Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofployment (floofinition) – Activity one engages in to support, help, or care for animals.
In use: “Unpaid floofployment is common in the U.S. as animals take over people’s homes, and then dominate their lives, but people often feel so enriched by the experience that they’ll sacrifice themselves and their comfort to ensure the floofs are safe, healthy, and happy.
Good mornin’. It’s Friday again, March 24, 2023, for the first time, we think.
Shakers of snow have spilled in several places. Tiny flakes laze from a pewter sky. Sun arrived a while again but the clouds have the numbers. 34 F now, the weather lizards explained with great showmanship it will reach 44 F.
Snow earned the cats’ disapproval. Tucker ate and found a warm space. Papi checked the front, back, front, back, front, back, front, back, and finally accepted that no comforting levels of sunshine could be found. Whiskers drooping in disapproval, he’s lounging on the sofa.
Meanwhile, I’ve retreated to the office with a cuppa coffee. With little solar energy feeding me, I needed a brew stat. Musically, The Neurons have imposed some Green Day in the morning mental music stream. I’m listening to “Holiday” (2005). Written in the aftermath of 9/11 and the retaliatory war started by Dubya’s administration, the songwriter was pissed and let fly his feelings. I shared them, because we were warned about WMD even though just months before, Colin Powell was reassuring us they weren’t there. Cheney had a different feel for it and added by Curveball, pushed for the war. They said it was gonna be a cake walk. Said it would pay for itself. Sure. Yeah, it was all dressed up very pretty in patriotism and UN resolutions, but it never made sense. Still does not.
Here’s the music. I wish you all a happy Friday. Stay pos. Cheers
Petting his cat, he said, “That’s my sweet baby.”
Never mind that the cat is about seven years old, so he’s no longer a baby, but middle-aged. It’s not about the math, anyway. We all know that when it comes to our floofs.
Today is 3.23.23. It’s a Thursday, hazy with spring clouds, wet with spring moisture, cool with spring temps. 42 F now, looking for 51 F later. I wouldn’t be surprised to see it higher. The systems have been underestimating our high temperatures in March. Sunrise sprang in on us at 7 AM. I wasn’t quite ready to be all light up but that’s nature. Meridian is 1:10 PM while sunset is at 7:20 PM.
For some reason, or maybe many reasons, the housefloofs demanded additional attention this AM. Of course they’re given focus before they’re fed. House rules, which the floofs wrote and signed. I wasn’t even consulted. They were just, these are the rules, and presented ’em, a floof accompli. Wasn’t with this floof set. The house rules were put in place decades ago by our first house floofs. Others have carried them on. So, besides the pre-eating attention (I think it was the second or third breakfast), each came back and said, “I need a little more attention before I go wash and nap.”
Today’s theme music was released in 1976. The band is Aerosmith, the album is Rocks. The song is “Nobody’s Fault”. It’s a hard rocker best heard at high vol, one of those songs that has you head beating and singing the lyrics. It’s an angry sounding song. Some of my favorite lyrics:
Lord I must be dreaming
What else could this be
Everybody’s screaming
Running for the sea
Holy lands are sinking
Birds take to the sky
The prophets are all stinking drunk
I know the reason why
h/t Genius.com
Houston, we have coffee at hand. Stay pos and best the day and its tricks and pranks. Here’s the beats. Cheers
He’d completed the second draft of the novel-in-progress. The Light of Memories.
Being done felt good but odd. Another round of editing and revising was needed, he felt. The Light of Memories has a complicated concept and story because he likes complicated. Huge cast of characters. Several betrayals and double crosses. He felt he’d gotten it all right, but another round wouldn’t hurt.
With a little surprise, he saw in his notes that he’d begun writing the novel on March 20, 2022. One year and two days later, here he was, done with the second draft. It feels very satisfying. He’ll see after the next round.
Now he’d go on a break from it. Let it recede from mind so he sees it with fresh eyes. It’d be hard. He’d been with those characters and their stories almost every day for a year. He was going to miss his time with them. Maybe he would start another novel. He had a dozen other concepts in mind. Had even written opening chapters for half of them. More was teeming in his head.
It felt too soon. Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe not. He’d have some coffee and see.
Tomorrow.
Amen to that.
Today is Wednesday, March 22, 2023. That means it’s World Water Day! Children around the world celebrate as water fairies come to them at night and throw water on them. Parents don’t know about the water fairies and accuse the children of wetting themselves. “It was the water fairies,” the children protest. “Don’t lie to me,” parents reply. “There are no water fairies.”
The parents, sadly, are right. No water fairies exist. That’s why we have this international observance. From Wikipedia.org, “World Water Day is an annual United Nations (UN) observance day held on 22 March that highlights the importance of fresh water.” Many around the world don’t have regular access to fresh water, a number that the UN puts at 1 out of every 4. True in the United States, too, which many proudly claim as the world greatest nation. Drought, overuse, and pollution has damaged or destroyed water supplies in the U.S. We’re trying to build them back up and be smarter in our use, but it takes a nation, and we’re pretty divided on matters, even matters like water.
The sun climbed over the hills and mountains east of Ashlandia at 7:08 this morning and will disappear over the Earth’s curvature at 7:26 this evening. Puffy, flat, fragmented white clouds obscure the sun and blue sky. It’ll rain today, the weather fornicators inform us. Current temp is 42 — F, you know — and it’ll climb into the upper fifties, despite the clouds and rain. Not much rain will fall, less than a twentieth of an inch. Upon hearing this, the house floofs, Tucker and Papi, demanded to be let out to enjoy the day before the rain arrived. Smart cats. Yeah.
With talk about rain and water, The Neurons have poured a long list of songs about the subjects into the morning mental music stream. Think about it and you’ll probably find some favorites of your own about rain or water. Elvis P., Deep Purple, Simon and Garfunkel, CCR, BJ Thomas, Joey Bishop, Billy Joel, the Eurythmics, Tina Turner, Eric Clapton, the Beatles, are among the many who had rain or water songs. Those are performers from the first half of my life. Add to them the many, many performers who added more, such as Avril Lavigne, Billie Eilish, and Adele. Rain, water, etc., is a popular theme for music.
In the end, I went with Radiohead, “High and Dry”, 1995. Just like its vibe. Good reflective song, and a solid addition to a cup of coffee.
Stay pos. Begin with the end in mind and make Wednesday worth remembering. I have my coffee, thanks, but I might get a warmer. Stay strong. Here’s the beats.
SPECIAL NOTE: The clouds overtook the sun and the cats have returned to inside the house. Cheers
Many thoughts were lapping my head.
“Who is he?” the stranger asked.
“Don’t know.” I considered the dead man and holstered my gun. “He didn’t introduce himself. Speaking of that…” I cast a net over the short woman beside me. She’d walked up just after the other breathed his last. She was fortunate I didn’t shoot her.
She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Oh, my name. Nancy Sinatra, I’ve decided.”
“You decided.” She didn’t have a car. Numerous new questions joined my mental list.
The stranger chortled. “I’m an alien. Don’t have a human name. First time I’ve had a body like this. First time to Earth.”
Alien. Figured. I’d need to delve into that.
I shifted my victim to look at his face. Nice forehead shot, I congratulated myself. Been lucky to kill him. He’d had the most important element — surprise — but I was faster. “Can you help me with this body?” I’d decided to toss him over the nearby edge into the ravine below. Wasn’t nothing but starlight and a skinny moon’s cast for illumination but I knew the ravine was there. Sure wasn’t burying him. Figured it had to be done fast. Before others arrived.
She picked up the body. All five four of her hefting six feet plus something inches and a few hundred pounds, putting him over a shoulder like a light jacket.
“Geez,” I said. “Respect.”
She nodded. “Where to?”
I directed her, “Follow me.” I hope she wasn’t going to kick me over with my dead guy. “Be careful.”
“I will. I can see better than you.”
“Oh. I see.” Ha, ha. I use humor to cope. It’s not good humor.
“Why’d you kill him, Tate?”
“You know my name.”
We stopped and looked together into the dark valley at our feet. “That’s why I’m here,” she said. Not even breathing hard.
“Toss him,” I said.
She did.
We listened to his downward journey and the final silence. A warm wind licked my skin. A cricket began a lonely solo.
“You didn’t say why you killed him,” Nancy Sinatra said.
“Self defense. He tried to kill me when I arrived.”
“Ah. Prompts a difficult question, doesn’t it?”
“What?” I knew what but I was challenging and measuring. Figuring out who Nancy Sinatra was. Wondering why dead guy was alone.
“You came back in time. So how did he know you’d be here?”
The billion dollar question. “Same as you, I suppose.”
“Nope. You told me to be here. I didn’t tell anyone. So how did he know?”
That’s what worried me. Yet he was alone. “Yep. If I do it again, I’ll need to come back a little earlier. How are your shoes? They made for walking?”
“What?” Nancy Sinatra’s puzzlement carried like an echo across a canyon. “They’re shoes. What else would they be made for?”
I chuckled. “Forget it. Start walking. I’m going to teach you a song.”
I knew the song from my future. I wondered why she chose that name.
Michael Seidel, writer 