We Can Haz Tree!

I guess I needed to read this particular translation of the Bible to see the light!

The Prime Directive

We have a stray-ish gentleman caller. He saunters into the backyard and asks for food which we dutifully proffer: We call him Black –And-White Kitty. He is handsome, vocal, uncollared. He seems increasingly hungry with each visit, and likes to roll around in front of the back door. Our cats are very indignant that we dare to acknowledge the existence of Black-And-White-Kitty, much less give him cans of food – last night when I fed him Twiggy seethed, ran around the room, and then glared at me, and it wasn’t until this morning that she stumbled on the bed to rub her face against mine.

Last Saturday was sunny – we had fed Black-And-White-Kitty and I was puttering around, when Trey exclaimed:

“Black-And-White-Kitty has a mouse!”

I ran to look – and yes, Black-And-White-Kitty HAD trapped and was "playing with" a mouse, a very tiny one employing that mouse maneuver of freezing, then making a (futile) break for it, only to feel another terrifying paw-clap on his little mouse back.

What was I supposed to do? Part of me was rooting for Black-And-White-Kitty: He HAD trapped his mouse, after all. But he had just eaten a can of Fancy Feast – he didn’t need to eat Mr. Mouse. But what if Mr. Mouse was hurt too badly to rescue? Then what? I asked Trey, he didn’t know what to tell me. Finally, I decided, fuck it, I’m going outside. Trey yelled “DON’T TOUCH THE MOUSE WITH YOUR HANDS.”

I got in between Black-And-White-Kitty and the mouse, who was hunched in a ball less than an inch and a half long. I scooped him up with two curved and dry leaves and held him in my palm. His tiny ears were translucent, his fur was mussed from being in Black-And-White-Kitty’s mouth. He quivered like a hummingbird’s heart. What was I going to do now? He had gone from being tortured by Black-And-White-Kitty to the palm of a giant who didn’t speak Mouse and could offer no reasurance. I realized that there was no place I could set him down to relax without Black-And-White-Kitty seeing me and returning to finish the job. Where could I put Mr. Mouse so he could recover in peace?

I returned to the kitchen.

“Trey, can you bring me that takeout container? And put some toilet paper in it?” He did, and I set Mr. Mouse and his leaves in the little plastic box. We marveled over his smallness and his shell ears and such a long tail for such a small mouse! He just shivered some more.

“I didn’t know what to do,” I said. “I didn’t want to leave him outside to get eaten again – so maybe he can just rest and get better and we can take him outside in the front? Can you bring me the top of the box before he – FUCK!!!”

Mr. Mouse sprang to life! and leapt out of the box in my hands and ran for freedom! Or rather, ran UNDER OUR REFRIDGERATOR!

“Oh, FUCK! Oh, NO! I’m sorry, Mr. Mouse!”

Black-And-White-Kitty was looking into the kitchen. Poor Mr. Mouse was now under the fridge, the fridge Twiggy stares at daily as if it were the television set from Poltergeist. I had made a terrible mistake. Unless Mr. Mouse could find his way out through the house, perhaps through the same route the occasional giant cockroach uses to enter our kitchen, I had consigned him to death by starvation or housecat. He was already probably hurt – now he would very well waste away in the darkness, like a mouse version of Adrian Brody in The Pianist.

Every day that week when we’d see Twiggy looking at the fridge, we’d ask her brightly if she had seen Mr. Mouse, and hoping he had gotten away.

The following Sunday I got up and staggered to the bathroom -- someone had left a hairball in the living room. A hairball with a very long tail.

Mr. Mouse lay on his side, at once rigid and deflated, his little feet clutching at nothing. I gathered his body up with a paper towel and laid him in the dying garden.

Me Me Meme Me Me Me Me Me

1. First Name Lillet

2. Were you named after anyone? Yes.

3. When did you last cry? This morning, in bed, thinking about “The Victor Dog.”

4. Do you like your handwriting? Yes, and what is funny is Trey’s and my writing is so similar that we see notes the other one wrote and ask “Why the hell did I write that?”

5. What is your favourite lunchmeat? Lunchmeat is fucking nasty.

6. If you were another person would you be friends with you? I hope so?

7. Do you have a journal? Not really.

8. Do you still have your tonsils? As far as I know, yes.

9. Would you bungee jump? No. Fucking. Way.

10. What is your favourite cereal? RAISIN BRAN!

11. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Huh? What? NO

12. Do you think you are strong? I have pretty incredible endurance. I think I can be pretty tough. Yes.

13. What is your favourite ice-cream flavour? I don’t eat ice cream!

14. Shoe size? 7 1/2

15. Red or pink? Pink.

16. What is the least favourite thing about yourself? My drinking too much, my temper, my lethargy.

17. Who do you miss most? I don’t know.

18. Do you want everyone to send this back to you? How about I read it on your blog instead.

19. What colour pants, shirt and shoes are you wearing? Black leggings, (H&M) black wrap dress (H&M), black zip-up sweater (Conway.) KLASSY!

20. Last thing you ate? Eggplant cutlet hero with NO CHEESE

21. What are you listening to right now? NY1 BLARING in the fucking lobby.

22. If you were a crayon what colour would you be? Crayola Green-Blue

23. Favourite smell? Annick Goutal’s Sables, Agent Provocateur perfume, real gardenias, garlic cooking in oil, fresh basil, the armpits of loved ones.

24. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? The furniture vendor about this stupid couch in our reception area.

25. The first thing you notice about people you are attracted to? Eyes, I guess, and if they are funny – I’m not really attracted to anyone but Trey. Truly!

26. Do you like who you stole this off? Just found it.

27. Favourite drink? White wines from Alsace.

28. Favourite sport? Shibari!

29. Eye colour? Green.

30. Hat size? Enormous. I have a huge head.

31. Do you wear contacts? Yes. I am blinder than a star-nosed mole.

32. Favourite food? Korean food!!!

33. Scary movies or happy endings? How about not-shitty movies?

34. If you could live anywhere in the world where would that be? With Trey in a house in Costa Rica.

35. Summer or winter? Summer.

36. Hugs or kisses? That is a retarded question.

37. Favourite dessert? Champagne!

38. Who is most likely to respond? No one!

39. Least likely to respond? No one!

40. What books are you currently reading? I just finished Hugh Laurie’s The Gun Seller.

41. What's on your mouse pad? At work, it’s a purple “jelly” one.

42. What did you watch on TV last night? House.

43. Favourite sounds? Trey saying my name.

44. Rolling Stones or Beatles? Both

45. The furthest you have been from home? I guess when I lived in Korea, though it was my home then…

46. What's your special talent? I can make an origami crane with my feet. I have an unbelieveable gift for induction and a killer intuition. And I make up spontaneous rhyming songs that are very funny.

47. Where were you born? Richmond, Virginia.

48. Who sent this to you? No one!

Veganomicon In The House!

It came on Tuesday! Veganomicon, the Harry Potter 7 of cookbooks! This aerial photograph is of the to-die-for Chickpea Cutlets, with some mashed Adirondack blue potatoes, garlicky kale, and the Kalamata Spread on a baguette. (the other non kalamata-spreaded piece of bread in Trey's hand is slathered with roasted garlic and black salt.)

Yes, I know, our table is really fucking cluttered.

Some Call It A Shitty Condo: We Call It "Maze"

This LUXURY BUILDING is a few blocks from Trey's and my apartment.

What I love most is the name. First of all, who the fuck wants to live in a "MAZE"? What series of meetings culminated in this tinderboxes christening?

"I mean, we're thinking labyrinthine, we're thinking like cramped, you know, like the DMV kinda!"

"Dude! Dude. DUDE. I've fucking GOT IT. MAZE. "

"DUDE. Well done!"

So not only is this yet another nail in the coffin of semantic content, but the the absolute KICKER is that this condo is -- get ready! THREE STORIES HIGH. Like, you could TOTALLY GET LOST IN THERE! Like, whoa ... yesterday my apartment was on the THIRD floor, but today, I totally fucking live on the GROUND FLOOR! I am living on the FUCKING EDGE!"