The Night Owl Café

My husband, whose first experience of married life was in the early 50’s, is not what you would call a modern husband. He scrupulously avoids interfering in any household decisions or activities regarding food, housekeeping, furniture or the garden. In the distant past I do recall that he would make me coffee in the mornings but I never remember him ever actually preparing a meal for himself or any one else. Sometimes, however, he can surprise me.

The other night I awoke at 1 a.m. to the beeping of the microwave and the undeniable clink of a spoon against the side of a bowl. I know Harry often shuffles down to the kitchen to search for something to drink or to enjoy a yogurt more to assuage the boredom of a sleepless night than to satisfy hunger. But the sounds that had woken me indicated unambiguous culinary enterprise. So I crept down and peeped into the kitchen just in time to see him down his first spoonful of piping hot soup and toast. But that was not all. At his feet was an even more unanticipated sight. Fiddie, the Westie, who steadfastly insists on an uninterrupted 10 hours of sleep each night, glared defiantly up at me from his half-finished bowl of dog food. His little brown eyes challenged me: “What, have you never seen a dog eating food in the middle of the night before???” or perhaps: “Hey, I’m just keeping Dad company; you don’t want the poor guy to have to eat alone a this late hour!”

As they seemed quite happy and there appeared no danger of fire or explosion, I wished them 'bon appétit' and toddled back to bed wondering how I could channel Harry’s hidden talents to my own advantage.