I came across this post on Tumblr the other day. The salient bits are below.
Disclaimer: I haven’t the foggiest idea who Gordon Ramsay is. I am naming my character Gordon out of convenience, but aside from the superficial resemblances, my character is in no way meant to be Gordon Ramsay. The kitten is additionally inspired by scifigrl47’s works with Harris and his kitten.
* * * * *
Gordon looked down at his plate. Here he was, wearing a suit, sitting in an expensive restaurant, and while he had a reasonable amount of time to order and consume lunch with his business partners, he did not in any way have time for this.
He looked up at his two partners. The partners regarded him stonily, silently challenging him to handle the situation.
He looked down once more at his salad plate. It was an elegant presentation, he had to give the chef credit for that. A bed of arugula and endive with cherry tomatoes, drizzled artistically around the edges with raspberry vinaigrette, lay decorously on a creamy-white plate with gold edging. And just off-center, where the piece of delicately grilled salmon ought to have been…
“Mew,” said the kitten sitting in his salad.
The kitten was so young it was still fuzzy rather than furry. Its eyes were a light blue that matched his own, and its long light coat was Siamese-colored, with dark ears, nose, paws, and tail. A single leaf of arugula was draped artistically over one ear, but it was otherwise .
The kitten looked up at him and blinked. “Mew?”
The little creature was sitting quite still, but it was positively throwing out waves of cuteness.
Gordon leaned down till he was practically nose to nose with the kitten. “No,” he whispered desperately at it. “No. No, no, no! I already have two parakeets, a tank full of goldfish, and six – no, seven – mice. I am not allowed to have animals like you in my apartment, and I’m not supposed to have the ones I do!”
The kitten leaned up to bump noses with Gordon. “Mew.”
Gordon sighed, firmly resisted the urge to run his hands through his hair, and turned. “Waiter?” he called.
As if he had been waiting for the summons, a waiter appeared at his elbow. “Sir?”
“Waiter, there’s, um.” He took a deep breath, trying to sound as if this was a normal – if unfortunate – restaurant occurrence. “There’s a cat in my salad.”
The waiter leaned over to inspect the salad. “Oh dear. I’m terribly sorry, sir. I will dispose of the cat and have the kitchen prepare you a fresh salad.”
Gordon tried to maintain a veneer of calm in his voice. “Um. It won’t be necessary to, um, dispose of the cat. Please put it in a box, and I’ll take it to go.” He smiled hopefully at the waiter. “Though I would appreciate a fresh salad, if you’d be so kind.”
A few minutes later there was a new salad with an oversized piece of grilled salmon at Gordon’s place, and a large to-go box sitting at his feet. His business associates appeared to ignore the occasional bits of fish that somehow found their way from Gordon’s plate, to his fingers, to somewhere below the table. By the end of the course, a contented purring sound was emanating from the box. The kitten was content. And, even given all the difficulties that the kitten would undoubtedly cause, Gordon was happy too.