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Tzimmes Cracked Corn (And I Don’t Care)
A Spontoon Island story
© 2022 Walter Reimer
(Characters courtesy of M. Mitch Marmel, J.T. Urie and E.O. Costello. Thanks!)
Thumbnail art by
fluffball
35.
Willow:
Aunt Vee was mean.
Mean, I tell you.
How did she manage to get my pistol out of my purse without me knowing it?! Someday I’d have to find out. And although I know her reasons for it, I still don’t like being unarmed.
While Reggie and I were riding in a ricksha, several more things occurred to me.
Someone had been making plans for this wedding – well, someone other than Rosie, or Toni, or even me.
How do I know?
I’m sure none of us had planned on having an honor guard at the front of the church for Da and Rosie.
And when we got to the water taxis, it was easy to figure out which boat was for the wedding party, as it was decked out in flowers. Other boats had been reserved for other guests, and it slowly dawned on me that this wasn’t some kind of plot, this was the Spontoonies themselves showing their respect to Da for his respect to them, as well as to his service.
It made me feel good.
Rosie looked radiant in her dress, and she and Da kept smiling at each other. She’s made him happy, and he certainly looked better than I’d seen him since the Revolt.
The trip over to Casino Island was smooth, and when we entered the lobby of Shepherd’s I saw Reggie’s ears go down at the sight of CLOSED FOR REPAIRS sign on the doors to the Long Bar.
Some wag had scrawled ‘Again!’ at the bottom of the sign.
Still, the doors to l’Etoile were wide open, and the rest of us fell back to let Da and Rosie go in first.
***
Rosie:
The restaurant was decked out in flowers, there were long tables with food and drink, and standing there grinning at me and Franneleh were Nick and the Etoile’s Chef Joseph. The rabbit and the poodle were both dressed in snowy white jackets and matching toques.
Nick gave a short bow. “Congratulations to you both,” he said, and Chef Joseph repeated the good wishes in French. They offered their paws to Franklin, who shook them with a smile, exchanging thanks to them in French, and then they offered their paws to me.
As if they were getting off that easily.
I hugged Nick and said, “You naughty rabbit! This is wonderful! Thank you so much!”
“Nikolai Ivanovich told you, Rosie, that he would take care of things,” and my cook turned to the poodle, “but he asked his friend Iosif for help.”
“Which Chef Joseph was only too happy to oblige,” the poodle said.
That earned him a hug as well, which pleased him, and we were escorted to the head table, with our backs to the windows overlooking the hotel’s veranda and gardens, to stand as the rest of the wedding party came in to congratulate us, starting with the best man.
“Where’s Kiki?” I asked as I shook Sergeant Brush’s paw.
He shrugged. “She’s not real comfortable ‘round this kinda shindig.” He shook paws with Franneleh and moved on to get himself some lunch. There wasn’t a bar, which struck me as a sound and statesfurlike policy. Shepherd’s had seen enough fights for one week, I’m sure.
Willow and Reggie, with Tommy in his mother’s arms, were next after Athena and Doc Meffit went past. I gave my new stepdaughter (Hee!) and her fawn a smooch, and hugged Reggie. Franneleh followed suit, he and his daughter having a few quiet words before he and I both sat down at our places at the head table. Poor dear was going to be due for a hoof rub by the time this was all over.
Joseph and Nick presented us with covered dishes for our supper, while everyone else visited the buffet. Franklin had what looked like a delicious roasted corn and tomato salad, while I had salmon with a brown butter sauce. Both dishes looked and tasted heavenly, and my husband (HEE!) thoroughly enjoyed his meal.
A cheer went up as the two chefs brought out the cake, a three-tiered affair that . . .
Oh my.
My eyes welled up as I saw the two marzipan sculptures that topped the cake.
One whitetail buck, one cheetah femme, arm in arm.
My napkin was used to wipe away my tears as I helped Franklin to his hooves and Nick offered him the knife, handle toward my buck’s paw. Busboys circulated, filling glasses with champagne, and everyone quieted as Allan rose to make the toast.
“My friends,” the mink said, “we gather today to see Franklin and Rosalie start their lives together – “ He caught Franneleh giving him the eye “ – and may they have long and happy lives!”
Cries of “Mazel tov!” greeted this, along with cheers and applause as the rest of the guests drank to our health, and Toni, bless her, dinged her claws against her glass as she called out, “Cent’Anni!”
My buck and I only sipped from our glasses before Franklin took up the knife. Paw in paw, we cut the first slice, to more cheers.
It was carrot cake, mit Rozhinkes und Mandeln.
And oy, was it delicious.
***
Vicky:
See, this is what happens when your wedding reception’s not “by invitation only.” You don’t quite know who’s going to come through the door.
Case in point, I was standing around talking with some of the girls from the Lotus (nah, I don’t dance that step, but they’re good people), and I look up from my piece of cake in time to I see a painfully familiar feline guy in a threadbare suit and a battered hat come in, looking around and only occasionally licking his lips. He normally shows up at or around Luchow’s twice a day, trying to wheedle Rosie out of some free food, and sure enough he’s making a beeline towards the main table.
He spots me when I take a couple steps toward him, and off goes the hat. “The fairest of afternoons to you, Miss Victoria Knox,” he says, the butter in his mouth freezing solid.
The ‘Right Honorable’ (his words) A. Cadbury Mouchoir, ladies and gentlemen.
“What do you want, Mooch?” I asked.
The guy puts a paw over his heart. “Why, Miss Knox! I must take offense at your tone. I have come merely to extend my felicitations to the happy bride and groom on this, this most joyous of occasions.”
“Uh-huh, I’ll bet. And probably see what you can get out of Rosie.”
“I assure you, I have only the best of intentions – “
“Uh-huh. Come on,” and we headed over to the table, where Rosie and the Inspector were talking. They stopped and looked up as we got closer.
“Hi, Mooch,” Rosie said.
Mooch takes a bow. “I have come to offer my felicitations to you and to the inestimable Inspector Stagg on the joyous occasion of your marriage, dear Rosie,” he says. “I am very happy for both of you, and wish you both a long life, and a happy one.”
“And, of course, you’d like to hang around and get something to eat,” Rosie said. No fool she.
“This is a happy occasion,” Mooch said, “and surely you would not be so selfish as to deny a poor traveler on life’s highways and byways, for whom misfortune is a constant companion?”
Rosie glanced at Stagg, and the buck cocked an ear at her.
She shrugged and gestured to him, and Stagg asked, “Would you like to help yourself to lunch, Mr. Mouchoir?”
Mooch grins fit to bust. “That’s dashed decent of you, sir! I shall remember you in my will, along with some chaps I knew in Mesopotamia during the Great War.”
“You were in the Great War?” Stagg asked.
“Of course, sir, as were all loyal citizens of the Empire. The Second Battalion of the King's Own Mendicants. Some of the natives there in Mesopotamia served me admirably. There I was, a mere stone's throw from the northern reaches of the Tigris, on the verge of perishing from thirst, when a local dairyman revived me with some of his produce. Then and there, I made a solemn vow to repay his kindness when I died. His people are famous for their hospitality, you know.”
Stagg raised one eyebrow. “Those would be?”
“The Kurds, sir.”
Rosie put a paw over her eyes.
Here it comes, folks.
“Indeed,” Mooch said. “For those generous Kurds, where there's a will, there's some whey. Good afternoon!” He headed off to the refreshments, leaving us to recover from predictably bruised sensibilities.
“Rosie?” Stagg asked.
“Yes, Franneleh?”
“Charity is a virtue.”
My employer and friend nodded. “I know, and I wouldn’t mind if he’d just stop with the puns.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A Spontoon Island story
© 2022 Walter Reimer
(Characters courtesy of M. Mitch Marmel, J.T. Urie and E.O. Costello. Thanks!)
Thumbnail art by
fluffball35.
Willow:
Aunt Vee was mean.
Mean, I tell you.
How did she manage to get my pistol out of my purse without me knowing it?! Someday I’d have to find out. And although I know her reasons for it, I still don’t like being unarmed.
While Reggie and I were riding in a ricksha, several more things occurred to me.
Someone had been making plans for this wedding – well, someone other than Rosie, or Toni, or even me.
How do I know?
I’m sure none of us had planned on having an honor guard at the front of the church for Da and Rosie.
And when we got to the water taxis, it was easy to figure out which boat was for the wedding party, as it was decked out in flowers. Other boats had been reserved for other guests, and it slowly dawned on me that this wasn’t some kind of plot, this was the Spontoonies themselves showing their respect to Da for his respect to them, as well as to his service.
It made me feel good.
Rosie looked radiant in her dress, and she and Da kept smiling at each other. She’s made him happy, and he certainly looked better than I’d seen him since the Revolt.
The trip over to Casino Island was smooth, and when we entered the lobby of Shepherd’s I saw Reggie’s ears go down at the sight of CLOSED FOR REPAIRS sign on the doors to the Long Bar.
Some wag had scrawled ‘Again!’ at the bottom of the sign.
Still, the doors to l’Etoile were wide open, and the rest of us fell back to let Da and Rosie go in first.
***
Rosie:
The restaurant was decked out in flowers, there were long tables with food and drink, and standing there grinning at me and Franneleh were Nick and the Etoile’s Chef Joseph. The rabbit and the poodle were both dressed in snowy white jackets and matching toques.
Nick gave a short bow. “Congratulations to you both,” he said, and Chef Joseph repeated the good wishes in French. They offered their paws to Franklin, who shook them with a smile, exchanging thanks to them in French, and then they offered their paws to me.
As if they were getting off that easily.
I hugged Nick and said, “You naughty rabbit! This is wonderful! Thank you so much!”
“Nikolai Ivanovich told you, Rosie, that he would take care of things,” and my cook turned to the poodle, “but he asked his friend Iosif for help.”
“Which Chef Joseph was only too happy to oblige,” the poodle said.
That earned him a hug as well, which pleased him, and we were escorted to the head table, with our backs to the windows overlooking the hotel’s veranda and gardens, to stand as the rest of the wedding party came in to congratulate us, starting with the best man.
“Where’s Kiki?” I asked as I shook Sergeant Brush’s paw.
He shrugged. “She’s not real comfortable ‘round this kinda shindig.” He shook paws with Franneleh and moved on to get himself some lunch. There wasn’t a bar, which struck me as a sound and statesfurlike policy. Shepherd’s had seen enough fights for one week, I’m sure.
Willow and Reggie, with Tommy in his mother’s arms, were next after Athena and Doc Meffit went past. I gave my new stepdaughter (Hee!) and her fawn a smooch, and hugged Reggie. Franneleh followed suit, he and his daughter having a few quiet words before he and I both sat down at our places at the head table. Poor dear was going to be due for a hoof rub by the time this was all over.
Joseph and Nick presented us with covered dishes for our supper, while everyone else visited the buffet. Franklin had what looked like a delicious roasted corn and tomato salad, while I had salmon with a brown butter sauce. Both dishes looked and tasted heavenly, and my husband (HEE!) thoroughly enjoyed his meal.
A cheer went up as the two chefs brought out the cake, a three-tiered affair that . . .
Oh my.
My eyes welled up as I saw the two marzipan sculptures that topped the cake.
One whitetail buck, one cheetah femme, arm in arm.
My napkin was used to wipe away my tears as I helped Franklin to his hooves and Nick offered him the knife, handle toward my buck’s paw. Busboys circulated, filling glasses with champagne, and everyone quieted as Allan rose to make the toast.
“My friends,” the mink said, “we gather today to see Franklin and Rosalie start their lives together – “ He caught Franneleh giving him the eye “ – and may they have long and happy lives!”
Cries of “Mazel tov!” greeted this, along with cheers and applause as the rest of the guests drank to our health, and Toni, bless her, dinged her claws against her glass as she called out, “Cent’Anni!”
My buck and I only sipped from our glasses before Franklin took up the knife. Paw in paw, we cut the first slice, to more cheers.
It was carrot cake, mit Rozhinkes und Mandeln.
And oy, was it delicious.
***
Vicky:
See, this is what happens when your wedding reception’s not “by invitation only.” You don’t quite know who’s going to come through the door.
Case in point, I was standing around talking with some of the girls from the Lotus (nah, I don’t dance that step, but they’re good people), and I look up from my piece of cake in time to I see a painfully familiar feline guy in a threadbare suit and a battered hat come in, looking around and only occasionally licking his lips. He normally shows up at or around Luchow’s twice a day, trying to wheedle Rosie out of some free food, and sure enough he’s making a beeline towards the main table.
He spots me when I take a couple steps toward him, and off goes the hat. “The fairest of afternoons to you, Miss Victoria Knox,” he says, the butter in his mouth freezing solid.
The ‘Right Honorable’ (his words) A. Cadbury Mouchoir, ladies and gentlemen.
“What do you want, Mooch?” I asked.
The guy puts a paw over his heart. “Why, Miss Knox! I must take offense at your tone. I have come merely to extend my felicitations to the happy bride and groom on this, this most joyous of occasions.”
“Uh-huh, I’ll bet. And probably see what you can get out of Rosie.”
“I assure you, I have only the best of intentions – “
“Uh-huh. Come on,” and we headed over to the table, where Rosie and the Inspector were talking. They stopped and looked up as we got closer.
“Hi, Mooch,” Rosie said.
Mooch takes a bow. “I have come to offer my felicitations to you and to the inestimable Inspector Stagg on the joyous occasion of your marriage, dear Rosie,” he says. “I am very happy for both of you, and wish you both a long life, and a happy one.”
“And, of course, you’d like to hang around and get something to eat,” Rosie said. No fool she.
“This is a happy occasion,” Mooch said, “and surely you would not be so selfish as to deny a poor traveler on life’s highways and byways, for whom misfortune is a constant companion?”
Rosie glanced at Stagg, and the buck cocked an ear at her.
She shrugged and gestured to him, and Stagg asked, “Would you like to help yourself to lunch, Mr. Mouchoir?”
Mooch grins fit to bust. “That’s dashed decent of you, sir! I shall remember you in my will, along with some chaps I knew in Mesopotamia during the Great War.”
“You were in the Great War?” Stagg asked.
“Of course, sir, as were all loyal citizens of the Empire. The Second Battalion of the King's Own Mendicants. Some of the natives there in Mesopotamia served me admirably. There I was, a mere stone's throw from the northern reaches of the Tigris, on the verge of perishing from thirst, when a local dairyman revived me with some of his produce. Then and there, I made a solemn vow to repay his kindness when I died. His people are famous for their hospitality, you know.”
Stagg raised one eyebrow. “Those would be?”
“The Kurds, sir.”
Rosie put a paw over her eyes.
Here it comes, folks.
“Indeed,” Mooch said. “For those generous Kurds, where there's a will, there's some whey. Good afternoon!” He headed off to the refreshments, leaving us to recover from predictably bruised sensibilities.
“Rosie?” Stagg asked.
“Yes, Franneleh?”
“Charity is a virtue.”
My employer and friend nodded. “I know, and I wouldn’t mind if he’d just stop with the puns.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cheetah
Size 91 x 120px
File Size 58.9 kB
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