Flooftifying(floofinition) To make suitable or sensible to an animal’s needs. Origins: Middle Floofish, 18th century.
In Use: “When getting ready to have offspring, many animals begin flooftifying a suitable location to give birth and initially raise their offspring, usually a place that’s warm, safe, and dry.”
In Use: “Floofifying a house is often needed when a new puppy joins a household, as they sometimes display an astonishing ability to damage things and get into trouble.”
In Use: “When Karla acquired two new cats, she decided flooftifying her patio by turning part of it into a catio that’s accessible by the cats from a window exit was absolutely the right thing to do.”
The world is full of colors. Pinks, yellow, and greens win the eye. Must be spring in Ashlandia. Temp is 45 F, however, it feels like 60, if you stand just the right way. ‘They’ say it’ll be 55 F today as our high but left out how it will feel. Will it rain? Yes! Maybe! It’s Saturda, March 29, 2025, so who knows? I will dress for dry and rainy weather. Yeah, it’ll be a dorkish sight.
Papi the ginger blade, known locally as Butter Butt, doensn’t seem upset with us any longer. Could be because we bribed him with chumley and other treats. I don’t think he forgot. He seems to have a long memory about things. It could be that he’s trying to mislead me into thinking he’s forgotten and forgiven, and then raise floofhem some night when we really need sleep. That sort of cunning planning feels like his style.
I surfed through a wild dream last night. Whole thing was just a series of flash epiphanies in dark night. I was telling myself that star energy runs through us, firing the little nuclear responses in our cells that generate our life energy. We die when the star energy can no longer feed our cells. Star energy comes through our chakras into our corporeal beings, and so on. Time is something we made up, and we have it all wrong. Everything is happening at once. No past, no future. Time was created so we could think in a more orderly manner but we’ve taken it too fair. Now it’s our straitjacket.
There was much, much more. Such as there is only one universe, and the idea that we treat our bodies wrong by trying to heal it when we should be reversing things. Dream me didn’t explain how that was supposed to be accomplished.
I awoke really hot. There are different kinds of hot for us as humans. Drinking a hot beverage feels one way. Sex hot, sun hot, fever hot, sports hot which incudes dripping sweat, furnace hot, which dries us out, desert hot, are all different. If you think about these hots, you notice how each feels unique, and our bodies respond differently to each. Well, the hot felt when I awoke from this dream was wholly different from any of those hot experience. Perhaps that’s all only me. I’ve never discussed the different sort of hots I feel with others
Anyway, I awoke feeling a different manner of hot. Then I headed for the bathroom to pee.
Der Neurons have sprung “Star Man” by Davide Bowie on the morning mental music stream. This was from Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust era. Released in 1972, I don’t hear it often on the radio in ‘Merica. But I personally enjoy its message of hope being delivered by a Starman to Earth’s youth. I went with the Top of the Pops video performance. Even though the song is being mimed, it awakened and impressed many more people to the talent named Bowie.
Coffee is reassuring me once again. Time to play through. Hope your day is remarkable for you in many good ways. Peace out.
The cat was mad at us this morning. Papi the ginger blade made this clear in several way. One, he’d bang on the door to come in the house but then would refuse to come in. He would eventually, though, because it wasn’t his preferred weather outside, as the local weather gods ordered rain and wind. Also, inside is where the food is. Once inside, he’d sit ten feet away, giving us hard, judgemental stares.
“Butter Butt is mad at me because I refused to let him out,” my wife said. “He kept crying but I told him no and he shut up and went away.”
My wife and I have been sleeping in separate rooms because of her medical issues. “Butter Butt went away from your door but he came to me. I let him in and out a few times but finally also said no,” I answer.
“How does he let you know that he wants in?” my wife asked.
“He bangs on the bedroom door slider.”
“So I let him out the front door and he goes around and asks you to come in the back,” my wife said.
“That’s the gist.” It’s more involved, but why go there.
“You’re a demanding little animal,” my wife says to Papi in scolding tones
The orange floof lifts his chin, gives her one more long look, and walks away.
Disappointment is heavy in Ashlandia. A big storm was forecasted for us. It perversely excited us but then did not arrive. Perversely, people are disappointed. At least three posts on NextDoor and Facebook have people expressing their disapppointment that the storm did not come.
Well, it did a little. “I heard a thunk,” my wife says.
“Was that the rock on the front porch?” I noticed it when I came home.
She nodded. “Yes, I think the wind blew the top two rocks off the cairn. At least, I heard the thunk and locked out and saw the rocks and nothing else.”
Very circumstantial evidence. “I’ll put them back.” I must because she can’t balance them on the cairn. We don’t know why.
I’m disappointed, but not over the storm. I’d planned to weed around our hydrangea. Put it on my to-do list and everything. But she weeded. I’m happy the job is done but displeased that I wasn’t the one to do it. There are many more weeding opportunities. That’s little consolation.
Today is Thirstda, March 27 2025. Spring continues dancing with our expectations. We started out with a dispiriting cloud display. The sky was tiled dark and white. Showers fell. Now, it’s sunny and in the upper 50s F. More rain is expected. So is more sun. And warmer temperatures, along with colder temperatures.
Papi the ginger blade, commonly referenced as Butter Butt, is exhausted. Days of sunshine emboldened him to dash around like a one-year old. Now he’s sleeping like a kitten. Took up his favorite malabar chair seat in mid-morning, washed, and tucked the eyes shut.
He used the litter box for a bowel movement today. That’s unusual for him. He’s enormously fastidious about it. His scratching around was the clue. When he pees in the box, he steps in and then out. No scratching.
I told my wife about it. “This is literally the third time he’s used the litter box like that since Tucker passed,” I noted. “I think it’s because it was raining. He didn’t want to go in the rain and get his fur wet.”
The Neurons have lined up “Liar” by Three Dog Night in the morning mental music stream. Yes, this is a Trusk Regime production. Jonah Goldberg caught them in a security breach. He told them so. They spun it like he was a Democrat and a liar. Also pretended that it was nothing. No classified to see here, no sir. Then The Atlantic posted the transcripts. Hah. The leak was one thing; the attempted cover up is a mess. So, “Liar” it is.
Originally an Argent song — and you can hear their musical fingerprints all over it — Three Dog Night released their cover of “Liar” in 1971 and became another top twenty offering for the group in several nations.
Coffee has perked me up again. (Get it? Sure. You’re not slow.) Time to rock and roll. Cheers
Periflooftetic(floofinition) – An animal with a wandering or restless nature. Origins: Flooce, Middle Floof, and Flooftin, 15th century.
In Use: “Quinn was a long-haired and handsome periflooftetic, resting in a window seat one minute, asleep on a chair in the next, and outdoors in the back yard at the next glance.”
In Use: “Sleeping through the day, Braveheart the bulldog was a nocturnal periflooftetic, thumping up and down the stairs, padding along the halls, investigating every sound with a gruff grunt.”
I’m sneezing this morning. Blowing my nose. Allergies, I think. Don’t try to tell me otherwise. Not yet. I’m awaiting other symptoms.
Our stretch of early spring sunshine is petering away. Clouds have already gathered to enjoy it, blocking blue sky views. Having eaten last night, my wife is up early, interrupting my ebb and flow. She’s watching video after video. Most are humorous. I treat it like I’m in the coffee shop and some idiot is watching their phone or playing a game or talking VERY LOUDLY ON THE TELEPHONE. I’m thinking about how to give the cat his blood pressure meds. He’s onto hiding it in a tube of Churri. I’ve had to double the Churri to get him to eat it. My wife mistakenly calls Churri chumley, so chumley is now its official household name.
This is Wenzda, March 26, 2025. It’s already 59 F and will reach 73 F. But winds are due starting at 11 AM. Some kind of storm is coming. Lightning, winds, rain, but most of that is further up north. We’re expecting some stuff, mostly wind and lower temperatures.
The Trusk Regime and GOTP inspired The Neurons’ song choice today. Donald Trump is doing a new dance called the Tariff Shuffle. ‘We’re gonna tariff the shit out of everybody. Starting today! No, tomorrow! Next week! No, today!’ I think he’s addicted to getting attention out of being like a guy on the corner shouting about the end of the world and his lost shoe.
Besides the Tariff Shuffle, we have a security leak and a bunch of disclaiming and denying that anything went wrong, along with classic blamethemessengeritis. That tactic was a major beltway flop.
Next up, we have judges and courts ruling against the Trusk Regime. They wail like a teething infant dropping its pacifier. The ol’ self-delared “Law & Order” party as personified by ‘good guy’ Mike Johnson thinks they should do away with judges and courts who rule against them. You know, as it’s put forth in the U.S. Constitution. As I understand it, the judicial branch was set up specifically as a check on the other two branches. So Johnson is proposing to undermine the Constitution by eliminating a check.
With that host of ideas bubbling in my grey matter, The Neurons brought out a song titled “Unbelieveable”. EMF wrote and performed the song, releasing it for public consumption in 1990. The main thing about it is the repeating refrain (yeah, I’m being redundant there, blame it on a lack of coffee), “The things you say. You’re unbelievable.” Which is how I often react to Trusk Regime news. As in, Trump executive order targets Chicago-based law firm Jenner & Block. Unbelievable.
Papi has been given his meds. I managed to use just one chumley, mixing it well and adding warm water. He lapped it up. I won today. On to coffee. It’s my reward.
Obfloofrate(floofinition) – An animal who obstinately refuses to stop doing ‘wrong doing’. Origins: 15th century Middle Floofish.
In Use: “People who live with cats often find the little felines to be obfloofrate about where they will sit, even if people tell them that the kitchen counter is not place for a cat.”
In Use: “Loveable and goofy, the black Lab was also an obfloofrate squirrel chaser.”
In Use: “Almost perversely obfloofrate, Jade seemed to delight in knocking things off the dresser at around three AM.”
The cat wanted out. 3:20 AM, according to my sleep-blurred vision. Following his victory prance to the door, I gave him the usual admonitions about being safe, smart, staying close, and not letting anything get him. He meowed back with a little defiance, as if to say, “Gosh, I know! You tell me this a million times a day.”
A while later, sun was breaking in through the window. I cowered from it like a vampire. But it wasn’t the sun calling me: the cat wanted back in. 6:32. He came in, rushing to his kibble bowl like a starving maniac. I stumble-walk back to bed.
“Meow,” he said shortly, batting blinds. I want out.
“No,” I answered. “Not gonna happen.”
Of course it happened.
This is Twosda, March 25, 2025. The sun is glowing hard, heating an endless blue sky. Sensing a change in the air, the cat is eager to take advantage of it. “Sure,” I sleep-spoke to him. “You slept all day yesterday. I saw you, curled up in the malabar chair.”
“Meow,” the cat answered. “Out.”
It’s already 54 F. I don’t know what it feels like. I feel like I’d like more sleep. Supposed to get to 78 F today. Huzzah. Yawn. Seriously, I mean, huzzah, but I gotta get some coffee in me before I can give it the enthusiasm it deserves.
I’m suspicious of the weather. This is Oregon. Snow still covers some mountain tops, eyeing us in the valley. I suspect winter is gonna try to slip another storm over us. It’s just like weather to lure us with warm temperatures and friendly skins and then spring out at us like a demented drunk uncle and shout, “Got you.” And then laugh like they’re crazy.
Today’s morning mental music stream Neurons are offering The Friends of Distinction with “Going In Circles”. The gentle soulful 1969 song is in there because The Neurons think it’s funny about how the cat has me getting up to let him in and out over and over again. When it’s warmer, the pet door will be put back into place so he can leave and enter as he wants. But that temperature threshold hasn’t been achieved yet.
In recent news items, Donald Trump was caught lying. Trump said he didn’t sign controversial proclamation. The Federal Register shows one with his signature. Isn’t this rich from the administration which tried to say that President Biden’s pardons weren’t real because, signature. Autosigning thingy. “Did he know what he was signing?” they asked. Think they confused which person doesn’t know what they’re saying. Really, we know that Trump knew what he was signing; he just lied about it because it was giving him negative heat. Trump melts and lies under that kind of heat, sure as the sun’s motion.
Also, measles outbreaks are spreading. It’s mostly among the unvaccinated. You know, intelligent people, learning from what’s happening, would develop and administer vaccines to stop that. But we’re dealing with a new level of denial and irrational thinking with the Trusk Regime and the MAGAts who installed them.
A silky blue sky weaves hope and optimism in Ashlandia. A gorgeous spring day is being promised. 63 F now, ‘they’ tell us it feels like 71 F. I agree with them. Plentiful sunshine, as ‘they’ say. 73 F is the predicted high.
This is Munda, March 24, 2025. I dig this kind of sunshine. Especially after months of rain and clouds and the kind of chilly weather that makes me feel older than I am.
The cat is also quite pleased, I think. He zooms around furniture and through rooms. “Sun recharge your batteries?” I ask. He stops, sits, stares. Classic 3s floofhavior. After three seconds of this, he sticks a rear leg out and washes its underside. I begin for the kitchen. He pauses the washing to gift me with a scrutinizing stare. “You’ll get yours,” I say, because I know that whereismyfood look.
In the kitchen, I’m doing my morning things. Gotta move faster today. Leaving to do Food & Friends deliveries at 10 AM. Everything must be slightly accelerated. Nanoseconds must be shaved away from routines. I don’t feel like shaving time off today. I’m not a Formula 1 driver doing qualifying laps.
I give Papi his first feeding. That’s misleading. He’s already eaten from kibble bowls several times. This is a wet food offering. Eyes bright, he chirps at me as I lower the food bowl toward him. “Yes, you love me now,” I say. His purr vibrates the floor.
Time is flying. I eat. Make coffee. Drink same. Clean and dress. Examine my lower limbs for swelling and find none, knock on wood. My compression socks are easily drawn over my feet and up my legs. I’m becoming very proficient getting them on. It’s the other end, taking them off, that’s the challenge. I might have made a mistake by turning down the doffing stick. I reassure myself that not using the doffing stick gives my wrists, fingers, and hands a needed workout. My self is as suspicious about that as a cat might be.
We hit the Senior Center for the food pickup and schedule. Cars surround the center. Parking is limited. “That’s a bad sign,” my wife declares. “The food must not be ready.”
I’m resigned to wait. “Go check.”
She returns with the first load of food within a minute, surprising us. We’re off and running with a minimum wait.
“Only ten stops today,” she says.
“Ten stops. I remember when we had twice that.” Yes, people have disappeared from the list. We usually don’t know what happens to them. They’re Schrödinger’s elderly people. That’s a miserably depressing thought for such a sunny, bright day.
Today’s morning mental music stream inhabitant is the Pat Benatar offering, “Invincible”. Released in 1985, it was quite a hit at that time and stays on classic rock stations as an offering for the elderly still feasting on the past. The Neurons called it up today to support the April 5 Hands Off actions rising. Annie commented on a post, “I just read that the April 5 coalition includes at least 83 organizations, among them the Communications Workers of America and the Service Employees International Union. It’s gonna be big!!”
We need big energy to combat the Trusk Regime and GOTP. We need the energy of “Invincible”. Written by Simon Climie and Holly Knight, the song was made for the movie The Legend of Billie Jean.
[Chorus] We can’t afford to be innocent Stand up and face the enemy It’s a do-or-die situation We will be invincible
[Verse 2] This shattered dream you cannot justify We’re gonna scream until we’re satisfied
[Pre-Chorus] What are we running for? We’ve got the right to be angry What are we running for? When there’s nowhere we can run to anymore
It could be that I’m overwrought by the Trusk situation in the United States.
Hope your day satisfies you in some meaningful ways. I’m writing and then planning long-delayed chores. I’ve always blamed the weather. Now that the weather has improved, my excuses are gone.
Floofnacious(floofinition) – An animal’s strong trait or ability to hold on, persist, or cling to things. Origins: Floofin, 400 BCE.
In Use: “Papi demonstrated an unexpected floofnacious knack for evading Michael when the latter tried to administer the cat’s morning medicines.”
In Use: “Rocky never said a word, but his floofnacious staring at Brenda always won him treats to make him go away.”
In Use: “The cat’s original name was Corey but after the little mogie grabbed a piece of pizza and refused to release it, he was renamed Floofnacious C, after the rock duo, Tenacious D, but also out of respect for his holdontoitiness.”
Michael Seidel, writer 