Feb. 21st, 2009 09:46 pm
Operation Suki: Phase I
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muckefuckSo you all remember Wu Wei Woman, right? Among her many puñña-accumulating deeds is volunteering at a no-kill free-range animal cat shelter in Uptown. It's literally located on the street where I used to live and yet I had no idea it was there. (In my defence, it's on the far side of that odd hiatus between Broadway and Sheridan.) So when ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu began making let's-get-a-kitty noises last fall, naturally Tree House Humane Society was one of the first places that came to mind. But the house was in a state, what with exposed concrete in the basement and all, and we thought it to wait before tossing a live animal into the mix.
Since the beginning of the year,monshu's been making those noises again, so we blocked out this weekend to be Tree House time. It became a whole little expedition, beginning with taking down one of the lovely but toxic ZZ plants to my old place. From there we headed to Argyle for lunch. I wanted my "pork salty", monshu "wasn't really hungry" and just wanted a serving of beef salad. "What place will have both?" he asked me. "All of them," I replied with confidence--a confidence that began to fade as we scanned the menu at Phở Việt and found no salad section. (Turns out, salads are listed under their chief ingredient, so bó tái chánh ["beef rare citrus"] was under BÓ. Whew!)
Two noteworthy things happened while we were there: First, my pork dish arrived without any pork. This is less crazy than it sounds, since the only version they offered paired it with sautéed shrimp. The waitress' initial reaction was, "You want more meat?" (Not with incredulity, mind you, but a certain level of disbelief in her voice all the same.) More meat came and it was marvelous. Second,monshu managed something I never have despite six solid years of eating out on Argyle: He witnessed a payoff. After waving a package of sweat socks at us, an itinerant peddler made his way up to the register where the cashier counted out enough bills to form a wad and handed them over in exchange for the package. The old bảo kê? Unless there's something extraordinary about those goldtoes, what else could it be?
After we were sufficiently stuffed came the main event: A tour of two floors of uncaged cats with a soft-spoken man named Duffy. When his colleagues asked for our preferences, I jokingly indicated the Old Man's black jeans and said, "A dark one." We saw plenty of raven-haired beauties that day--and tabbies both orange and gray, calicos, tortiseshells, and one gorgeous Siamese mix. We petted, cuddled, batted, stroked, and played our way through four rooms and tried but failed to decide on a final three. Clearly, a return visit is in order.
We could use the time anyway to finish gathering supplies and weeding out the other poisonous plants inmonshu's collection. And, frankly, for me to come to terms with what having a mewling, shedding, shredding, shitting, barfing, living creature will mean for our tidy little existence. Ironically, it's monshu--he of the leather sofas and cloisonné vases--who I thought would have the most trouble accepting a little intruder into his life. But he took me well outside of my comfort zone to fill the parlour with bespoke furniture and valuable furnishings and I'm not yet reconciled to the damage a furry little beast could potentially do to it.
monshu began making let's-get-a-kitty noises last fall, naturally Tree House Humane Society was one of the first places that came to mind. But the house was in a state, what with exposed concrete in the basement and all, and we thought it to wait before tossing a live animal into the mix.Since the beginning of the year,
monshu's been making those noises again, so we blocked out this weekend to be Tree House time. It became a whole little expedition, beginning with taking down one of the lovely but toxic ZZ plants to my old place. From there we headed to Argyle for lunch. I wanted my "pork salty", monshu "wasn't really hungry" and just wanted a serving of beef salad. "What place will have both?" he asked me. "All of them," I replied with confidence--a confidence that began to fade as we scanned the menu at Phở Việt and found no salad section. (Turns out, salads are listed under their chief ingredient, so bó tái chánh ["beef rare citrus"] was under BÓ. Whew!)Two noteworthy things happened while we were there: First, my pork dish arrived without any pork. This is less crazy than it sounds, since the only version they offered paired it with sautéed shrimp. The waitress' initial reaction was, "You want more meat?" (Not with incredulity, mind you, but a certain level of disbelief in her voice all the same.) More meat came and it was marvelous. Second,
monshu managed something I never have despite six solid years of eating out on Argyle: He witnessed a payoff. After waving a package of sweat socks at us, an itinerant peddler made his way up to the register where the cashier counted out enough bills to form a wad and handed them over in exchange for the package. The old bảo kê? Unless there's something extraordinary about those goldtoes, what else could it be?After we were sufficiently stuffed came the main event: A tour of two floors of uncaged cats with a soft-spoken man named Duffy. When his colleagues asked for our preferences, I jokingly indicated the Old Man's black jeans and said, "A dark one." We saw plenty of raven-haired beauties that day--and tabbies both orange and gray, calicos, tortiseshells, and one gorgeous Siamese mix. We petted, cuddled, batted, stroked, and played our way through four rooms and tried but failed to decide on a final three. Clearly, a return visit is in order.
We could use the time anyway to finish gathering supplies and weeding out the other poisonous plants in
monshu's collection. And, frankly, for me to come to terms with what having a mewling, shedding, shredding, shitting, barfing, living creature will mean for our tidy little existence. Ironically, it's monshu--he of the leather sofas and cloisonné vases--who I thought would have the most trouble accepting a little intruder into his life. But he took me well outside of my comfort zone to fill the parlour with bespoke furniture and valuable furnishings and I'm not yet reconciled to the damage a furry little beast could potentially do to it.Tags:
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Just a datapoint. Make sure you get one with a good personality and in good health.
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that is all.