Floofthrob (floofinition) – An animal renowned for its attractiveness.
In use: “Whenever, wherever, someone saw Silver, her striking blue eyes and beautiful fur caused everyone to stop, stare, and exclaim over the floofthrob’s beauty.”
A Move Is Made
I was settled in and writing — but —
First came the cat, Tucker. The big black and white long-furred character kept muttering about something. Food? No. Not a desire to go outside into the cold wind, surely. Nope. Water? No, not water. Just give me attention, he suggested.
“Sorry, but I gotta write, buddy,” I told him. “I’ll brush you later, I promise.”
Tucker was like, okay, I understand. He jumped up on the desk, went to the hand holding the mouse, and went to work on it with his head as a huge volume of purrs rolled through the space. “I love you but that’s not conducive to writing, buddy,” I said, moving my hand and mouse away.
Well. He sat a while, considering my response before resigning himself to a nap on a stack of papers a foot away. Writing like crazy commenced again.
My wife arrived home from her exercise class about ten minutes later. Energy bubbled out in vocal expressions. Setting into her office space, she began playing videos on a high volume, laughing aloud at what she went, turning to him to say, “You should see — oh, sorry, never mind, you’re writing.”
After four of those interruptions, I needed to find a writing refuge. The laptop was tucked into the backpack, the winter coat and gloves donned. The real question was, what’s the destination? Ashland’s coffee shop scene had changed during the pandemic. Two favorites had joined my longtime haunt, The Beanery, on the rolls of places that used to be. A new place had opened, not conveniently located, but run by a person I knew who used to run one of my favorite coffee shops. Named Moxie, I’d try it.
I walked in. “Michael!” everyone inside shouted.
I started, embarrassed to be in the spotlight. The owner was behind the counter. “Michael was one of our favorite regulars at my other coffee shop,” she explained to everyone. I knew three of those people. The other six were smiling strangers.
Not a large space, Moxie had gone through a soft grand-opening as furniture and style is acquired and employed. It had key ingredients that I need in a coffee shop: a table with a plug. Coffee. A good vibe.
After catching up with people, I settled in with a double-shot mocha. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Monday’s Theme Music
A strong wind shoves tree branches down as snow showers lash the land at a forty-five-degree angle. Snow grabs hold of branches and leaves and builds around the bushes’ base. A sunshine spotlight dramatically highlights ponderous charcoal clouds as the air holds the thermometer at 33 F.
It looks like that kind of day where we’ll have a bit of everything.
A winter storm warning is in effect for a few more hours. The snow level has been lowered but it’s still a few hundred feet higher than us. Clouds shroud the far mountains, staying us from observing if anything has fallen yet.
Today is April 11, 2022, Monday. The sun came onstage at 6:37 AM. He’s due to bow out at 7:48 this evening.
The dream mind had an eventful night. One dream had me witnessing the cat puke baked beans on the bed beside me. There were clues that it was a dream, such as the sunshine streaming in through the window, and the bright yellow bedspread. But I woke to check anyway, peering around in the darkness for vomitus as the sleepy cat asked, “What’s going on? What are you doing?”
When I tried returning to sleep, the cat was now up and pushed in to have me scratch his nose, a favorite night pleasure for him, and then stroke his back. Sucked in by sleep, I stopped after a few seconds. He pushed up against me to start again. Out of that, the neurons called up “Love Me Two Times” by The Doors from 1967, where it stayed in the morning mental music stream. I offer it up to you. This video recording begins with Jim reciting some poetry.
The sun has retreated. Snow flurries fall. The charcoal clouds have yielded to a softer, more threatening light-gray mood. Time for coffee. Here’s the music. Cheers
Revolflooftion
Revolflooftion (floofinition) – 1. The course of an animal following a regular pattern.
In use: “Whenever he went into his fenced backyard, Spunky completed several revolflooftions of the grounds, sniffing out the news about visitors and guests.”
2. A sudden, complete, radical change in how an animal behaves or eats.
In use: “After being a stoic monk for the first three days, the little rescued foster went through a revolflooftion, becoming a small food vacuum that needed replenished every three hours.”
3. An animal’s takeover of a household or group of animals, regardless of species.
In use: “Within a week of her arrival, Bonnie — now known as Queen B — had staged a revolflooftion and ruled the other animals with a velvet paw.”
Making Sense
We received the official report about what happened to our friend, who was killed last month.
Mike was at the Senior Center, loading supplies into the back of his Subaru for his Food & Friends delivery route when the accident took place. First stories had us believing that a young man in a large pickup came blasting down the short, narrow road. Mike’s car was not touched at all, so that story baffled us. Next, we heard that a senior male was driving down the road, saw Mike, meant to step on the brake but instead pressed the gas. That was closer to the truth.
The whole story was that a senior man was backing up his truck to pick up his Food & Friends supplies. He’d gone up on the curb and pulled forward to try again. Intent on staying off the curb, he didn’t see Mike until the last minute. When he did, he panicked and pressed the gas instead of the brake, trapping Mike between the two vehicles’ rear bumpers.
Mike’s legs were crushed, his femoral arteries and veins severed. He bled out in less than a minute. Even though we now have all the facts, we still struggle to make sense of his death.
Sunday’s Theme Music
The sky looks like a gray warship going by. “Sun?” the valley asks. “What is this sun you speak of?”
Today is Sunday, April 10, 2022, but winter is on the stage for an encore, bringing snow to the upper levels — three thousand feet — and rain down in the valley, a perfect complement to the cold air. It’s 39 F now. We expect 50 but I don’t know… The cats are doubtful, curling up in warm spaces and already asleep, their day plan already being executed. We humans take snow and rain here in southern Oregon. Give us something to refill the water tables in all its phases and elements, and water the food chain.
The sun’s moment came at 6:39 AM but she balked over showing off her blaze. She leaves our stage at 7:47 this evening.
Another night of brisk dreams had my neurons singing several songs. Finally, while in the bathroom shaving and thinking about my reflection, they began singing bits of a song about being older, so much older. Took a minute or two to realize the neurons were having fun with me, playing the opening lines to John Mellencamp’s “Hurt So Good”. The neurons were sobered some when I pointed out that the song came out when I was living on Okinawa, which would put it forty years ago. They were like, “Wow, we were only twenty-six then. Where does the time go?” “Indeed, my little neurons,” I replied, “indeed.”
Gotta admit, this seems like a strange music video. Never saw it before. Was reluctant to post it after watching it. But I did, though I grimaced.
Stay positive, test negative…you know the routine by now. If you don’t, then I think you might be a lost cause. Coffee is coming up and I am out of here. Cheers
