I Lost My Noodle!

Mummy, who loves to cook, has not been much of one since our dear Dad passed away. She says she has no inspiration. I say, what do we look like – chopped liver?

At least she does feed us (thank God for prepackaged food) but there are times when we kits like to add variety to our diet. When Dad was here, he always gave of his plenty, ensuring we were never without a sideline meal. These days we are fortunate to find a crumb so one can imagine my surprise when Mummy got out the old skillet last evening and prepared a real meal!

It was a good one, too – little pieces of chicken, finely breaded and fried ‘til golden then mixed with a light sauce of diced tomato and olive oil, seasoned with fragrant Italian herbs. All of this was layered onto a steaming bed of pasta then dredged with mozzarella and popped in the oven until that blessed mountain of cheese melted into an ooey-gooey puddle on top. Mmmmmmm…

Where was I?

Oh, yes…

Mummy made herself a serving of this scrumptious-looking dish, all the while I, being Man of the House, supervising from a [discreet] corner of the counter. Mummy made for the table, dinner plate and fork in hand, and I deftly moved in to investigate the remains. What I discovered was a beautiful pasta tube that had rolled off of Mummy’s plate and landed on the marble tile, still intact and coated with that delectable sauce with just the right amount of cheese attached here and there.

I was ecstatic - a whole noodle all to myself!

Glancing quickly around to be sure I was alone (no problem there – everyone had followed Mummy to the table in hopes of a handout. Silly children), I eased closer to get a view of this delightful culinary surprise.

Sniffing around its edge, I detected the delicate aroma of oregano, and *sniff, sniff* was that basil?

Ahhhh…

I nudged the edge and gave it a tiny nibble. Delicious!

I sat back and stared at my prize in wonder.

I was proud of my noodle.

Craning my neck forward to take another bite, it disappointed me to find that I could not get my teeth around it. The poor thing had simply gotten cold and stuck to the counter. I pushed with my nose again but it would not budge. Sitting back and shifting to get a better view, I determined that it might work if I came at it from a different angle. Circling around, I seated myself on the other side and attempted another bite. No good – the thing seem positively glued down! I dismissed a flickering thought that it might be Mummy’s idea of a practical joke (since she isn’t much good at that sort of thing) and figured I better take serious action if I was to ever enjoy my treat.

Sitting back once more and taking aim, I gave the tiny tube a whack with my great furry paw and sent it tumbling across the counter…

to the edge…

over the edge…

My noodle had left me!

I raced to the other side of the island and peered over, scanning from left to right and back again but there was no pasta in sight. I spotted young Mosby The Roving Stomach busily chewing on something (and rather enjoying it, from all appearance) but no pasta was to be seen. I glance at Mummy who had apparently watched the whole gruesome spectacle with sheer enjoyment – her face bore a smirk a mile wide yet I could hardly see the humor in the situation myself.

My rigatoni was gone.

I can’t imagine what became of it but at least Mummy did the square thing and gave me some of her plenty. She even said she felt sorry for me though I question the sincerity of a mother who allows pastas to make great escapes from kits who found them outright.

Still, there it is.