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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

As he opened the oven door, the rich aroma of liver enveloped him like a quilt.

It will be just the thing, he thought, gently extracting the baking dish, then closing the damper on the stovepipe.  Cousin Dwight had been looking anemic lately, not his usual stout and ruddy self.  The effect was not helped by the sad, sandy scrub growing on Dwight's face.  Not a beard, thought Mose.  More like what they had to put down that one dog for.

"Männer sind Eisen, Frauen sind Kissen," his onkel used to say.  Mose tested the top of the soufflé, delighted that it managed to be both: full of iron, yet pillow-like.  Two months ago, Dwight never would have eaten it.   When Mose had shown Dwight the tattered copy of Julia Child at the estate sale down the lane, Dwight had gnashed his teeth.  "Not in my house," he'd said.  Only when Mose had shown him the back flap, where it said Ms. Child had been born in California, not France, did Dwight relent.  He even haggled the widower down from three dollars.

Yes, Mose thought, it will be just the thing.  He re-tied his apron and turned his attention to pots on the range top.

*  *  *

When Mose heard the Trans Am coming up the drive, he began to set the table.  As he laid out plates and cutlery, he heard the car door close.  But instead of Dwight's usual confident tread up the porch steps, Mose heard the squeak and bang of the bathroom door.  And then nothing for a long time.

Mose put out the bread and butter.  Nothing.

He polished the water glasses.  Nothing.

He folded the napkins into swans, then dragons, then chimerae.  Still nothing.

Finally, just as Mose was beginning to worry, the door under the porch squeaked and banged a second time each, and Dwight came inside.

"Hello," he said, locking his briefcase in the wall safe.

"Hello," Mose ventured, then squinted at Dwight.  His eyeballs were pink and shiny, like that time Buffy dove into the Hellmouth.  "Are you all ri--"

"Let us eat," Dwight interrupted, dropping into his seat and unfolding his chimera.  He took a deep breath and considered the soufflé.  "What's this?"

"Strength," said Mose.

"Good," said Dwight and began to eat.

Mose attempted conversation several times, but to no avail.  His cousin wasn't interested in anything but chewing.  Then Mose thought of a topic that always brought a smile to Dwight's face.

"I noticed today that angel food cake is just egg whites, sugar, and flour.  I bet that's why Angela likes it."

"Doesn't matter."

"I thought I would make it for her this Sunday --"

"Don't bother.  Angela won't be coming to dinner anymore."

"Oh."

"Pass the beetabagas."

*  *  *

Later, in his room, Mose pulled a shoebox from its hiding place behind the baseboard.

From the phonograph in the parlor drifted music he hadn't heard since he and Dwight were boys, when Dwight had had a soft heart for a Swedish exchange student.  When she'd left for home again, Dwight had played one song over and over, and insisted everyone call him Fernando, until his father took the record away.

As the music played, Mose sat on his bed and lifted the lid from the shoebox.  Inside, Matthias crept out from under a pile of tissue paper and blinked licorice eyes at Mose.

Mose pressed a bit of liver soufflé onto his fingertip from the plate beside him and offered it to Matthias.  The mouse's whiskers danced as it investigated the treat.  Then its tiny tongue delicately collected the morsel.  Mose smiled.

"No more Bible quizzes," he said, as Matthias tried some hollandaise sauce.

"No more dusting lessons," Mose said, as Matthias enjoyed a bit of crèpe.

"No more doilies," Mose said, as Matthias sunk his teeth into a bit of brie.

"Best of all?"

Matthias stopped eating and looked at Mose, his snout creamy with cheese.

"No more cats!" Mose grinned and bounced, and Matthias skittered a little circle in his box before turning back to his feast.

Mose sighed and leaned back against the headboard, contented to watch his secret friend until the music stopped and Dwight's shoes could be heard on the stairs.

 



nomadshan is the author of 44 other stories.



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