Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofasetic (floofinition) – a very satisfied housepet; a satisfying relationship with or between housepets.
In use: “The dog and cat slept together during most of the day, visiting the back yard together, eating side-by-side, and sleeping with their master on the sofa at night. The harmony was floofasetic.”
In honor of the gopher dream that I had last night, I thought I’d use Kenny Loggins’ song, “I’m Alright” from Caddyshack (1980).
As an outside, I was stationed in Kadena Air Base, Okinawa, Japan, the following year. VCRs were becoming big. We bought one. Caddyshack was one of the first movies we rented and played on it. A popular movie, it was played in the MAC Terminal to entertain people while they awaited flights. The command post where I worked was located in that terminal. It seemed like it was on whenever I left the command post. It came to drive me nuts.
I haven’t seen it in years, and I don’t want to see it, thank you. Meanwhile, Kenny did pretty good with movie songs for a while, didn’t he?
Walking this morning and thinking about writing and music, I suddenly recalled last night’s gopher dream. OMG, how could I forget it?
It was so weird but so nothing. What dream about gophers isn’t weird? They are for me, because I don’t have memories about dreams with gophers.
Basically, the dream found me cooking. The house I was in wasn’t any that I live in, but I knew it as my house. I don’t know what I was cooking except that I was tending a pot on a white porcelain stove. To my left was a lawn area, but the lawn area was in my house. That took me a bit to put together as I was cooking, because the lawn’s surrounding walls were interior house walls.
As I cooked, stirring the pot and peering in at the contents, I realized something was moving in the lawn. A few newspaper sections were on the ground. Something had moved under one of them.
While I’m cooking and pondering this, a female friend entered and started chatting with me. Then she said, “Oh my God, I think I just saw an animal in your grass.”
“Yes,” I said, “I thought I saw something before.”
I stopped cooking to check it out. As I did, I found, yep, a hole under the newspaper section. I didn’t know what made it but while I was checking it out, a big gopher popped out of another hole and looked at me. Then it ducked back.
I had gophers in my lawn in my house, but I was till cooking, and returned to the stove. As I cooked, another large gopher popped up from a different hole. I realized I had more holes than I thought. There were more and new holes. Holy crap.
About that time, my wife entered. As the female friend explained what was happening, my wife went onto the lawn to look at the holes. Comically, she’d go by a hole, and the gopher would pop up behind her, but she would never see them. More newspaper sections were on the lawn, too.
My wife finally went to the corner. Pulling back sections of newspaper, she peered into an exposed hole with our female friend beside her. “M,” my wife said, “you should come and see this.”
“I know,” I answered. “We have holes. Gophers are causing it.” As I said that, several gophers popped out of holes. They were all looking at me. My wife, with her back turned to them as she studied the hole, never saw them.
End dream.
###
There is a post script.
Working on this section of novel, I’ve been dismayed. There are holes in the part I’m editing. Thinking about it, I realized there were holes in the proceeding chapters to these chapters. That’s where I think I need to put some energy and effort to improve it.
After I thought about that, remembered the gopher dream, and typed it up here, I realized the gopher dream was about the holes. I was cookin’, yer know? Writin’ and editin’, everything was copasetic. Doin’ good and feein’ fine. Then, suddenly….mmm…this isn’t working. Drat.
I decided that’s what the gopher dream was about. I’d missed holes. They’re paper over but if I look, their cause can be seen.
Makes sense, doesn’t it?
Got my coffee. Time to start editing and writing like crazy, at least one more time in 2018.
Floofstice (floofinition) – the time of a sun’s passing on a sleeping housepet.
In use: “Tigger always hunted the sunshine through the windows. Having lived in the same house for seven years, the tabby knew where to place himself for maximum floofstice, on most days. Clouds always forced him to the master bed, where he curled up by the pillows.”
Today’s song choice, “You Talk Too Much” by Joe Jones, was fluttering along my mindstream this morning when I awoke. It seems like I’ve known it my whole life. Small wonder there. Wikipedia states that it was released in 1960. I was four then, but Mom liked playing it and singing it. I remember her singing it to me whenever I was pestering her for something, apparently her counter-measure to my non-stop demand. It would infuriate me to the point of stamping my feet as I demanded that she stop singing.
That just made her smile as she continued singing.
Flooftator (floofinition) – 1. a housepet with total power over a household, typically obtained by begging, whining, threats, or obstinance; 2. (slang) a housepet that resembles a potato; 3 (slang) a housepet who doesn’t move much, akin to an animal version of a couch potato.
In use: “The fluffy little dog was a flooftator, but they delighted in indulging his preference to sleep and lounge on the sofa, laughing as he would stretch and wag his tail when they entered the room and said his name.”
I was sitting and chatting with a friend the other day when my body said, “Pee.”
“Excuse me,” I told my body, “but that was very ru — ”
“Pee!”
“I was talki — ”
“PEEEE!”
“What are you saying? It sounds li — ”
“PEEEE!”
“In a minute. Let me finish this conver — ”
“PEEEEEE!!!”
Sighing, I stood. “Excuse me a minute,” I told my friend, and went off to the restroom.
Honestly, sometimes my body is like a spoiled, willful child, and it gets worse as I get older.
Saw a headline slug, “Driverless Cars Return”.
An imagined television news report about a driverless car getting lost and living on the streets by itself for years climbed into my head, and then came the happy reunion, when the driverless car returned to its family for a happy reunion.
“We thought our car was gone forever,” Patty McLaren said about the brown four-door Ford sedan. “We looked for it for everywhere for weeks. We never gave up, really. Every time a driverless car went by, we looked to see if it was our car. Though I never stopped hoping, I never really believed it would come back, though. It’s like a dream come true.”
The car is a little older and rustier, with bald tires and faded paint. Its radio and speakers are gone, apparently torn out by thieves, and the engine smokes.
“Who knows what it went through?” Mrs. McLaren said, stroking the car’s front fender. “I’m amazed it’s still runnin’. I’m just so happy it’s back.”
Mrs. McLaren said that they were going to get the car a new coat of paint and tires. “Then we’re just going to put it in the garage and keep it there, and pamper it.”
Her daughter expressed disappointment that she wouldn’t be allowed to take the car to college with her.
Michael Seidel, writer 