Floofcall (floofinition) – 1. The sound people make to call animals or their pets.
In use: “Studies show that clicking their tongue or making a kissing noise are the most common floofcalls used in America.”
2. A video conference call dominated by animals.
In use: “I apologized for my cat taking over my screen during a Zoom, but then sixty percent of the people said their cats were also with them. In a moment, all the screens were cats, making it a perfect floofcall.”
3. A telephone call to check on an animal’s health.
In use: “After she put Chef Eddie in for surgery, she waited all day for the floofcall that came, telling her that her dog was okay.”
4. The sound an animal makes to attract attention from people or other animals.
In use: “Most people know the floofcalls that their animals make and what they mean: a special bark, meow, whine, or chirp informing their people, feed me, pet me, play with me, or take me for a walk.”
Think it’s something that might be going around, like around the world, affecting our hopes and dreams, our plans and efforts.
Drifting through the morning routines, “Feel Good Inc” by the Gorillaz (2005) puddled around my thoughts. I came into the middle of the song, as I often do.
hey just have to go ’cause they don’t know wack
So all you fill the streets it’s appealing to see
You wont get out the county, ‘cos you’re bad and free
You’ve got a new horizon It’s ephemeral style.
A melancholy town where we never smile.
And all I wanna hear is my message beep.
My dreams, they’ve got to kiss, because I don’t get sleep, no.
Windmill, Windmill for the land.
Turn forever hand in hand
Take it all in on your stride
It is ticking, falling down
Love forever love is free
Let’s turn forever you and me
Windmill, windmill for the land
Is everybody in?
Laughing gas these hazmats, fast cats
h/t to Metrolyrics.com
Three out of five dreams. It sounds like one of those old commercials about dentists and gum.
Of my five remembered dreams last night, two were intriguing but don’t pester my brain as the others do. The last one was downright depressing.
In the first of the three, I’d come to have a new Aston Martin roadster. Gorgeous car, ticketing out to a quarter million dollars. Deciding to keep it, I forged documents to show myself as the owner. Then I drove it around, showing it off.
People were admiring. I basked in it. Young friends asked for rides. I obliged, turning off traction control and shredding expensive tires with smoky burnouts.
Then…I started wondering, what’s going to happen? How will this end? They company will realize that the documents are forgeries. I thought, I need to get it back to them, and began crazy plotting to do that.
I assign this dream to the imposter syndrome surfacing yet again.
The second dream, brief, was amusing and sardonic.
I was in a large warehouse sort of building. Pale green, it was well-lit. Several others were with me. As we walked around and looked around — the dream provided no excuse for this setting — someone said, “What do all those buttons and switches do?”
And I, still looking up at the ceiling, answered, “Try them and see. That’s what I always do.”
Yeah, see? I always press my own buttons.
In the third dream to be discussed, I was leaving one overseas location to go home. I don’t think I was in the military…at first.
Ah, yes: confused identity. Still fall back on identifying myself in the military as who I am.
There was a gathering first…for someone else, another, who was younger. I supported that, giving gifts. I had a collection of things I wanted to keep together. Some many things were happening in parallel, all became a hasty rush. Going to leave — because it was time — someone gave me a pile of shredded docs and torn papers.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“That stuff you wanted to keep because it was important.”
I was incredulous, of course. “It’s all destroyed.”
“But it’s all there.”
They thought was a joke.
I tried shaking it off. Champagne was there.
“Let’s have champagne to celebrate my friend.” I picked up the bottle and unwrapped the cork, then popped it off. It discharged with tired energy, barely emitting a pop and shooting off about six feet. So dismaying.
Champagne foamed out. I stoppered it with my thumb. “We need glasses.” All started searching for something to pour the champagne in. No drinking glasses could be found. We improvised with paper cups that we made.
Then I was off to leave. You ever see the show, “Burn Notice”? Bruce Campbell plays Sam Axe in it; he sometimes employs a fake identity, Chuck Finley.
Well, here was Bruce as Sam, saying he was Chuck, accompanying me to the checkpoint.
I’m in an Air Force uniform now, last in light. An old guy is checking me through. You put your name onto a clipboard and sign it, then produce your document. He was looking for a form 126. I didn’t have my form 126. I searched and searched. I had it earlier; now it was gone.
“Then you can’t go in,” he said.
Sam Axe to the inspector, “Come on, buddy, can’t you cut him a break?”
The inspector just looked at him.
Sam tried again. “You know who he is?” He indicates me. “You don’t want to piss him off.”
I pulled out my wallet, the one purchased in the Philippines long ago. I still have it, it’s lovely, but I don’t use it. In the dream, it started falling apart in my hands. “My wallet,” I said. “I bought this in the Philippines when I was young.”
The inspector graced me with a sad headshake and walked away. Sam said, “Well, I tried.” He handed me clothes and walked off.
I was in my uniform. I would change now. I removed my Air Force trousers and put on the new trousers. They were about two feet too long and way too large at the waist. They also emitted a weird black dust.
Sighing, I removed them, intending to put my uniform back on. A tour group of women arrived, talking about books, as I was changing. “One woman said, “Sir, you need to leave. You’re in our way.”
Ouch. Dream end.
I half-awoke with dreams drifting through my head. Grey morning light dully lit the room. A cat could be heard puking in the other room.