The Chef’s Cat
Chef was the toast of Paris,
He fed the cream of the crop.
But no palate was as discerning,
As that of his cat, Madame Pennylop.
Pennylop had a velvet pedestal,
in the best kitchen of all the town.
Chef showered her with love and praise,
and swore she’d one day wear a crown.
Whenever Chef would conjure up,
a new Michelin-starred delight,
He would serve it first to Pennylop,
for her approval and insight.
Today, she loved the avocado foam,
on a bed of caviar,
but the deconstructed sushi roll,
Pennylop thought to be subpar.
The success of any potential dish,
depended on Pennylop alone,
and her whiskers undeniably,
approved of seaweed-soup with the cockle-scone.
One fateful day, Madame Pennylop,
seemed interminably displeased,
and every dish Chef set before her,
was met with a disapproving sneeze.
Chef was sweating bullets,
So to the “Vierge Marie” he went whining,
For it appeared that Madame Pennylop,
had had it with fine dining!
Pennylop jumped from her velvet throne,
And slunk outside to see,
if she could find something on that Parisian street,
that suited her new sensibility.
Chef followed Madame Pennylop,
as she sauntered down and up,
to every brasserie, cafe and crepe-stand,
that served not a sautéed caramel-cup.
Finally Pennylop settled,
to Chef’s horror and dismay,
on a harissa kebab with chips,
that she dragged off as a take-away!
