A Saturday Morning
One spring Saturday morning, Stella decided to make a treat for Peter. It was nice and warm now. They had almost all their meals on the porch. It was really lovely there. It was screened in.
There were several chimes hanging from the ceiling. There were pots of plants and flowers about. When the breeze rustled through the trees, the chimes would gently tinkle and the leaves would rustle in soft whispers.
The day before that particular Saturday morning, Stella had bought champagne and strawberries. She also bought smoked salmon and an assortment of cheeses. Just as the sun rose in the sky, she quietly got out of bed, crept downstairs so as not to wake Peter before she was ready. Maximillian kept right at her heels.
“Shh!” she whispered.
They went into the garden. She knelt by the flower beds and picked mint and basil. At the next bed, she picked flowers. Maximillian sat next to her and watched in excitement. His tail was wagging. Something nice was about to happen. He liked nice things.
They went back to the kitchen. She prepared a salad, then arranged the flowers into the large cream pitcher rimmed with a band of cobalt blue. She walked into the porch with Maximillian at her heels. She hummed softly as she set the table. The setting of the flowers, the champagne, and the fruit made the table look quite pretty.
“Come Max,” she whispered after she gave the table a nod of approval. They got into the car and drove to the bakery. She chose some hot rolls and some sticky buns, then they headed back home. She put out the cheeses, the salad, the smoked salmon, and the strawberries. She set out a steaming pot of coffee and a pitcher of hot milk. She placed the rolls and pastries in a basket and took them to the table. She then went upstairs to wake up Peter.
“Come dear. Breakfast is ready,” she said as she gave him a peck on the cheek.
“I love weekends. It’s so nice not to be rushing about,” he said as he climbed out of bed. He got into a pair of jeans and a top.
Down the stairs they went and into the porch. At the entrance, they stopped and looked and looked.
“Oh my goodness!” Stella gasped at last.
Now what do you think was the matter? Shall I tell you? Well, there was Maximillian sitting at the table at one of the settings, as proper as proper could be. He had eaten the smoked salmon and the cheeses. He had eaten the rolls and the pastries. He had eaten the strawberries and slurped the champagne from one of the flutes. He was smacking his lips in satisfaction, just as they entered the porch.
He looked at them and seemed to say, “Thank you, that was an excellent meal. Would you care for some coffee?”