I've said it before. I'm a slow reader. So, yes, I'm still in France with Julia. And last night, I lost track of the characters.
It was late. I glossed over the french word in italics.
It was late. I saw the name Minette.
It was late. I thought Minette was their maid.
It was late. Then I was laughing hysterically.
"The venison made a splendid dinner, with a rich, deep, gamy-tasting sauce, and for days afterward Paul and I feasted on its very special cold meat. When the deer had given us its all, I offered the big leg-bone structure to Minette. "Would you like to try this, poussiequette?" I asked her, laying the platter on the floor. She approached tentatively and sniffed. Then the wild game signals must have hit her central nervous system, for she suddenly arched her back and, with hair standing on end, let out a snarling groowwwwllll! She lunged at the bone and, grabbing it with her sharp teeth, dragged it out onto the living-room rug -- luckily a well-worn Oriental -- where she chewed at it for a good hour before stalking off."
Really, if Minette HAD been the maid, I'd have had to sack her. Such unseemly behavior!
Ahem. Nice kitty.