Le bouillon de dinde

Cat Granny gave me a cheese-making kit for Christmas, and this weekend I finally got around to using it. You wouldn’t believe how much milk is needed – 4.5 litres for a paltry 1kg of cheese – and the only vessel that was up to the job was our massive stock pot. Of course we couldn’t find it.

Cat Daddy and I hunted EVERYWHERE, with each of us accusing the other of having lent it to someone and not got it back. However, just as I was about to go out and buy another one, the realisation dawned that we had used it to boil up the turkey carcass after Christmas and had put it in the greenhouse as it wouldn’t fit in the fridge.

It was still in the greenhouse.

We trudged outside, fearful of what horrific life forms we would find inside the stock pot after 3 whole months of festering away, although, luckily, it was dark so we couldn’t see much. The idea was to drain off the liquid and then dispose of the solids in the food waste bin but, as Cat Daddy was draining it, the stock pot somehow slipped and the entire grim contents splurged all over the flower bed.

Naturellement, Louis Catorze – who had followed us, unseen, into the garden – decided to leap straight into the midst of the oily, mouldy, turkey-y mess and have a good old cavort around in it. Then, when we tried to grab him and fish him out, he pitter-pattered into the greenhouse where we couldn’t reach him, but where we were sure that the oily, mouldy, turkey-y mess would act as a glue to stick dirt, cobwebs and dead spiders to his fur.

“We can’t let him back into the house like that,” said Cat Daddy. “His fur is going to be disgusting, and that greasy muck will never come out of the floorboards or furniture. We’re just going to have to leave him outside until he washes, or until the rain rinses it off, whichever comes first.”

One day we will let him back in again, but today isn’t going to be that day. Tomorrow probably won’t be, either.

We’ll let you know if and when it happens.

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