Host's Soup (Otherwise Untitled)
#112 of Short Stories
A ferret prepares a soup for her guest.
~ The ferret sort of lingered in the kitchen, looming over the stove as the soup came to a proper simmer. Patrica rubbed at her side a bit while regarding the cutting board on the counter near the stove, her ribs keeping their dull ache from their escape the night before. Her thoughts rolled across the soft inventory of the soup's ingredients, mulling over possibilities left untapped in the sparse kitchen.
~ The echoing whump of the plumbing alerted Patrica to the end of her guest's shower. She gave the bobcat a bit of time, availing herself of a can of Toma-Tasta-Fresh from the back of her refrigerator. The adjacent box of powdered wheat and bottle of Meal-o-Drunk did little to tempt her hand. Confident that he could likely hear her, she called out her inquiry, "Hey, France, you like onion?"
~ His reply at first muffled by towel before reaching volume, "...could take it or leave it. I generally prefer onion, but wouldn't demand for it.", France explained with a muted shout from the bathroom.
~ Belatedly, Patrica verified that the basket where she kept her onions was empty. "Hrmph. Eh. He probably won't notice.", remarked the ferret as she strode towards the couch for a dignified flop.