Un Chat Tres Chanceux

People love a comic twist that they can recognize.  Everyone likes "Shit My Dad Says."  If you haven't seen it, do a Google search.  Many people have told me that the sketch I made of going to my mother's house for salmon was one of their favorites.  If I could write more pieces like that, I would, but you can't make that up and must live it to write it.  I think.

Having that on my mind, I made salmon last night on my grill.  Salmon for two--me and Madame Chat.  She began dancing as soon as I took the salmon out of the butcher's paper.  She has a nose for fish and can probably read my body language as well.

"Voulez-vous quelques poissons?"

Excited, she answered in English, but we have rules now, so I said once more:

"Madame, voulez-vous quelques poissons?"

"Oui, oui," she said turning circles on the floor.

"Well, you will have to wait until I steam the broccoli and make the rice.  The fish will grill very quickly."

She seemed annoyed at the English, and she is not so good at waiting, but she finally resigned herself to lying in the most annoying place on the kitchen floor so I would have to step over and around her at every move.  She would not be forgotten.

"Mon dieu, vous etes un chat embetant."

I opened a crisp table bottle of Pinot Grigio and set upon my avocado salad.  You must try this.  Slice the avocado and squeeze on some lime.  Salt, then sprinkle with balsamic vinegar.  Now, here's the thing.  Drizzle some honey on top.  You don't want it to be sweet, but to have a bit of sweetness.  Top with chopped garlic.  Your head will spin.

Eating, I began to want cut flowers.  Why did I quit buying cut flowers, I wondered?  I used to buy them every Saturday at the Farmer's Market.  I looked around the house.  I needed more than flowers.  I had ignored the house for too long now.  I need to repair the decor which I have taken little interest in for years.  Where to start?  Perhaps getting rid of the piles of things that I no longer see, things that become part of the usual landscape.  Yes, I thought, this weekend I will try.

"Ou habitez-vous?"

I read an article once that took this phrase as a starting point, considering it as a profound question rather than a geographical one.

"Je vi dans la merde," I thought.

I will make it all beautiful again.  I'll have to start over.  It will take some doing, some rethinking.

So. . . I've written around the story of the prodigal girl, you say.  Maybe not.  Read closely and you will see.  It is better not to confront some things directly, eh?

"Je suis un artiste, pas un journaliste."

It is easier to say that in French.

Oh. . . I must finish the dinner story.  Madame Chat and I ate together after the salad.  She was very wide-eyed over the salmon.  It was pleasant watching her enjoy my preparation.  She is, I thought for the trillionth time, a very lucky cat.