Casey. Coffee. Cats
It's probably not colder in Manhattan than in Brooklyn but it feels that way because of the wind. All those east-west corridors of tall buildings on both sides of narrow streets means the wind blows off both rivers and chills you to the bone when you cross the street.
Not so in Brooklyn, which is far bigger than Manhattan and has few tall buildings and fewer man-made wind tunnels. Last night Duck turned up Plottie's collar as they walked up windy Washington Street in Clinton Hill, and he was grateful for an original Easterner's knowledge and aid. Cold weather still stumps him, especially when the wind picks up and the puddles on the street freeze. But so far Providence felt colder than New York, and in a few days it's bsck home to the Shamlifornia Sun.
Thanks to the Great Dance-Nik for allowing Plot and Duck to crash with her for two nights in her lovely co-op. Plot met Casey, her supervisor, the other morning, Casey has the worst job in New York. He can't really fix anything because the management company he works for doesn't want him to spend any money, but the people who live in the building, and who hire the management company, all want work done on their own apartments, just not anybody else's. Casey is like Boner, the House Majority Leader, who everybody wants to scream at but nobody wants to listen to.
In Dance-nik's building if it's comfortable on the top floor it's cold on the bottom floor. If it's comfortable on the bottom floor it's too hot on the top floor. When anyone on the top or bottom floor gets too hot or too cold, they call Casey. The best Casey can do is promise a vague future conversation with the management company, or perhaps a bouquet of roses and dinner at Hop Sing's on Myrtle Avenue.
Hey, it's New York. You get the Sublime and the Ludicrous. The Great PunkyDunky has an idea for a new Brooklyn Coffee Shop, called One Bean at a Time. They hand-pick organic coffee berries from inside the mylar all-weather tent protecting the coffee trees growing alongside the BQE. The barrista crushes each bean, one at a time, in a mortar and pestle, and then pours boiling water from a river of your choice (Ganges, Zambezi, Nile) over it. It takes 28 minutes to brew each cup and costs $28.
Isabella is getting wonderfuller and wonderfuller. Tonight The Great FiveHead said to Plottie: "You're going to love this next one just as much, right?" The answer is No, until Plus One is Born, and then Yes. It is one of those places where math lies. One plus one equals infinity.
5H is starting to feel things starting to happen down there. She is as big as a house, a lovely, magnificent house with a view of the ocean. Plot is starting to think earlier rather than later. Meanwhile Noelle, the Christmas kitty, has discovered she can rest her lower paws on 5H"s belly, then fall asleep with her front paws resting on 5H's neck. Plot is sure kittens have learned to practice mind control on humans. "You love me," the kitten thinks, and the human thinks "I love you, kitty." "You will now scratch me," thinks the kitten, and the human thinks "I'd better scratch the kitten."