The Piss Club

It’s their informal name for themselves, The Piss Club, an expression adopted from the humaverse because the floof think it’s so funny. (Do humans really think that animals are so interested in that aspect of their business? See how funny it is?)

The Piss Club’s formal name eludes translation from floofish. For humans (and the animals involved), The Piss Club is about ensuring that animals (or their allies) are present whenever humans do their business. In homes with pets, this is generally easily accomplished. Public facilities can be handled via rats, birds, flies, mice, spiders, etc.

Those places are not the problem, and it’s not about humans doing their business. It’s about verifying what they are.

No, the problem is those private places where pets don’t reside, where spiders and insects are stalked and killed, and mice are treated like vermin. Those places are the problem, because those people might be the beings that The Piss Club are supposed to on guard against. Masquerading as humans, those beings could destroy Earth; it is their stated intention, and they are here on Earth.

And, while floofs (except for dinosaurs) usually originated on other worlds (or other universes, in frequent cases) (funny how two beings, say two cats, can look so much alike and yet be from different universes) and arrived on Earth to expand their influence (and study other cultures and life forms), they’ve grown fond of those crazy creatures called humans, and would like to keep them around. Because, as the floofs have found, humans don’t exist anywhere else in any other universe (unlike dinosaurs, which seem to be everywhere), making humans very unique creatures.

That’s why The Piss Club watches.

“Jimi Floofdrix”

“Jimi Floofdrix” (floofinition) – One of greatest floof guitarists of all time, a songwriter and performer who influenced generations of floof with her playing.

In use: “A favorite Jimi Floofdrix song was “Purple Fur”, a song which was performed at every concert after its commercial release.”

Purple fur all over the house, it even covers the kitchen mouse.

Actin’ funny, but I don’t know why, ‘cuse me while I bite this guy.

The Missing Piece

A piece was missing. The scowl hardening in his mind crossed boundaries, cementing his face into a likeness of dark irritation. A piece was missing! He’d tried every damn piece that he could find. None fit. None.

Well, that just ruined the jigsaw puzzle. Ruined it. It could never be finished. That meant it was ruined.

He clenched his fists. That’s why he despised buying used puzzles. They set you up for the chance, like this, that you would fail. (Well, it wasn’t him that failed — the piece was missing, so he didn’t fail), but it subverted any pleasure he could achieve, stealing the tangible joy of solving a puzzle. That wasn’t to be this time, which wasn’t fair. In fact, it was cruel.)

Vignettes of how this travesty may have come about began quiet visits. The people who’d donated the puzzle had lost the piece. They found it later, after giving the puzzle away. “Oh, look,” the husband said, picking a piece up off of the floor. “We missed a piece.” He looked around. “One of the cats must have been playing with it.” (Of course a cat had been involved.)

“Oh, no,” his wife said, hand to mouth. Reality sank into place. They’d taken the puzzle to the Goodwill over a month before. Maybe two. Nothing could be done now.

He would hunt them down. All he needed to do is get their DNA — probably some on the puzzle pieces, wasn’t there? — and access to a DNA database that had their DNA (hmm…that might be trickier, but he would find a way), and then —

“Found it.” His wife applied the piece with a flourish, pressing it down until it clicked solidly into place.

“How? Where was it?” Disbelief waxing like a warm sun, he stared at the piece. He’d literally tried every piece in the box, taking them out one by one, trying each piece, and then putting the eliminated pieces into a bowl. There was no way…

Well, there was one way. He eyed her. “Did you hide it?”

She giggled. “I’ll never tell.”

Parfloofmonious

Parfloofmonious (floofinition) – Unwilling to spend money on anything except items and food meant for animals.

In use: “Yes, she made money — she was an advertising agency creative director, winner of several awards (her team had won a Clio Award once – silver, but still), but she liked recycling (have you seen her recycled art?), bought used clothing, and was parfloofmonious to a fault, buying food for animal shelters and wild horse rescues, as well as keeping her own floofagerie well stocked with the best food, toys, blankets, and beds.”

Sunday’s Theme Music

This song, “Goodbye Stranger”, arrived in the stream after watching people at the coffee shop and on the streets, and inadvertently eavesdropping (they speak, I have ears…it happens).

A woman regularly brings her dog into the coffee shop. She usually sits back by the community table, where I like to work when I can. Her dog is often a cause for conversations with others. So I’ve learned that her dog is a rescue from an animal hoarding situation, that she’s had to work with him, that his name is Atlas, that he does much better now, but that other dogs’ barking makes him nervous, that he is her service dog. I’ve learned others had dogs like him, or saved from similar situations. He’s often compared to a Ridgeback but he isn’t one, not a true Ridgeback, she says.

But I’ve never heard her name, or why she needs a service dog, nor why she is bald. She wears dark glasses, but she watches people, back from her space by the wall, with her service dog beside her…

I’ve decided that I don’t want coffee shop friendships. I’m there to work. Cruel of me, innit? So I keep myself to myself, but as I leave each time, I feel her eyes watch me, and imagine I turn my head and say, “Goodbye, stranger.”

But I don’t. It has caused the 1979 Supertramp song to find itself in my stream.

 

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