Iris is moving out in a week. She will be moving in with two enthusiastic home-all-the-time cuddlers who live on a quiet street off of Piedmont. I love Iris, and it breaks my heart to say goodbye, but she is the most attention-hungry cat I ever knew, and I'm just not around enough to keep her happy. I don't want to let her outside in my neighborhood, and I can't get another cat, so she is left alone in my apartment most of the time.

So when Kelsey asked if I would consider giving Iris to her, I deliberated, felt guilty, then agreed. It makes me feel like a bad dad, giving my child away because she cries too much, but if I ignore all, I know Iris will be happier with two owners. They work opposite hours, so she will never be alone. They even have a deck for Iris to hang out on.

I will not miss gray fur everywhere, or little chunks of kitty litter crunching under my shoe, or her constant, plaintive meowing. But I will dearly miss her sprawled out on top of me as I'm sprawled out on top of my couch. I will miss the intense beams of love she shoots at me.

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In other news, I experienced a Chinese food product last night I will not soon forget - stinky tofu. Imagine tofu steeped in every bodily fluid at once, left to sit for a few months, then fried golden, rolled in spice, and served in a cheerful, delicious-looking pile. So delicious-looking I ate four pieces before the smell of biological waste overwhelmed me. Meanwhile, my co-eater Peter was flushed and drenched in sweat. Apparently all ethnic food, spicy or not, has this effect on him. And yet he loves all ethnic food. He was the one who suggested SPiCeS in the first place. Incidentally, the Express review captures the restaurant perfectly. Jonathan Kauffman's description of stinky tofu does a much better job than mine:

"the consistency of ricotta, as much umami (savor) as an aged steak, and twice the pungency of a ripe, runny French cheese. It took a couple bites for the stinky tofu to grow on me — four or five later, it grew off me again."