The femme pussycat pulled out a match while holding her nose.
"Ah, candlelit dinner. You and I think quite the same, no?"
I took the match from her paw so she would not burn herself and lit the candelabra on the dinner table.
"Come sit." I said pulling out a chair for her, "I made soup."
I had made her a bowl of soupe a loignon. I sat across from her as she looked down at the bowl.
"Do not worry, there is no poison in that soup." I jokingly assured her.
She took the spoon next to her and tasted it. She seemed to enjoy it. You know, I believe it was Beethoven that said only the pure of heart can make a good soup. I cannot say that I am of pure heart, but I do make a good soup.
"Eat up, me petite; soup isn't all you'll get. I've also made us soufflé."
I presented her with the soufflé, but sadly it deflated. You know, every time I make soufflé, that always happens. Perhaps it is because it is puffed up and fancy rather than plain and honest like me.
"No matter. I've also made us a Caesar salad."
However, when I presented her the salad, the lettuce started to curl up and wilt. You know, its so hard to find a good head of lettuce these days. So I decided we'd skip to dessert. I presented her with some ouefs a la neige (eggs on snow).
The pussycat seemed to like the dessert fondly. It seemed she had quite the sweet tooth. Now I had her weakness.
Please R&R.