Thanksgiving Turkey Sandwiches, Courtesy of the Cat

About 5 years ago, I decided to plan an extra-special Thanksgiving dinner for my parents. My mother loves holidays. Raised in North Carolina and Tennessee, she once summed up her holiday philosophy for me: "Honey, we always said in my family, 'Hell's bells, if you can't get into the holiday spirit, then you just put on extra lipstick and pretend to be Santa's elf!"

At 87, my father tended to have a curmudgeonly approach to holidays. His annual approach to holidays was (a) pretend to forget them, (b) insist that he was too busy to partake in festivities such as tree-trimming, and (c) reluctantly sit down to holiday meals…at which point he inevitably let his Grinch mask down and said, "Dang, that was delicious!"

So that year, I planned and cooked up an elaborate meal, from soup to sweet potato casserole to an elaborate pumpkin mousse. On Thanksgiving Day, I placed the turkey into the oven at 6 am, where it gradually filled the house with mouth-watering aromas.

At last, the meal was almost ready. I took the beautifully browned turkey from the oven and slid it onto a platter.

"Almost ready," I announced to my parents. "I just want to change my clothes and then we can eat!"

"Yay!" said my mother.

I ran upstairs, quickly changed from my soup-splattered jeans and top into a clean pantsuit, and went downstairs, where my parents had already seated themselves at the dining room table, waiting expectantly.

I walked into the kitchen-and discovered my parents' 5-month-old kitten had chosen Thanksgiving as the day to discover how to make the jump from the kitchen floor to the counter…where she was joyfully in the process of nibbling away at the turkey. The kitten wore gravy streaks on her nose; the turkey suffered from kitty teeth indentations and kitty fur.

"Do you need help, honey?" my mother called from the dining room.

"Uh, no, everything's great!" I lied.

I hurriedly poured their soup into bowls and placed it before them. "How about if you start on the appetizer, and I'll just finish up in the kitchen and bring out the rest," I instructed.

As my parents spooned up their soup, I quickly placed the kitten, complete with bulging belly and happy purrs, in the laundry room with a bowl of water, a litter box, and a comment, "No turkey soup for you tomorrow!"

I hurriedly sliced off the turkey skin and kitten-destroyed areas, then removed the turkey meat from the bones. Looking in the refrigerator for inspiration, I discovered sourdough bread and Monterey Jack cheese. Aha! I heated the bread, placed turkey slices on it, and then put thinly sliced Monterey Jack cheese on that. I toasted the open-faced turkey sandwiches until the cheese melted, then topped with sliced black olives. Putting the sandwiches on a platter, I surrounded them with slices of fresh tomato.

After setting the other dishes on the table, I brought the platter of sandwiches to the feast. "Oooooh, how fabulous!!!" said my mother, helping herself to a sandwich. She bit into one. "How did you ever think of this? It's soooo much better than plain turkey. I always think plain turkey is too dry anyway, and gravy is always so lumpy."

My father thoughtfully viewed the platter, took a sandwich, and took a bite. He chewed. He took another bite. "Dang, that's delicious!" he exclaimed. "Best turkey I ever ate."

And, thanks to a mischievous kitten, that tasty combination of melted cheese, perfectly cooked turkey, and toasted bread has become a classic Thanksgiving turkey entrée for my family.