Flooformation(floofinition) –1. Animal’s ability to change its look, attitude, or behavior.
In use: “Crystal was a sweet little Bombay black with a softly questioning meow, a deeply happy purr, and the most gorgeous black velvet fur. She loved sleeping on laps, but the first sound of an animal fight brought a flooformation into baleful-eyed ninja cat, terrifying other animals — and humans who got in her way.”
2. A change to an animal brought about by care, patience, and/or medical assistance.
In use: “His first years in the neighborhood, Tucker was identified as a black and white terror, a beast unwilling to back down and eager to bring it on. Dental work, patient words, and a home to call his, and his flooformation into a doting lap cat began.”
3. The standard pecking order or line up shared by animals.
In use: “When Michael took the cats for a walk at night — his three, with the neighbor’s big orange cat joining them — they always used the same flooformation, Jade on point, Rocky and Sammy flanking her, and the neighbor cat finishing the diamond as a rear guard. With Michael setting the pace and direction, the five moved as one.”
Sunshine beamed in on gray rays at 6:45 Ashlandia morning time. As the hours scurry past, snow fields lose their battle against heat. Their edges draw in with softer roundness. Reinforcement flurries are flying in later today. Will it be enough? Will it arrive in time? It’s dire for the snow. Caught in the situation, icicles cling to gutters and drainpipes. Crystallized snow falls off branches and leaves with tinkling hisses.
It’s 31 F, on its way to 44 F, according to the weather mongers.
It’s Thursday, March 2, 2023, a hazy wintry shade. Spring has temporarily slid its intentions back into the Ashlandia shadows. But fresh stocks of doughnuts are in stores and bakeries. Sunset arrives in the evening, 6:03.
Les chats aren’t pleased with the weather situation, particularly Papi. His energy boils up. Sunshine reinvigorates him. Tthere he goes, dashing through the snow…well, not dashing, but employing small steps, bean-toeing on his tiny paws — such small murder mittens, he has — back to the house’s inside warmth for distraction. We have things to do, we explain to him, around petting and playing with him. More, he begs with sweet eyes and voice. What are we to do against such a power but obey?
I cleaned our carpetting the other day. As I drifted through that mechanical process, my freed mind contemplated me, my life, my writing. Cleaning house is always a meditative function for me. As thoughts joined and fragmented, I drifted through the usual shallows of who I am, where I’m at, and where I’m hiding. Out of this, The Neurons pulled a song up, dusted it off, and put into into the mental music stream where it still plays this morning. “Holly Holy” by Neil Diamond” when I was a young teenager. Looking it up, records show it was 1969. It wasn’t a popular song among my friends. Too slow and most said, “I don’t understand it.” Nor did I. It’s buildup hooked me, and I sat, listening to the words, trying to get them right, baffled by what I heard. But I heard and understood some of the first lines, “Where I am, what I am, what I believe in,” had me. This is an exploration and a declaration. I identified with it.
Coffee’s aromatic steam rises from my cup, enticing my lips. Stay pos, and own this Thursday like it’s a gift you didn’t expect. Here’s the tune. Cheers
Papi, the famous ginger cat, galloped in to great applause and cheers. The door was shut and locked behind him.
Locals crowded around the dashing feline. “What’s the word, Papi? What’s it like out there?”
The heroic floof’s amber eyes flashed. His tail slashed the air. “Snow. Everywhere. Up to my belly. And still, it snows. Quick, I need food. Hurry, damn it.”
It’s been about sixteen hours straight of snow falling. Am I sure that it didn’t stop in the night? No. But it was falling whenever I looked. This is the small, dry powdery stuff. Little relative moisture in it. And it’s piling up. Eight inches in some places around my Ashlandia patch. No wind, so there’s no drifts.
It’s Tuesday, February 28, 2022. Sunrise’s ticket was punched at 6:48 AM. Sunset: (trumpet flourish) 6 PM.
The sky is white, as is the ground, and white stuff religiously falls. It’s like the white album. 30 degrees F out there, so not too cold. Today’s high will be 35. Tonight’s line will be 29. It’s a narrow operating margin. Feels like a good day to stay home. Drink coffee, read, write. Got books, will sit. And we have heat, power, all those things, and food. We’re in good shape compared to quake and tornado victims, and homeless folks. The city and churches have opened shelters and established places for people to go. Breakfast and dinner is served.
The Neurons are showing an impish side, playing Billy Idol’s “White Wedding” (1982). “It’s a nice day, for a, white wedding,” Idol sneers. “It’s a nice day to start again.”
Okay.
Stay pos. Hope you’re doing well wherever you be on this day, and that good things happen for you, to you, etc. Coffee is served. Here is Billy. Cheers
YouFloof(floofinition) – Social media site where animals post videos predominantly featuring humans acting silly, being sweet, or featuring stories of animals saving humans. Some videos of humans being cruel are also shared as a learning experience.
In use: “A popular YouFloof video depicts a team of humans working together to rescue stranded kittens. Many animals remark in the comments that such behavior restores their faith in humans.”
Sunrise’s 0650 arrival showed us, flurries. They’re on the smallish side but they’re earnest. With the thermometer flailing at 33 degrees F, the flurries pile up. But it all melts when they take a pause. Most be demoralizing to work so hard, dropping millions of flakes and yet see no appreciable accumulation.
It’s Monday. Feb. 27, 2023, the NTL day of February, in case you’ve not been told that February has twenty-eight days this year. Children are walking, school buses are running, parents are dropping off students and zipping off for errands, work, exercise classes. My wife went off to the last.
Sunset is due at 5:58 PM. The weather whizzes tell us 40 F is Ashlandia’s high temperature expectation.
The cats are amfloofvalent about the snow. Tucker looks out without comment. Papi demands freedom. Released to the back yard, he zips around through the flurries to the front porch and demands permission to come back in. He knows Oregon weather at this time of year, so he expects it to change, but it’s not happening as fast as he’d like. I suggest he sit down, maybe have a cup of coffee and observe the weather through the window. He replies, “Meeep.” It’s his trademark sound. That was his name. He’s sometimes referenced as the floof formerly known as Meep.
Meep and Tucker did eat in the same room this morning. That’s a remarkable achievement. Maybe flooftente is thawing. They’ve only lived together for six years. It takes time.
Tucker is doing better with his hind section but still can’t jump. Appetite is much improved, though. We took a risk last week. Bought a twenty-five pound bag of kibble from Costco. Tucker is very discriminating about what he’ll eat, like a child eyeing whatever is offered. Papi is more liberal with what he puts in his mouth. He’s like, “Food! Yes!” Chomp chomp. Neither of them like anything with sweet potato in it. The purchased food is chicken and rice.
Well, Tucker leaped into the new food with gusto. Emptied his kibble bowl and then pulled over the bag to paw out more. See? Improved appetite.
In dispiriting news from around the U.S., Republicans keep pushing to pull books from schools and libraries. Fear, you know. What will their blessed offspring learn? God, what will they see? Might see nekkid people. May even discover that everyone poops. In the name of the holy bible, we can’t have that. They much prefer blinders on their little ones.
They’re playing, “Let’s pretend.” Let’s pretend that people don’t identify differently from the genders we think they are. There are only two, you know. That’s what Jesus said, and the disciples agreed with them to a man. Let’s pretend that slavery was a good thing and that racism doesn’t exist. Thus it is that books may not reference sex, racism, slavery, and other things that make certain people ill. See, it’s only certain people pushing these agendas, a terrified vocal minority.
Okay, end snark.
Was pleased with the SAG results last night, as far as Everything Everywhere All at Once winning four honors. I enjoyed the movie and thought it deserving. Didn’t see many of the other movies, so I don’t know if my opinion is relevant.
BTW, just finished a novel, Legends and Lattes by Travis Baltree. Cited as high fantasy, and featuring a Orc swordswoman as the protagonist, it’s almost like a cozy, but it’s an entertaining and clever send-up of coffee houses as well. My wife found it and passed it on to me after she enjoyed it. I recommend it if you’re looking for a light read.
After a raucous dream night, I have “Bang!” playing on the morning mental music stream loud system. AJR released it a few years ago. It’s an interesting ditty, not about Jack and Diane, but about adulting, being responsible, like moving to your own place, filing taxes, and trying to remember a password.
Stay pos. The oaties have been eaten — they were of a sweet variety today, with brown sugar and blackberries. I have coffee at hand. Sips have been consumed. I am a go. Here’s the music. Pretend you know this song.
Floofabration(floofinition) – An animal’s activity to mark something by festivities or other deviation from routine.
In use: “After capturing a mouse and releasing it in the house, the cat began a floofabration, singing at the top of its lungs, “All praise the mighty hunter and the presents which he brings you, come see, come see, come see,” even though it was oh heavy snoring in the morning.”
Saturday in Ashlandia. February 25, 2023. Plenty of sunshine heading our way. People walk dogs by the house. A few tightly encased joggers take the hill. A robin patrols the backyard. Scrub jaws hop the front lawn. Cats lap up sunshine in living room pools.
It’s 37 F now, up from sunrise’s 29 F. The sun’s entrance was 6:53 AM. Exit from Ashlandia is expected at 5:52 this evening, after we’ve gone into the fifties. About 97 percent of our local snow is melted. Icy pockets remain in hollows, dips, and shadowy places where the sun don’t shine.
The Neurons are playing “Bitter Sweet Symphony” by the Verve in the morning mental music stream. My wife and I heard it in the car while running errands yesterday. The song came out in 1997, after I’d been retired from the military for over a year, after I’d bought a new car, and was basically living a new life. The song was right for the time, which found my circumstances improving. When we listened yesterday, K asked about part of the song. “It songs like he’s singing ‘moan’ to me.” No, it’s mold, as in this is how I’m molded.
Papi wants out to scout the terrain and inspect his environment. Stay pos. I’m off for coffee and breakfast. I’m thinking about making savory oatmeal. Here’s the Verve. Cheers
We’ve shifted back into standard Ashlandia winter mode. Dropping into the twenties at night, forties to fifties, all Fahrenheit, during the day.
It’s Friday. It’s Feb. 24, 2023. Sunshine broke in at 6:54 this morning, lighting up two fresh inches of snow. Was 29 F then. Now we’re up to 34 and the snow is melting. I saw the snow falling and accumulating as Papi made his usual declarations about being an outdoor animal and needing to leave the house, then changing his mind and demanding to come back in because he’s domesticated. The weather wizards inform us that we’ll see 46 F before the sun whisks away over the horizon at 5:55 PM.
Up north in Portland, friends share videos of heavier dumps, like ten inches. Meanwhile, a buddy down in Santa Cruz shows photos of several inches in his area. February is made for snow this year.
I had words in the head sometime in the last twenty-four heures that went, “Bring it on, here we are, win or lose.” I was contemplating the snow and drought and snowpack, and the associated variables that accumulate into our annual regional water concerns. Hearing my thoughts, The Neurons said, “Hey, we know that song,” and inundated my morning mental music stream with Float On by Modest Mouse from 2004. Jeremiah Green, the Modest drummer, passed away on the last day of 2022, cancer, 45 years old. I think of him because I enjoyed his drumming in this song. Reminders of our mortality are everywhere.
Stay positive. Carpes Friday. I’ll do the same after chugging some strong black roasted bean water. Here’s the tune. Cheers
Nofloofphobia(floofinition) – When someone suffers fear or anxiety about not having the company of an animal.
In use: “The worse part of vacations was not being with his fur pals. Nofloofphobia inevitably struck as he worried about them being okay and missed their sweet interactions with him and one another.”
