No Soup For You

Catatouille

A word of advice: if you’re a cat owner, never turn your back on what you have cooking on the stove. You might not like what you find in the pot.

Then again, we all have different tastes, and you could just compliment your feline chef for the added ingredient.

Such was the case for a cat owner in Merced, California, who was preparing soup when she went outside to feed her dogs.

The feline cook named Wendy, not to be confused with another California chef, Wendy Brodie, decided the soup recipe needed something special.

Selecting only the finest mouse, Wendy expertly placed the rodent tartare into the pot, creating culinary magic.

Returning to the floor, the proud cat cried out for her human to admire her savory dish.

Unfortunately for Wendy, her owner doesn’t speak fluent cat. But she did check a security camera that just happened to be in the kitchen. I’m sure it’s there because other family members keep raiding the refrigerator.

Anyway, the video showed Wendy bettering the amalgamation.

Much to Wendy’s shock, her person didn’t think this was worthy of human consumption.

“Mon Dieu,” cried Wendy.

What followed was a string of expletives from the cat that The Chester Chronicles won’t reprint.

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The family pivoted and did takeout instead, the ultimate insult to a feline gastronome.

If you think this is a unique situation, you’re wrong.

Cats everywhere know that nothing beats a mouse in a boiling pot of soup.

French onion soup, add a mouse. Minestrone, add a mouse. Cream of Mouse, go heavy on the rodents.

Instead of sulking, Wendy ladled out several samples of her creation. She shipped them to the Le Cordon Bleu (France), the Culinary Institute of America (USA), and the Culinary Arts Academy Switzerland.

Word quickly spread throughout the culinary world about Wendy’s masterpiece.

Several weeks later, Wendy’s owner was floored to find out that her home had received a Michelin Guide star, A James Beard Foundation Award and a World Culinary Award.

Wendy’s home is now the hot spot for Silicon Valley’s hoity-toity to enjoy mouth-watering delicacies like Mouse Wellington, Grand Marnier Mouse Soufflé, Mouse Creole and for dessert, Chocolate Mouse.

“When do I get some of that delicious mouse?” our cat Chester yelled from the other room, where he was watching the Food Network.

“I don’t think you can handle that, Chester,” I said. “All you eat is kibble and some canned cat food with a little tuna juice chaser.

“Besides, wild mice may contain parasites, diseases or even rat poison, and that could kill you. We don’t want that.”

“Thanks for your concern,” Chester snarled. “But if all these cats are dining on mice, where are they getting them from?”

“I guess they order those from research institutions that do experiments on them or they come from online suppliers and pet stores.

“And don’t you think I’m going to shell out money for your pseudo-craving for mice.”

“Why not?” Chester cooed, batting his eyes in a desperate look for sympathy.

“Like I said, it’s for your own good, cat. No different than if I decided to chow down on a Carolina Reaper. That would do some serious damage to me.”

“What’s a Carolina Reaper?”

“It’s a super-hot pepper.”

“Can I watch you try to eat one?” Chester asked with a malevolent undertone.

“Stop! We’re done talking about your mouse fetish.”

“Please?”

“No. Go back to watching your show and leave me alone.”

Stupid me. How many times have we said no to Chester and the next thing you know, there are packages left at the front door addressed to him? Too many. That’s what happens when your cat has his own credit card (don’t ask) and knows how to order online.

A week later, several boxes of dead mice arrived for Chester A. Cat Esq.

A jubilant Chester hopped around the house as I brought his packages in against my better judgment.

My wife, Genifer, wasn’t happy.

“Why did you buy those?” she asked while looking at me with menacing eyes.

“I didn’t, Chester did.”

“On his dime?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s different, but I’m not touching those things. You deal with it,” Genifer said as she quickly exited the room.

At least they were packaged in ice, so we didn’t have to smell the rodents. Not at first anyway.

Along with the mice, Chester also purchased a cookbook from his favorite feline chef, Emeril LaCat, with several mouse recipes he was too eager to try.

The following day, after Genifer and I returned from a long day of running errands, we were greeted by the aroma of something delicious coming from the kitchen.

Walking in, we saw Chester working at the stove while the table was set up for a fine meal, complete with lighted candles.

“Please be seated,” Chester purred.

Genifer and I stared at each other in disbelief, but we took our places at the table.

Red wine had already been poured.

We were hesitant about what was taking place. Chester had never cooked for us before.

“What are you making?” I asked.

“Shepherd’s Pie,” Chester said proudly as he opened the door to the stove. “And steamed green vegetables.”

Since we hadn’t eaten lunch, we couldn’t wait to try Chester’s inaugural cooking endeavor.

Chester filled our plates with his shepherd’s pie and veggies.

“Bon appétit,” Chester announced.

“I assume you made this with lamb,” I asked.

“Try it,” Chester said.

“Beef?”

“Try it.”

“Something else?”

“Try it.”

So we did.

“How do you like it?” Chester said nervously.

“Nice job on the vegetables,” a complimenting Genifer said.

Chester watched us fly through the front door slamming it as we exited.

“Look at them,” Chester said beaming. My innovation is so good, they couldn’t wait to tell the world.”

Chester went on the table to serve himself a portion of his masterpiece and poured himself a glass of tuna juice.

“Yummy,” Chester said contently. “But I’ll pass on the veggies.

“Tomorrow I think I’ll make mouse tenderloin.”

Chester let out a big belch. A true sign of a well made meal.