Floofbulous (catfinition) – of, relating to, or resembling a floof.

In use: “A toy black mouse on the floor and a squad of food dishes haled floofbulous nostalgia for her mother’s home, where a squadron of cats had always reigned.”


Monthly Changeover

A new month has arrived. Hello? February, already? No way. Time continues to accelerate in an unseemly manner with months passing like weeks and hours flashing by like minutes.

I hypothesize that we each have time particles at a sub-atomic level in ourselves. Their interaction with others’ time particles and those embedded in other matter form how we perceive and use time, and how time treats us. We adhere to agreed standards for simplicity’s sake, but time is more personalized than realized. That’s my theory, and I’m sticking to it, at least for today. Someday, someone a lot smarter than me will figure all this out, and our thinking about time will undergo a monumental shift. For now, it’s one of those, we can’t make out the forest for the trees sort of perspective.

With the new month comes chores that rotate around the month’s arrival. Besides flipping over calendar pages, reviewing business plans, goals, and dreams, I also back up my writing work on something external that’s placed somewhere safe. While floppies of the five and a quarter and three and a half-inch varieties were used in the past, I moved on to zip drives, CDs, and now, flash drives.

Reviewing the month, I’m pleased with my writing progress, but I’m astonished that it’s taking so long to finish this quadrilogy, Incomplete States. I seem to be adding a new volume every few months; this week I was contemplating a fifth book in the series. Reining myself in, I sought ways to incorporate these new ideas into the fourth book being written. We’ll see how it goes. It’s not like the series is a raised garden bed, where everything must be contained. My motto is generally, write like crazy, and let the words go where they flow. I’m a trifled concerned; if I keep adding volumes like this, I’ll end up with something that rivals the Wheel of Time for the series’ length.

Now it’s time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

Friday’s Theme Music

The Clash came to mind today because it’s the anniversary of Sid Vicious’ death. He died of a heroin overdose when he was twenty-one. These facts came together in a tsunami of media concern about punk rock and drugs.

Sid didn’t play on this song, “London Calling,” which came from an album by the same name. The mash up of styles and sounds and social awareness in the songs attracted me, but it wasn’t music normally encountered in the places I frequented or the people I hung out with. That meant I often listened to it alone in the car or at home.

“London Coming” came out 1979. I was stationed at Randolph AFB, San Antonio, Texas, having returned to service after taking a year off to buy a restaurant and go to college. The restaurant didn’t work out and the local economy sucked, so I returned to the military and stayed in another sixteen years.



The Comedown

You ever have a highly productive day, where you feel fantastic about what you accomplished, but then, the next day, you feel hungover, drained, and tired?

Yeah, overcoming the comedown from a natural high is tough, innit? This is when discipline, perseverance, and dedication are demanded.

Cat Commercial

I have to say, I’m a little irritated with a lot of the cat videos on the web. Many of them remind me of those commercials that imply, “If you eat this food, wear these clothes, or drink this beverage, you’ll be young, beautiful, and carefree, and have a wonderful, fun life.”

Doesn’t happen in my life, no matter what I eat, drink, or wear.

The cat videos often show a cat taken in as a stray or a kitten, and how the other cats and household pets adopt the new one, and they all start hanging out together, having fun, snuggling and napping together.

Yeah. Doesn’t happen in my house.

I feel like a U.N. Peace-Keeping Force in my house. I’m constantly manning observation points, watching their movements, and issuing warnings. “You. Tucker. Yes, you. I see you. No, it’s too late for you to try to get small or become invisible.”

Because that’s what cats believe. Cats believe, “If I don’t move, he won’t know I’m here.” Or, “If I get small and move real slow, he won’t be able to see what I’m doing.” These cats don’t think I’m very bright.

But like a life-guard at the pool, I persist. “You’re in the no-floof zone. Get back, please. Get back. Get back now. This is your last warning.”

You ever notice how they seem to realize you’re talking to them. But they’ll stall, putting on an act to buy time so they can come up with an excuse for what they’re doing.

“No, no, you misunderstood,” they finally say with their whiskers and other non-verbal communications. “I wasn’t sneaking up on that other cat with the intention of biting their ear off. I was just coming her to sit down in this spot to wash my face.”

Then that’s what they do. They sit down and wash their face, saying, “That’s all. There wasn’t enough light back there, where I had been napping. I wasn’t going to stalk and attack that other cat. I’m completely innocent.

“Trust me.”

Then they give me a look, to assess, is he buying this. Which is essentially a cat con commercial. So what the cats are really asking themselves as they watch me is, “Is this commercial working?”

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