What woke me was the son stomping loudly down the hall. Gravity, it seems, holds that child more tightly to the ground, and so, he is not light on his feet.
"What's wrong?" I asked, barely awake.
"Did you hear that crash?" he asked, clearly in high dudgeon.
"What is the problem?" I asked again, wondering muzzily if I'd slept through an earthquake. I noted the shadowy figure of the cat slinking in the door, his white patches only faintly visible in the dim ambient light.
"The cat got the baguette on the counter," he announced, quite aggrieved. He'd obviously planned to make his own breakfast of what was left of the baguette I'd used for the previous night's Cuban sandwiches.
The spouse groaned. The cat cannot be trusted; he will eat anything: bread, birthday cake, asparagus, edamame, guacamole, scones, beef jerky. As a result, anything edible has to be locked in the pantry, or stowed somewhere inaccessible. Somehow, I'd missed putting the remains of the baguette in the bread box.
I murmured something to the effect of "Oh well, go take your shower" to the fussed son, who stomped back down the hallway, muttering to himself, unaware that the cat had silently jumped on to the end of my bed and taken up residence on my feet.
Once the son was safely out of earshot, Milton began to catalog his own grievances in a loud and doleful voice. The son, I translated for the spouse over the caterwauling, was clearly in the wrong, as Milton was attempting to protect the baguette from an evil neighbor cat who had designs on it, and would be likely to pretend to be Santa Claus and come down the chimney to make off with said baguette. And further, Milton continued, pacing in circles around my knees, it was quite clear that the boy planned to steal the baguette before anyone else could have any and what was the harm anyway in Milton eating the tiniest of crumbs from one end? Really, the fuss you people make--mrow, rowr, mrrr---and by the way, where is my breakfast?
Not that anyone asked me, but I'd planned to make garlic bread out of the baguette to go with tonight's dinner, Fettuccine with Peas, Asparagus, and Pancetta.
Milton and the son continued to complain, separately and in tandem, about one another for the remainder of the morning.
Go listen to some music: "Angel of the Morning," which has been recorded by numerous artists, though the one I always think of is Merrilee Rush's version. Now, as to the fettuccine, it came out fine, even without garlic bread, though I'll make a few changes to the recipe when I make it again. Until then, I leave you with Bon Appetit's original, the link to which is above.