With great care he took his sandwich and placed it at the centre of the grill, anticipation rife.

He began packing away the last vestiges of his meat and sandwich making products. His washing up took even less time than that and he even poured himself another glass of wine.

Outside it was a fabulous day. He knew that if his civilisation wasn't currently burning to death in his oven that they would be enjoying themselves almost as much as he was.

There was a slight melancholy in the way he moved, as if sad that this was all over. He'd had such a time of it and rather thought it a shame to end it all.

Kristoph would not be classed as sentimental. While his civilisation was perfect, there was honour in a thing he could enjoy creating again.

It was with great care and a little reluctance that he took the chef's hat from his head and neatly folded the apron, tucking them away in the tea towel drawer.

The last use of his knife was in cutting the warm and slightly crunchy sandwich.

He was not an overly emotional man and maybe he would like to put it down to the potency of the wine. But by god if Kristoph Gavin didn't make a fine looking sandwich!
On a side view he had never seen a more pleasing vista.

Taking it by plate with him, he sat upon his sofa and tried to savour the moment as was largely expected of him.

Kristoph Gavin grinned, inappropriate for the situation I realise, he could always appreciate the irony of destroying something beautiful.

It was without much guilt to any anticipating reader with a love of climatic endings that he took the first bite swiftly.

It was as if heaven was coalescing in his mouth. His eyes closed for a moment in full swing pallet approval.
Such divine flavour… such glorious mix of sweet and subtle.
He could wax lyrical, he surmised, for many hours on just that moment alone.

There was thump, like a pile of dry washing collapsing in a heap beside him, and he held his arm a little high on the left so a tired head could nuzzle it's way through.

He'd resigned himself to it the moment she wondered over to butt him with her nose. It wasn't as if he could escape her foul demanding eyes any more than he could forego his desire to push up his glasses in a fairly arousing manner, it was inevitable.

"Hungry?" he enquired politely, already comfortable with his breaking the conversation barrier in the last instalment.

Vongole stirred and, breaking off a small piece, suitably filled with sliced ham, he blew it until it was cool enough and let her eat it from his fingers. Her large, fluffed tail rose up and fell once on the sofa arm as she ate, her head inching closer to the plate.

Kristoph Gavin was paramount, naturally, but certainly not, as it happened, the only creature in the house that enjoyed a good sandwich.

The End.

That was a hell of a thing.
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