Amuse-floofche

Amuse-floofche (floofinition) – A small complimentary appetizer offered to an animal, particularly a housepet.

In use: “She was sloppy eater but her schnauzer didn’t mind, gobbling down anything dropped like it was an amuse-floofche.”

Comfloofications

Comfloofications (floofinitions) – Ability among animals to pass messages to one another through one or more channels, such as smell, sound, or touch. Note: When done by cats via whiskers, sniffing, and rubbing, comfloofications is often referred to as catmunications. 

In use: “People approaching the bush upset the bird guarding her nest. Her comfloofications about an approaching threat caused a digesting deer to stand up and pay close attention.”

Floofquiry

Floofquiry (floofinition) – An investigation or examination conducted solely by animals.

In use: “An empty box in the room’s center soon triggered the beginning of a floofquiry. The bird began the floofceedings by calling out, “There’s a box in the living room.” Within seconds, leading with their noses, two cats and two dogs appeared on scene as floofrensic investigators.”

Floofkate

Floofkate (floofinition) – Floof Goddess of Moon, Earth, and Time. Floofkate was one of the profloofitors of the original floof kingdom, and learned to harness quantum energy in a way that others see as magic. A persistent myth exists that Floofkate was one of the many animals which are mentioned in human legends, but no longer exist. Most frequently cited is the unicorn.

In use: “As animal consciousness grew, connecting to one another on a quantum level in exponential numbers, Floofkate’s influence increased. Soon, with her help, they began dominating the Internet.”

Just A Dream Snippet

Just a dream snippet remains from last night’s viewing. It felt like the dreams were on, but like the television running in the background while I was doing something else. Not much seemed noticed.

The one time that I remembering seeing the Dream Vee, I had butter on my arm. It was a twenty-year-old version of me. I laughed about that and was talking with someone else, showing them where I had butter on my forearm.

I know my dream age, because my image was lifted off a photograph that I saw not too long ago. My hair was dark and thick, but cut military short, and my mustache was dark and heavy. My wife and I had gone to a shopping mall. At her encouragement, I bought a pale yellow, short-sleeved shirt, the top that you pull over, with a three-button Henley packet. It became a favorite shirt for a few years.

While I was laughing about the butter and attempting in dream-muddled-confusion to understand how I’d come to have this thick, long streak of butter on my right forearm,  I realized how yellow it was. At that point, I heard, spread yellow light over your body.

That’s all that’s remembered.

Monday’s Theme Music

The sadness of aging is often not what happens to you but the losses of others, from friends who age and disease, to our heroes.

I, and my generation, has seen a lot of our heroes passing away. The inevitability of death can’t be denied. It happens, but we don’t know what goes on past the door. There’s a lot of guesses and conjecture, and some promises and prophecies, but most of us need to wait until we go through the doorway before we find anything, if there is even anything there.

These reflections came as I thought about my dreams last night. I didn’t remember much except one. As I went through the exercise, though, the first lines of the Cranberries’ “Dreams” (1992) entered the head stream.

Oh, my life is changing everyday
In every possible way
And oh, my dreams, it’s never quite as it seems
Never quite as it seems

Those lines reflect my life philosophy. Nothing is what it ever fully seems. We live on spectrums of seeing, remembering, sometimes understanding with a glint of blinding insight, but more often, applying hopeful explanations to what we don’t know, all in efforts to uphold and sustain this stubborn illusion of reality. But then, hearing Dolores O’Riordan’s unique voice in my head, I remembered that she’d passed on, slipping through the next doorway when she was forty-six. She’d drowned in a bathtub. Reading about it now on Wikipedia, I learn her blood-alcohol level was .33. Empty alcohol bottles were found in her room.

So, in memory of dreams and life, here’s today’s theme music.

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