Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Befloofed (floofinition) – The animal to whom one is completely and solely committed in a monofloof relationship.
In use: “She would’ve enjoyed having another rescue cat in her home, even two more, but Flash made it clear that they were befloofed and wasn’t interested in an open relationship with any other animals, or people.”
The young, slender woman with short dark hair said, “Excuse me.”
Looking up from his Apple laptop, the man raised his bushy eyebrows. Seeing the woman, he adjusted his thick glasses and smiled. He noticed her when she sat. Yes, she was attractive, and looked fit, but she reminded him of his daughter. She would’ve been about the same age, had she lived. “Yes?”
“Can you do me a favor? I need to use the restroom. Would you mind watching my bag for me?”
“That bag?” The man pointed at the green bag on the table. “Is that the bag?”
“Yes, that’s the very one.”
“Okay, I’ll watch it. But what should I be watching it to do? Does it do tricks?”
The woman laughed. “Yes, sometimes it dances. I’ve seen it but nobody else has ever seen it, so you’d be really helping me if you watched my bag.”
“Well, a dancing bag, I certainly will keep an eye on it. I’ll keep an eagle eye on it. I’ll turn on my laptop’s video and record it, in case it starts dancing.”
Laughing again, the woman said, “Thank you. I’ll be right back.”
She headed to the restroom with the man watching, smiling after her. Beginning to return to his computer, he caught movement. Looking up, he gasped.
Her green bag was doing a jig on the table. As he gawked, the bag completed a spin move, then fell back and hopped up. As it danced more, he glanced around for signs of hidden cameras or other witnesses.
The restroom door opened. The bag flopped onto the table into its original position.
“Thank you,” the woman said, returning. “Did my bag dance for you?”
“Yes,” the man said. “It did dance. I wish I had recorded it. Your bag stood up and danced.”
Beginning to sit, the woman stared at him. As she said, “What,” he said, “Is this a joke? Am I on one of those prank shows like Candid Camera?”
“No, it’ s not a joke.” Picking up the green bag, the woman stepped closer to the man. “I thought you might — ” Her voice was low. “I need your help. Please come with me.”
Turning, she walked away, calling back over her shoulder, “Come on, hurry.”
Packing up his laptop, the man muttered, “Okay, okay, I will, I’m coming, but you have some explaining to do.” As he rushed after her, he muttered, “I should’ve never agreed to watch her bag.”
Just out of speaking with friends, reading the news, remembering the past, and pondering the future…
Into the stream came a song from The Falcon and the Snowman based on the book with the same title, with more words in it. A friend received it in a slush pile, read it through the evening one Friday, looked up the author and discovered they were in the same area code. The book excited him. A phone call was made against all standard protocols. Arrangements were made to connect the following Monday to talk about going forward.
Alas, by then, the author had contacted an agent, and everything changed. The book went to another publishing house, to my buddy’s dismay.
Meanwhile, the song — also with the same name — by Pat Metheny with David Bowie on vocas, reflects the disbelief and denial that I feel while reading the news. It isn’t particular to this era. I always think we should learn and move forward, but my idea of moving forward doesn’t align with what others think and want. To me, it’s like they’re moving backward and repeating history as they insist that we’re going forward.
Anyone, this 1985 ditty expresses my point of view. Cheers
Floofargy (floofinition) Animal state of indifference.
In use: “The cats heard the noises in the other room, but it was early afternoon, it didn’t seem threatening (and it was in the other room, and it didn’t sound like food might be involved), and they were comfortably napping, so…floofargy winning, the cats stretched their toes, shifted their heads, and resumed their slumber.”
Floofrupter (floofinition) – Something that interrupts an animal’s normal routines, activities, or processes.
In use: “Everything was quiet, and the cats were grooming themselves after eating, when a floofrupter in the form of a large ginger cat not seen before showed up at the glass patio door.”
This one was a bit different. In the military again, with a friend, and our wives, and others, in a hotel. He’d once worked for me, but eventually passed me in promotions while I chose to retire. Now, here he was a CMSgt, E9, which is the senior enlisted rank and pay grade in the Air Force, urging me to come with him to party and do things.
A special guest was due, the highest enlisted position in the Air Force, a position and rank called the Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force. There is only one at a time. My buddy was eager for me to meet him and have drinks with him.
I went along at first, but then decided, no. I’m done. Not interested. I’m passing.
He came by in his mess dress with medals and ribbons, and black tie to collect me. I was in jeans and a tee shirt. He said, “You’re not ready.” His face fell when I told him that I wasn’t going. He tried cajoling me to change my mind. I held firm.
“That’s not me,” I said.
He shook his head and said, “Man, I’ve so disappointed in you.”
I told him, “You’ll get over it.”
Then he went on, and I turned away to do other things.
The dream ended.
Well, time was up.
Past ‘up’.
I was supposed to have departed the fix about fifteen minutes before, so I was now behind my schedule. Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop writing. Coffee was gone, butt was uncomfortable, and my sciatic nerve was causing pain issue from being perched on the coffee shop’s new hard chairs. All the signs were aligned, time to go, mo-fo.
But —
Yes. Closing up with a stern order, go now, I packed it all up, strapped on the backpack, and headed into the sunshine. It was doing little good against the wintry air, but it was in the low 40s, a better place to be than, say, single digits that some in Alaska are enduring, and it’s better than Australia’s fires and blazing heat. So, couldn’t complain.
Walking up the hill, the distinctive piano playing of the Moody Blues cover of “Go Now” (1964) arrived in my stream. It’s a wondrous juxtaposition when the thing you’ve been doing, memories of places and events, and what you’re now doing come together in a perfectly mellow mood. I usually need a beer, a glass of wine, cup of coffee, or the toke of a joint to arrive in such a state.
But here I was, just me and the small town, with myself and music in my head, cold in the air, and sunshine on the other side of the valley.
Yes, it’s a new year but the first-world blues never end. Sometimes they lead to a rant.
Today’s focus is on the pharmacy.
They’ve done a fine job in the past, which is probably what lit this rant. I called my prescription refill in on Sunday, Jan. 5. The happy recording said it would be ready by Monday at 4 PM, all as completely expected.
That’s what’s called ‘foreshadowing’, kids.
Got in line today, Tuesday, Jan. 7. Was the only one in line. One cashier was in action. She was helping someone finish his purchase. When it was completed, she turned, and — ignoring me, shall we note — called across the store, “Rhonda, your prescription is ready.”
Now, that’s okay. She was helping Rhonda before, Rhonda’s prescription wasn’t ready, forcing Rhonda to wait, but, hey, do you mind saying something to the only customer in your line? I would consider it good manners and common sense.
After Rhonda’s purchase was completed, a few minutes later, it was my turn. Hey, short story, my prescription wasn’t ready. It wasn’t here. It would be here this afternoon.
No apology nor explanation. No reason for why I wasn’t called about it.
Now, as it happens, I live in town, so it’s not a big deal. I can return. But what about the people who have mobility issues, or who live outside of town, who need help to pick up their prescription, or who must make a special trip?
Yeah, that’s my rant. After dismissing my irritation (yes, via this post) (after returning a few hours later for the prescription), I’m good to go.
Onward.
Michael Seidel, writer 