Flootch

Flootch (catfinition) – a feline game that involves a human throwing something. The cat then runs after it. Grabbing it, the cat will either bat it around or kick it. Then, stopping, the cat will wait for the human to do something. When the humans does something, the cat scores a point.

The humans never score. It’s all a cat’s game.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Hey, writers north of the Equator. Guess what? It’s December, and it’s winter. That puts me into a winter state of mind. Some of that crystalline white precipitation tops the mountains, hills, and forests surrounding our valley, while we endure fog, low gray cloud cover, and meek sunshine.

Looking out on this world as the furnace says good-morning, “A Hazy Shade of Winter” leaked into the stream. I thought about the Simon & Garfunkel original, and admired again, their talent and genius. But wanting something upbeat and edgier, I took to the Bangles.

Don’t you love those opening lyrics? “Time, time, time, look what’s become of me.”

Here we go.

The Writing Dream

I was in a busy, well-lit place that seemed home and office. Dozens of others were present, including my wife. People ) were milling around, talking to one another, examining my possessions – for it’s then that I realized it was my place – and offering desultory comments on my writing and past efforts. One odd-looking man, heavy, with slick, black receding hair and a black mustache and goatee on a bullet-head thrust onto a stout neck, was most outspoken. He mocked my collection of past writing efforts, done in the initial years in lab notebooks, saying things such as, “What is this stuff? What is it?”

I tried ignoring him as my wife talked to me. I was sitting at my computer at a table. Her comments confused me. I sought clarification. She was trying to talk to me about another manuscript of mine, telling me, “No, that other one. You know the one I mean.”

Finally, I stood. Walking over to the odd-looking guy, I said, “Stop talking about  my fucking writing. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t say another fucking word.”

He stumbled off, red-faced and shocked.

End of dream.

The Days of Christmas…With A Cat

It’s never too early to celebrate Christmas with your loved ones…or your cat(s).

 

On the first day of Christmas,

My floofball gave to me,

A dead mouse on the settee.

 

On the second day of Christmas,

My floofnut gave to me

Two hairballs,

And a dead mouse on the settee.

 

On the third day of Christmas

My gooffloof gave to me,

Three found toys,

Two hairballs,

And a dead mouse on the settee.

 

On the fourth day of Christmas,

My lovefloof gave to me,

Four scratches on my hand,

Three found toys,

Two hairballs,

And a dead mouse on the settee.

 

On the fifth day of Christmas,

My preciousfloof gave to me,

Five bitten toes!

Four scratches on my hand,

Three found toys,

Two hairballs,

And a dead mouse on the settee.

 

On the sixth day of Christmas,

My floofgoof gave to me,

Six licks on my nose,

Five bitten toes!

Four scratches on my hand,

Three found toys,

Two hairballs,

And a dead mouse on the settee.

 

On the seventh day of Christmas,

My furfriend gave to me,

Seven hours of sleeping,

Six licks on my nose,

Five bitten toes!

Four scratches on my hand,

Three found toys,

Two hairballs,

And a dead mouse on the settee.

 

On the eighth day of Christmas,

My furlove gave to me,

Eight hours of petting,

Seven hours of sleeping,

Six licks on my nose,

Five bitten toes!

Four scratches on my hand,

Three found toys,

Two hairballs,

And a dead mouse on the settee.

 

On the ninth day of Christmas,

My furlove gave to me,

Nine mysterious feathers,

Eight hours of petting,

Seven hours of sleeping,

Six licks on my nose,

Five bitten toes!

Four scratches on my hand,

Three found toys,

Two hairballs,

And a dead mouse on the settee.

 

On the tenth day of Christmas,

My lovefloof gave to me,

Ten runs around the room,

Nine mysterious feathers,

Eight hours of petting,

Seven hours of sleeping,

Six licks on my nose,

Five bitten toes!

Four scratches on my hand,

Three found toys,

Two hairballs,

And a dead mouse on the settee.

 

On the eleventh day of Christmas,

My flooflove gave to me,

Eleven hours of meowing,

Ten runs around the room,

Nine mysterious feathers,

Eight hours of petting,

Seven hours of sleeping,

Six licks on my nose,

Five bitten toes!

Four scratches on my hand,

Three found toys,

Two hairballs,

And a dead mouse on the settee.

 

On the twelfth day of Christmas,

My kitty gave to me,

Twelve hours of purring,

Eleven hours of meowing,

Ten runs around the room,

Nine mysterious feathers,

Eight hours of petting,

Seven hours of sleeping,

Six licks on my nose,

Five bitten toes!

Four scratches on my hand,

Three found toys,

Two hairballs,

And a dead mouse on the settee.

 

 

 

 

 

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