Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Infloofherent (floofinition) – Lacking normal clarity or intelligibility in behavior or action in an animal.
In use: “Kitties and puppies were great joy to watch because they seemed so infloofherent, jumping and pouncing in one direction, threatening and attacking another before racing off as though frightened. The little girl loved it, the beginning of a joy she’d have for the rest of her life.”
The story begins in a house. I know it’s mine, but it’s enormous.
I’m in the living room, which is probably two thousand square feet. Huge plate-glass windows line three sides. Rain is falling outside. Under one side of the windows, I have a stone wall with a rock garden, small hill, and waterfall. Several broad-leafed green plants are growing in the rock garden. Yes, this is in my living room.
Three cats reside there with me, and they’re running around. My wife lives there, too; I know (in the dream) that she’s in another part of the house. We also have a few visitors.
I’m dealing mostly with the cats, feeding them, playing with them, while glancing outside at the rain and chatting with my visitors. One of them (Bob) calls attention to some water he sees on the floor in another room.
After going and confirming that a small puddle is in the kitchen, I call out the news to my wife and then begin inspecting the kitchen, looking for leaks, until I’ve discovered where it seems to be entering. Well, I’ll need to take care of that, I announce while wondering about its severity.
Then, quick change, I’m looking for the cats. One, a short-haired orange and white tabby, has gone outside. I go out after him. My yard is enormous. One side borders a sidewalk alongside a street. The cat is enjoying my efforts to capture him, capering across the green grass and evading me with mischievous ease. Then the cat stops in the game to look up the sidewalk. Following his look, I see a large orange and white cat (it looks like a Maine Coon Cat) coming down the sidewalk, tail up. The cat looks like a large, long-haired version of my cat. I comment on that to someone.
I’m back inside my house, but I’m gone down into the garage. Like other parts of the house, it’s huge, enough space for perhaps a dozen cars. None are there now. It’s spotless cement.
I’m preparing a fix. Although I knew what I was doing in the dream, I don’t know now what I was fixing, but I was planning to use celery. To fix whatever it was with the celery, I was using a chisel to break stalks of celery into small plugs. I had problems with some of the celery stalks, and then stopped because my visitors came down to find me, and I didn’t want them knowing what I was doing.
After I hid the celery and went to speak with them, the dream ended.
“The Moody Floofs” (floofinition) – Progressive floof band formed in Floofmingham, Floofland, in the mid 1960s.
In use: “The Moody Floofs experienced popularity in several countries in the late 1960s and early 1970s with songs like “I’m Just A Kitty (In A Rock and Roll Band)” and “Dogs in White Satin” to name the two most popular.”
Today reveals that I’m in a nostalgic, wistful mood. I stepped outside onto the back patio. Buds are on the trees, and the air smells rain-filled. Not a new rain nor a close rain, but hints that rain was nearby. Which, after a bit of talking to cats and thinking about the rise of spring (like it’s a rebellion in the air) reminded me of other times and places that seemed. Out of that came a Rolling Stones song, which, I guessed after a bit, would’ve been heard in 1973. Getting back into the house, I looked up “100 Years Ago”, confirming, 1973, from the album Goats Head Soup. Not quite a hundred years ago, but at least most of a lifetime ago.
“The buds were bursting and the air smelled sweet and strange,
and it seemed about a hundred years ago.”
Floofality (floofinition) – The quality or condition of being a floof.
In use: “Discussing floofality, the pet owners agreed that the most common trait to floofality was that each animal was unique and different, regardless of the similiarities among individuals, as unique and different as humans.”
Floofmarine (floofinition) – An animal who likes to burrow under things.
In use: “The dog proved to be a regular floofmarine, stealing under the covers and finding a space alongside their legs as soon as they were in bed and the lights were off.”
I dreamed that dandelions were growing out of my cat’s head. I decided to pull them, because I thought, the roots must be growing into his brain.
I pulled the weeds. As they came out, his head broke apart like the top of a chicken potpie. Brains spilled out. Panicking, I tried pushing them all back in.
Before that —
I was marrying a robot. The robot resembled a cross between an Oscar and Marvel’s Iron Man. He’d been sent to kill me. I’d captured and converted him, easy to do because he was a foot tall and never moved, standing like the Oscar all the time. I don’t know how he was expected to kill me, but I was marrying him.
Before that —
It was cake again. A large white sheet cake was on a table. It looked gorgeous, and delicious. Writing was on the top. Leaning forward to read it, I misjudged space and distance and began falling into the cake. Wildly flailing, I managed not to hit the cake, but tilted the table. The cake began sliding away. I tried grabbing it, seizing a handful of a corner and tearing it away.
In a slow-motion sequence, I raised the cake that I’d torn away up to my face. Yellow inside, it smelled like lemon. I put some into my mouth to taste it. It didn’t taste lemon. I couldn’t decide what the taste was.
The cake was still sliding off the table. Lunging forward, I caught the cake, stabilized the table, and ‘saved’ the cake, except it was a mess.
Others came in. I wanted to run but I had cake all over me. Obviously, I’d done whatever had happened to the cake. As the rest came up (all strangers, dressed casually, but with what looked like flutes of champagne in their hands), I said, “There was an accident.”
Ignoring that, smiling and talking, they looked at the cake as though nothing was wrong. One woman said something to me. I held up the handful of cake and asked, “Is this lemon?”
Before that —
I was in the military, dressed in a crisp light blue shirt with dark blue pants, supervising a group of young NCOs. I was assigning them positions, roles, and titles. “You’re NCOIC of Back Office Reporting, BOC.” I laughed. “And you are Console Operations, COPs.” That brought more wild laughter from me. To the third, I said, “And you’re NCOIC of Training, which is, well, that’s just training.” I found that hilarious.
Before that —
My cat was sick. I was looking for his medicine. After I went through the house, I finally found it (it’s the last place that you look, innit?). Then I couldn’t find the cat. Putting the medicine down, I went through the house looking for him. Finding him at last, I couldn’t find the medicine. I said, “I just had it.”
That’s all there was.
This song choice began from events that happened yesterday. A song came on the radio and got caught in a whirlpool in my stream. Hitting the coffee shop, I was singing it in my head. The young barista (eighteen-twenty?) (they all look so young) looked at me and asked (with a smile), “What song’s in your head?”
I sang back, “Dance for me, dance for me, dance for me, oh, oh, oh.”
She laughed. “No way. “Dance Monkey”. Tones and I.”
Yes.
“Easy song to get stuck in your head,” she said.
I agreed. Hard to get it out, though, making it today’s theme music.
Michael Seidel, writer 