He liked creating games out of the things he did. Arriving at the coffee shop, he noted the parked cars. The game was, ‘Whose Car is This?’ He liked matching cars with the individuals inside.
Another regular game was Sock Toss when he put clothes away after the laundry was done. He had a .600 average.
The oddest game was probably sneak up on the cats. Tucker wasn’t included much any longer. He was old and slept deeply. Papi was his usual target, but the little ginger usually moved ears and lifted his head to smile at him before he was within three feet. Papi knew the game, and he always won.
Fabfloofist(floofinition) – 1. Someone who makes up stories about animals.
In use: “Sarah was just three years old, but she was already a fabfloofist, regaling her relatives with adventure tales featuring the family’s cat and dog.”
6:37 Papi Standard Time. 22 degrees F. “Let me out,” the ginger floof bellows while prancing around on his tippy toes, tail up.
I walk along, explaining to the walls that it’s 22 degrees outside, too cold for Papi to go outside, but I open the door for him. Papi steps up, looks out, takes a breath, steps back. “Let’s try the front door,” Papi suggests. We do, just to satisfy him. Open-step up-breath-back in. “That’s not what I want,” Papi says. “Feed me.”
I feed him, along with Tucker, who is a savvy fellow and saw where this was going. Then I’m back to bed. See, I went through this once four hours earlier with Papi. Except he went out that time. Stayed out for almost twenty minutes before hammering the door for re-entry. He blasted through the house when I opened the door, living up to his nom de floof, Thunderpaws.
I, of course, went to the bathroom. My bladder said, since you’re up. Sure. Somewhere in there, The Neurons began singing “Lucretia MacEvil”.
Hello, Monday.
It’s January 30, 2023. 9 AM now, the temperatures has climbed the heights to 27 F. Other than the cold, it’s a fine sunny day, complete with blue sky, and frost free, too. Sunrise came at 7:26 AM and the turning away will remove sunshine from our visible range at 5:23 PM.
“Lucretia MacEvil” is a funky, brass dominated song by Blood, Sweat, and Tears, released in 1970. I have no idea why it’s circulating the morning mental music stream. I’d dreamed, yes. Women were featured, yes. But the dreams and women were all pleasant. Who knows the ways of The Neurons? Not I.
The ‘MacEvil’ part of the song’s title always puts me in mind of McDonald’s, right? I say ‘MacEvil’ and I have that little Micky D theme song follow it. I figure it must be some kind of adult meal. It’s not on the menu and you must know the code word to order it. It’s only sold to adults, and you must provide ID. Totally worth it, though, I imagine.
I have my coffee. Countdown has commenced. We’ll soon have liftoff. Stay positive. Happy Moanday. Here’s the mood music. Cheers
Floof Over Matter (Often abbreviated as FOM or F.O.M.) (floofinition) 1. Ad hoc policy that a household or organization’s care of animals is paramount.
In use: “He planned to make some changes in the house, but they were immediately terminated because of F.O.M., as his wife said, ‘You can’t do that. It’ll upset the cats and dogs.’ He could have argued that, but they’d been married over a quarter of a century. He understood floof over matter. It was only the floofs and their health and happiness who mattered most.”
2. Magic talents used by animals to make the impossible appear to happen.
In use: “She never understood how her cat got into the places which seemed impossible. Then she read a blog post about F.O.M. — Floof Over Matter — and began to understand that animals had powers which were beyond human comprehension.”
My cat, Tucker, has developed a method of meowing without opening his mouth. Lately, the sound coming out sometimes sounds like he’s saying my name, “Michael. Michael.” Today, after I put food into his bowl, it sounded like he said, “Thank you.”
“One day, one to go…” Opening words from the song in my morning mental music stream, “Leave It” by Yes, 1984, The Neuron’s response to the writing and editing process. The inspirational words were, “One day, one to go.” I’d say that to myself as I revised by chapter. A zillion chapters remain but I take them one by one.
It’s Friday again. Clouds have swarmed over the house, kicking sunshine into a faded backdrop. Temperature is kissing 36 F but we’re told 42 F is possible. So is rain and snow.
Today’s version of January 27 was delivered by 2023. I’m sure many things have happened to me on January 27 in previous years but the glue has come off those memories. That’s how it goes.
Les chats’ attitude has dipped below the happy line due to the sunshine’s level. They walk around chatting up how nice it would be to go outside and sit in the sun. They can go out, but I keep telling them, there is no shine the way you’re wishing for it, kitties, not at this hour on this day. Their insistence must be admired. Their reality says, warm sunshine is somewhere, and I will find it. No wonder so many writers have feline companions.
Alright, coffee is here. I’m going to hit the cup and read the news. Stay positive and enjoy your Friday, making of it what you can.
Midnight was riding up when he slipped on his slippers and fleece. Out the front door he went into a cold, inky night, a cat at his heels.
He closed the front door. The cat galloped ahead. Hard stars ruled the blackness. Stopping a dozen feet from the house, he stared up until Saturn’s yellow spot was located, and then watched until he found the green comet, C/2022 E3. He watched it for a few minutes, imagining the comet’s journey, pleased that he’d seen it.
Until next time, he told it with a small wave and then returned to his house, holding the door open until the cat ran back in, too.
