Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofvericate (floofinition) – Telling a small lie to an animal, especially a pet.
In use: ‘She carefully opened a bag in the kitchen, trying not to make any noise, but the plastic material crinkled. Within seconds, the dog poked his head around the kitchen wall and looked in. “This isn’t food,” she floofvericated, hiding the chips. “It’s cleaning supplies.”‘
Saturday’s daylight is a thin gruel. Clouds dilute its potency, taking the light from blazing whisky to tepid tea. Enough light has wormed through the parting clouds that snow is seen on the surrounding mountain ranges. That’s something to cheer on for today, March 5, 2022. They’ll be updating the water tables and snowpack information this week, giving us a peek into our future expectations vis-à-vis our drought and water situation this summer. Sunrise came at 6:40 AM and the sun’s dip beneath the horizon at daylight’s end will be at 6:06 PM. We’re grinding closer to twelve hours of daylight. Moving toward the time shift, too, just when I’m starting to feel sorted. Temperatures smack of late winter/early spring — let’s call it lawiearing, pronounced ‘la wearing’ — with the current thermometer reading of 40 F (but it feels like 34) and an expectation of 44 for the high, much like yesterday.
I have two sick cats today. One isn’t eating, vomits once in a while, and remains aloof. The other is being turned into the elephant cat with tumors but still pushes to eat, socialize, and drink water. Caring for them challenges every aspect of normalcy. My admiration for full-time caregivers continue to rise. They must have enormous capacities to care for others and patience that’s beyond human.
I have Chrissie Hynde and the Pretenders singing “Middle of the Road” from 1983 up in the morning mental music stream. I was first thinking about 1983 from a comment related to me from my wife about a friend. That was like the pebble that rolls down and creates an avalanche. Then, you know, I looked out of the window and wondered, “What’s that in the middle of the road?” That’s all the cheeky little neurons needed to light the song up in my head.
Come on, baby. Let’s get some coffee in the middle of the road. Stay positive, etc., knock on wood and fingers crossed that it’ll work well as masks are slipped away in a bureaucratic striptease. Here’s the song. Cheers
Charge the morning
Charge the night
Charge the day
Charge the light
Charge the phone
And the car as well
Charge it all
On the way to hell
Charge your buys
At the stores
Charge your donations
To the poor
Charge the present
With some crimes
Charge the past
With guilty signs
Charge the government
And politicians, too
Charge me
And I’ll charge you
I looked in the closet
Under the bed
And in the clothes basket
And couldn’t find the time
Maybe I’d left it in the living room
Or in the car when I was out the other day
Doing errands, like buying food
It could have fallen out of my pocket
While I was walking
Or taking a nap
So I’d better check the sofa cushions
I retraced my steps
But the time didn’t turn up
I challenged my brain to remember
If I’d loaned it to someone
Or maybe gave it away to the Goodwill
While Marie Kondoing my life
After a while
I tried reading a book
Thinking that maybe by not doing something
And freeing my brain from that weighty effort
Of finding the time
I’ll remember what I did with the time
Because I just can’t find the time.
And another Friday has attacked.
My energy is low this March 4, 2022. All three of my floof companions are sick. That begs the question, WTF? One is cancer, and we’re just doing comfort and quality of life for him. He fights on, impressing me with his spirit and determination. Death not going to take him by the neck without feeling his murder mittens and their deadly devices. The other two…is it a cold? Malaise? COVID for cats? Another matter? WTF.
It’s a gray and cold, damp day. Like charcoal briquets from last summer’s final grilling. The sun’s energy today would lose a heating competition with a fast-food restaurant’s lamps. Rose before quarter to seven this morning. Gonna stay up there, dealing with the clouds, until just after six this evening. Temperature is now 37 F and weather services say a fist of degrees more will take us to our high. The clouds — must be more than one, but who can say — are a featureless gray monolith, like someone infused the typical blue with a squirt of gray so pale, it doesn’t seem like a color.
The neurons folded a Tom Petty song into the morning mental music stream. The neurons thought it an appropriate response to my chatting with one of the ill felines. “You Don’t Know How it Feels” from 1994 seemed right, though. I was trying to understand what the cat was feeling. It’s him singing it to me. I know little about his life. He goes out, is gone a bit, returns and seems fine, but what did he witness out there? Anyone try to get him?
Those sentiments can be glued onto just about anyone. Beyond their physical manifestation, we rarely glimpse their true history. Their inner world is shut off to our senses. We don’t know how it feels to be them. They don’t know how it feels to be me.
Definitely time for coffee. Stay positive, test negative, etc. You should know it by now. And it’s changing. Fingers crossed, right? Sure.
Here’s Tom. Cheers
