It's Still Life

The St Malo Sardine Incident
(Or: A Feline Foreign Policy)

The Old Woman stands at the counter in St. Malo,
a case of sardines in lemony oil
tucked under her arm,
her wallet slightly lighter,
her heart slightly french.

The shopkeeper smiles.
“A good choice, madame. For a special occasion?”

She thinks of the cat,
not hers, never hers,
waiting on the windowsill,
tail curled in anticipation,
perhaps already judging her for not buying more.

“May I have one more case, please?”
The shopkeeper blinks.

“For a very special occasion?”

She nods, solemn,
“For a creature who believes
French sardines are superior
to all others.
And who will know if I bring one case
instead of two.”

She pockets the receipt,
then remembers …
a pause,
a smile,
a quiet surrender.

“…Actually, make it three.”

Because some battles are not worth winning.
And some cats are worth crossing the Channel for.

---

Later, at home,
the cat sniffs the cases suspiciously —
then purrs,
a low, rumbling approval.

“Lemony,” he murmurs.
“French.
Proper.
Acceptable.
You may stay, Old Woman.”

He doesn’t mention the third case.
But he notices.
Cats always do.