I was under much pressure this cat week, dear readers. A food critic from a culinary magazine had seen my picture box programme and was intrigued to meet me and taste some of my gastronomic delights. I was told by the magazine editor to offer her some french delicacies and to make sure I used local, seasonal produce. I was at a loss to know what to do, dear readers and the only seasonal product Gracie and I could think of were frogs legs. There are many of these strange little folk in my jardiniere at this time of year but I haven’t ever contemplated eating them. I asked Gracie if I’d get into trouble for murdering on my own doorstep but she informed me this only counts for fur or feather clad creatures. I was backed into a corner and there was no getting out of it.
I’m not short of frogs, dear readers, the rain brings them in from next doors’ pond. I just find them a bit, well… just a bit creepy and I didn’t quite know how to go about…well how to go about acquiring the legs. Probably not one of my best ideas but I went out into the garden and spoke to the frogs. They begged me not to make the dish, the main reason I’m surprised to tell you is that they are fed-up of being compared to chicken. They wish to abolish the dishes made from their limbs so they can become a mysterious and unknown delicacy as they once were hundreds of years ago. They wanted to be a speculated wonder and their heart felt speech touched me right down to my baked beans, so it did. What was I to do? I glanced at Marigold’s Cul-de-Sac and then saw Gracie watching me, her nose pressed up against one of my cottage windows. I was beginning to feel desperate, dear readers.
I took a turn around the garden so I could search my mental recipe store but all I could see were chicken drumsticks. Then it hit me, dear readers. I’d made crispet savoury pigeoneaux balls the previous cat week and I had stored some in my freezer. All I had to do was put them in the oven; minced meat is minced meat, dear readers, how would she ever know?
On top of all this the GPAA had organised my second, and thankfully final day out with Mr. Pig. Unfortunately it was to be on the very same day as the arrival of the food critic. I was stressed and panicked to the point that my ginger fur began to frizzee and I consumed twelve packets of Frazzles during one episode of The Little House on the Prairie. I watch it when I’m anxious, dear readers, it calms my nerves, so it does…
Anyway, for the time being I had to concentrate on Mr. Pig. I accepted my fate and agreed to spend the day at a theme park with Mr. Pig. This shows what a good friend to him I am because I should have been at home preparing my culinary delights. I knew if I got a good review from the well known food critic there was a possibility I could set up a wee restaurant in my cottage like that girl on BBC, Ms. Rachel Khoo. I was determined to set up a Bijou Bistro in my sitting room so people could come and have an Oracle reading and a nice TV dinner to follow. My baked beans work better under pressure and all I needed to do was make sure I was ultra organised but more of that later.
The big day arrived and Mr. Pig and I hopped on the bus which took us to the theme park. He was in the mood for one of his philosophical conversations. I didn’t mind, I’d rather that than his usual nonsense of ‘Can I eat my packed lunch now?’ and ‘I need a wee wee’. We eventually finished our conversation about the black hole, Star Trek and do birds learn their tunes from the radio, just as we arrived at our destination. The window was fogged from all our talking so I ‘used’ Mr. Pig to wipe the glass and peered out to see my fate. I’m not really one for theme parks, so I’m not but the little wee fella was so excited and it warmed me to see him so overwhelmed. Unfortunately his excitement was dashed when he failed the height restriction rules and was only allowed to go on the Teacup Waltzers. He cried, dear readers and I hate it when he cries. So, I decided, being a good friend I’d do him a little favour, so I would. I popped him in his new Sindy lunch box (oh the trouble I had getting that for him), told him to keep very quiet and snooked him on the roller coaster. Once we started moving and no one was watching I opened his packed lunch box so he could enjoy the ride. I can see why they have height restriction rules now, so I can…
Anyway, the day was cut short but I wasn’t bothered, I had lots of gastronomic preparations to attend to. I arrived home with more time than I’d expected to prepare my frog’s legs delicacy. Crispet ‘frogs legs’ savoury balls were put in the stove and I served them with home made, twice cooked curly fries from my freezer and a jardiniere salad and it all went down a treat. The fancy food critic had no idea and told me they were the best frogs legs nibblets she’d ever tasted. We had a spectacular evening filled with intellectual conversation, something which is sparce in my current surroundings. I am expecting a tremendous review next cat week and then my genius culinare baked beans can get to work with my Michelin Man starred restaurant.
I must make haste, dear readers I have lots of food to order from Iceland for my restaurant and I need to instruct my mignons regarding the lay out of my Bijou Bistro.
Your best fluff
Piss. S. The GPAA were very impressed with the souveneir photograph which was snapped just as Mr. Pig and I reached the tip of the very highest part of the roller coaster and they have given me the all clear. I now have a certificate stating I am a very good and genuine friend of Mr. Pig. Unfortunately, as we descended the highest point Mr. Pig was flung from his Sindy lunch box and landed on the wig of some old Dot further along the roller coaster. She screamed and swiped him off and from there he quite literally ‘bounced’ from one ride to the next. I couldn’t quite see exactly where he went because I was stuck on the ride he’d wanted to go on. Anyway, he can’t grumble, it was his idea to go there…unfortunately he’s being treated in a psychiatric ward in hospital at the moment. He now has a phobia of heights, water, air, people, children, wigs, candy floss, chewing gum and pirate ships. He’s a complex little wee fella, so he is…