Truly whipped

I told a young woman to stand up for her principles.

Silly me. Principles rarely get anyone anywhere, and I should have advised compromise. I was on the verge of recommending sucking up, but a Cheeks post on ass-kissers made me see the folly of my ways. Fortuitous.

Still, I've never liked myself when I'm at my most angry; when I learn that people whom I hate hate me back, I'm appalled. And I've always recommended being nice to others, especially in the newsroom.

Just after the spouse and I bought our first VCR and were playing "Beverly Hills Cop," I had an odd confrontation with our most timid and paranoid cat, Leskhe, a cat who hadn't had much contact with either humans or other cats in the critical first few weeks.

I put her on a chair with our newest feline, and Leskhe, still fairly young, put up with it, probably intimidated by the gigantic human's interference in her life.

And then, while the spouse and I were taking a break from the movie, I went over and kissed the sleeping female. She bit me, hard, barely missing my eye, and then, having realized in absolute horror that she'd delivered her act of aggression not against a well-furred male cat but against one of her mammoth feeders, the poor kitty let out an extremely high-pitched squeal and ran for cover.

After I treated my wound, I sought Leskhe out. It was with difficulty that I pulled her from under a table. Once on my lap, however, she figured out that I had no intention of hurting her in retaliation. She started biting my hand -- in affection, I hope -- but I put a stop to that. Nicely, I hope.

I miss Leskhe. Here's an old column about her; my private title for it was "Pussywhipped."

Sept. 29, 2000

Leskhe L. Lemur was convinced, 17-1/2 years ago, that we intended to eat her.

Most cats inspect new living quarters; this one bolted right behind a couch. For two years, she sat in a defensible position, and stared out at us with suspicious eyes. In the kitchen, however, she lost her fear; if she thought us like the witch in "Hansel and Gretel," working resolutely to fatten the children up for dinner, she didn't care. Food was her prime imperative, and she bolted it, too.

The meek don't inherit the respect of other cats, and all but one of our little wretches have thrived on tormenting poor Leskhe, who clearly led a deprived early childhood and lacks your basic feline graces, such as grooming others and the ability to understand cat tussling as non-life-threatening. To compensate for her low status among her peers, it seems, she has, over the years, come to lord (or should the word be "lady"?) it over the spouse and me; her imperious yowl is ubiquitous.

Our 11-year-old, T. Tadger Tat (once known as Catius Catalepton, I'm ashamed to say), used to delight in pouncing on Leskhe as she exited from the litter box. Her reaction, ultimately, was to make palpable displays of her displeasure on the living-room floor. I felt her pain, indeed, and took to escorting her to the bathroom, where I'd close the door and wait for her offerings. Tadger, whose ears once pricked up at the sound of clay being scratched, lost interest in his youthful game back in 1992, yet to this day, Leskhe still demands her litter ritual. And she insists that I carry her out of the room after the deeds are done.

She who once showed some gratitude for our kitchen offerings now just delivers a "serve me now, vile giants" yowl. More than a year ago, the spouse decreed that we should stop this madness by feeding our babies elsewhere. All our five cats were outraged, of course, and spent several months trying to reverse this scandalous and upsetting situation, but four no longer seem to associate the kitchen with feeding.

Leskhe, however, whose name means "chat" in ancient Greek, knows that she can always talk her meek humans into shelling out a special treat, especially when one of us is foolish enough to hang out in the kitchen and cook. We are the ones now afraid -- that she'll bite the hand that doesn't feed her.

***************

My cat Leskhe (pronounced "Leskay," if you're interested) served as quality control on your recipe of the week.

No, she didn't eat it; she simply did her darnedest to kill it, and yet it lived and thrived.

When I mentioned the dish to our features editor, Louise Whall, she was horrified: pumpkin cheesecake made with tofu? Perhaps I shouldn't tell you this, but she's not a big pumpkin fan.

But the dish turned out to be really boffo, despite our now-oldest cat's assaults on my concentration.

I was so proud of myself. For years I've waited hours for unsalted butter, which I keep in the freezer, to come to room temperature. But this time, I was going to put my clever microwave to use. It seemed so easy to defrost it on low temperature; I could be a contender! But as I stuck it into the wretched appliance, which appears to date back at least 16 years, Leskhe wandered in and gave me her "I need half-and-half" yowls.

Milk products aren't good for most cats, but I've never been able to explain that to the stubborn cat, so I punched in the numbers for my maiden microwave butter defrosting, and then I turned to quiet the cat's imperatives. Alas, instead of microwaving the butter on the lowest temperature for an exploratory minute, I found, as I turned back to my cooking project, that I'd hit it with high power and asked for 10 minutes and 1 second of radiowave time. My six tablespoons of butter weren't soft, as the recipe required, but thoroughly melted. I briefly thought of putting the pathetic substance back into the freezer to firm it up, but time before work was too short. The graham-cracker crust was a royal pain to work with -- was it the fault of having melted butter? I have no idea. But the crust turned out quite edible, and with no extra sugar added. If you're skeptical, use your favorite version of the crust.

Back on my stride after two crusts were formed, I started dumping ingredients for the pumpkin filling into my food processor. Leskhe yowled again. After I'd placated her with a little more half-and-half, I turned back, but I'd forgotten that the recipe demanded that the blending process take more than one stage. As a result, I managed not to process the stuff fully; when I started to pour it into the crust, I found large lumps of cream cheese still present. I smashed them down as best I could and barreled ahead.

With these strikes against my pies, they still gained the spouse's coveted seal of approval. And I snarfed, too, unworried about calories as noble tofu danced down my gullet. OK, I did cheat just a trifle: The recipe in "The Whole Soy Cookbook (Three Rivers Press, 1998)" wants you to use soy margarine, but I disapprove of all margarine, and soy cream cheese, which doesn't seem to be easily available in these parts. And anyway, I didn't have any. So there.

Pumpkin-Tofu Cheesecake
Crusts:
2 cups graham-cracker crumbs (circa 16 whole crackers)
6 tablespoons unsalted butter (or soy margarine), slightly softened

Filling:
1-1/2 pounds silken tofu
1 cup canned or fresh-cooked pumpkin
1-1/4 cups white sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
12 ounces cream cheese (or soy cream cheese)
1 tablespoon(cq) vanilla extract

For crusts, process whole graham crackers in food processor, then add butter (or soy margarine) and pulse until the mixture reaches the consistency of coarse crumbs. (Greenberg says that you can use your blender; I doubt my cheesy little model would survive.) Pat the mixture into two 9-inch metal pie plates, and refrigerate while you make the filling.

For the filling, puree the tofu and pumpkin in your food processor (or in your blender at high speed). Add sugar, spices, cream cheese and vanilla, and process until fully smooth, scraping down sides as necessary.

Put the pies into a preheated 325-degree oven for 50 minutes, or until cheesecake mixture is firm. Turn the oven off, and leave the pies in the oven for 1 hour. Remove from oven and cool to room temperature. Refrigerate overnight. Serve cool.

N.B.: Greenberg suggests that, if you intend to keep the pies around for more than a day, you should use plain, not silken, tofu, as the fuller moisture content of silken tofu will lead to separation in the filling. Perhaps that's a problem with soy cream cheese, but my delightful little cream-cheesed pies survived happily despite their silken content.