Category: Cat

Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: Futuremistic

Looks like we a bit’o Procol Harum with “Whiter Shade of Pale” taking over the autner sky. 36 F. Fog is reported. High of 51 F prophecized. Seems doable, as we hit 52 F yesterday. Do still have a stagnant air advisory camping on us. That gives us a broad range of air quality around town. Green and acceptable at lower elevations but yellow and a risk to people with respiratory issues as you go higher.

I admit to not reading the news yet today. I’ve been dealing with emails and texts from friends and families instead. Most of those fell under quake concerns or holiday plans. Sofar as the quake, we good here in Ashlandia. I did a brief scan for damage reports and saw nothing, knock on wood.

The cats are enjoying the milder weather. Both head out in search of early sun and hang around the backyard as birds visit. Good seeing them out there lounging, washing, and birding. These two are not mighty hunters. At least, they’ve never rewarded us with a trophy. They prefer kibble and wet food, and live and let live cause the alternative is too taxing.

My Neurons have a Boston song out of 1978 in my morning mental music stream (Trademark fluttering). “Don’t Look Back” was a dream admonishment. It was natural that the song filled my stream as I went through the dream review. 2024 was a meh year for me. Health issues, frustrations, and the elections results all subtracted from whatever advances I made. I won’t bore with details. Dream advice came like something out of Field of Dreams, “Don’t look back.” The woke gist concluded, created a vision and move forward. And while it sounds like it may have come out of left field, it was the culmination of several days of ruminating. I take it as solid advice: stop looking back. Move forward.

Part of the ruminations on the elections front came from a NYT piece about how Trump won. Their strategist went after the deeply undecided, not paying attention voters residing in streaming land. In my paraphrasing of what I read, while the Dems went traditional with big television buys, the GOP realized that there were large masses of folks on streaming platforms who wouldn’t see the TV ads. They, especially the young, became their target.

Looking ahead, I thought, that was clever. We — the Dems, Progressives, and Liberals — should embrace that as a counter approach to what Trump’s administration is plotting. Put it onto the streaming platforms about their plans. Be specific, repetitive, and detailed about what it means to the economy, inflation, and tax revenues if the mass deportations are allowed. Share personal anecdotes of how people are affected. Get graphic and real about what happens if Headstart and the Dept of Education are killed. Be real and give them the pointed end of climate change facts and its impact on health, safety, and the economy.

Teach them some real history. IMO, teaching to the test, the education system has been weak inculcating critical thinking among students. We need to close that gap. We need to that Republicans aren’t good for the economy. That tariffs will not save them money. Feed them information in the way that it was done via Schoolhouse Rock! style done in the latter half of the last century. As the Republicans said about President Obama’s agenda, “Obstruct, obstruct, obstruct.” We must do the same, but we also need to shift us from leaning red as a nation to deep blue.

So, I’m focusing my efforts on looking forward and moving forward. I’ll limit looking back in regret or anger, and shift to visualizing success. Hope you can do the same.

Coffee and I have done our morning meet. Time to rock on. Here’s the music.

Cheers

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Kitfloof

Kitfloof (floofinition) Animal who always arrives in the kitchen to beg for a treat when someone goes in to get food. Origins: Circa 2020, Oregon via Internet.

In Use: “A reliable kitfloof, Tucker always roused himself when Michael entered the kitchen, slow trotting in to see what he could beg off his floofman; perhaps a few pieces of chicken (his favorite), a small cheese offering, or the chance to like the dishes after. Michael rarely failed to give him something.”

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Munday’s Theme Music

Mood: Mundacity

Yeah, it’s Munday, December 2, 2024. Just a couple notes on it. Temp is rising and falling between 26 and 28 F. Sun is kicking in. First strokes can be witnessed in the dining room’s southern window, which catches the sun’s approach from the southeast as it jabs through and around trees branches. Fog is doing a swirling veil dance. Alexa said it’ll be 56 F today. Same claim made yesterday and we barely topped 43, so I know where I’m putting my money.

Many people don’t realize the Monday as a day of the week comes from Middle English mondeyne which itself is derived from Late Latin, mundanus. It all means ‘common place’ as in ‘nothing special’. Boring. Routine. Mundane. Monday. Munday.

Trump continues with his authoritarian cabinet o’ clowns. Mockpaperscissors shares a scope outta the New Yorker about the dishonorable Pete Hegseth. True grrrspiring stuff about his drunken leadership and how he sexualizes women. Nice note about his drunken chants, “Kill all Muslims!” Bet those Muslims who clamored for Trump over Harris are creaming their pants with pleasure over that. Who coulda known that Trump woulda picked such a piece of meat for a high-rankin’ gubment position. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

My wife asked me last night how old I thought Papi was. We reminisced about his interactions with us. He first showed up on a fence back when Scheckter, one of the original Orange Boiz, was still alive. Papi, then called Meep for his tiny meow (yeah, he’s grown outta that), showed up on the backyard fence like a little Scheckter mini me.

Scheckter

Meep aka Papi

Records show Meep has lived with us since May of 2017. While Schecter was warm and sweet, Meep, I mean Papi, remains guarded and wary. When I informed my wife of my research, she remarked the same about the two floofs. Scheckter was a cuddler and lap dweller; Papi has been on my lap once for three pico seconds.

Dreams inspired The Neurons’ music choice today. I was reflecting about a dream of a levitating train I was driving through an apocalyptic ‘Merica. Thinking about the dream highights, I noted that it was a simple life of travel in the flying train with a small group of people. The Neurons shook my head. Out came No Doubt with “Simple Kind of Life”. “And all I wanted was a simple thing, a simple kind of life” keeps circulating the morning mental music stream (Trademark freeze-dried).

Sunshine owns all the living and dining rooms’ windows now. Blue sky speckled with withdrawn clouds rule the view. It’s 30 F. Coffee and I have found common ground again. Look up and open your eyes. Take a deep breath. Inhale; exhale. Here we go, December’s first Munday. Hope it’s a wonderful one for you. Cheers

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Floofmulent

Floofmulent (floofinition) – 1. An acceptable or satisfactory animal. Origins: 1996 American television.

In Use: “Jackson’s family took him to pick a kitten at the animal shelter. But an elderly cat marched straight to him, and Jackson announced the cat was floofmulent and named him Captain Jack.”

2. Something that animals are willing to accept, or that satisfies them.

In Use: “Although Devon preferred a tennis ball, Max couldn’t find her normal ball. After a little trial and error, Max found a stick which Devon thought floofmulent, and a game of fetch commenced.”

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Sa’day’s Theme Music

Mood: Politicynicsm

It’s an autner morning with winter impression holding a slight edge. A freezing cold night was had with temperatures lowering to 18 F around my place. I know that’s not so cold in many places; I’ve lived in a few of them. But that’s chill for us.

Since dawn, the sun put the hammer to the temps. We’re into the low thirties now. The splash dab white crystals decorating the greenery is giving way as the sun’s fingers stroke the land into warmth. A high of 56 F is contemplated, with clouds, blue skies, and sunshine.

This is Sa’day, November 30, 2024, the last day of the year’s eleventh month. Just one more for the historic records and we’ll put 2024 to bed.

Keeping Papi the ginger blade in and safe from icy temperatures was a big challenge for us. He gave me his patented cheetah stare whenever I told him no.

Note: this is not Papi. Papi looks nothing like this, except for that staring, judging expression.

But we were successful without too much floofma. Now he is up and up, patrolling and sniffing to see who floofpassed on his realm while he was suffering the indignation of being kept warm and safe.

Been thinking about the Trump presidency and how it’s going down. He and his teams have not signed the transition docs. Therefore, no transition can begin. But, he’ll be sworn in on 1/20/25, won’t he? And then he’ll be POTUS. And then he’ll say, “Fuck those documents. I don’t need to sign shit. I’m the president.” SCOTUS has already established that these things he does as POTUS aren’t illegal, so… I’m sure the Senate will go into a legislative tantrum but the reality is, what will they do? Are the oaths really needed? Not in Trump’s newly minted prezzy immunity. Prezmunity.

Yes, feeling cynical this morning. But that’s the battle and potential outcome I see brewing. Of course, I’m crap at these predictions so I wouldn’t put any money on it.

Hmm…is Vegas laying odds on it? That would seem appropriate. Electing a proven con, liar, incompetent wanna-be dictator and fascist is a gamble…

Oh, wait. I see that he has signed some of the docs now. Sorry, been avoiding the news cycle. That’ll teach me.

So last night, I bit into a Kind drizzle bar. Off came part of one molar. Had to laugh. Just fits in so well with this year’s progression of events. My wife has been claiming that I’m held together by bubblegum and tape. Looks like it’s all coming apart.

I originally had songs about ice or white in the morning mental music stream (Trademark frozen). Ya know, things like “Cold as Ice” and “Ice Ice Baby”. “White Wedding” and “Nights in White Satin”. “Whiter Shade of Pale”. But The Neurons used their veto-override and inserted “Take My Breath Away”. The song was a creation for the Top Gun movie a zillion and two years ago. Berlin, an American new wave musical group, performed it for the movie and achieved a respectable hit for it.

I asked The Neurons, why this? They smugly deigned to voice an answer. But it’s in the stream, so I’m forced to share it to get it out. Kind of a tedious song to me. I mean, I admire the singer’s talents and the band’s skills, and respect the songwriters. Just not my cuppa. I’m low on the romance scale, though, so don’t judge it by my impressions. Listen for yourself.

Try to be positive. I grok that’s an easy expression to state but hard to manifest at times. Do your best, right? I will, too. Aided by coffee, the positivity function is stirring anew. Here we go, another day in 2024. Here’s the music from 1986 to take you there. Cheers

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Floofracious

Floofracious (floofinition) One with a huge appetite for animal companionship or presence. Origins: 1635, Europe.

In Use: “A floofracious young person with a menagerie of rescued animals, birds, and lizards, few were surprised when Chase took her inheritance and began an animal rescue operation.”

In Use: “Suffering from animal-related allergies, Dovante turned to art to help satisfy his floofracious needs, painting animal portraits (flooftraits, he termed them), and photographing animals whenever possible.”

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The Dream Collection

First, I dreamed that my ankle was completely healed. Such a real dream that when I awoke, I asked myself, did I dream that? Checking the ankle, I confirmed, nope, not healed. Yet.

Next dream had me dealing with space. A father was in space, apparently as an astronaut. It wasn’t clear if he was a private citizen, military, government effort, etc., but the news was full of his attempt. Then, boom, we were all looking up at a starry explosion on the edge of Earth’s atmosphere. Then the newspaper, electronic, and digital media is full of his disaster and death.

I wasn’t involved in any of this, just a spectator. Talking about the matter in a fractured dream process under a blue sky, my friends and I went off to get lunch. But while this progressed, I put forward the man’s daughter, a four-year-old, had been with him, and he was launching her separately back to Earth. I kept insisting that she was out there, coming back. All others were doubtful. We hunted down a tracking monitor. As we watched it, another object was being traced across the sky. There was a target arc and vector it was supposed to be following. As it veered off that, reports of a crash came in. Everyone agreed it was her and that her vehicle crashed and she was deceased. But I remained optimistic that she’d come down, and that what we’d seen was just a ruse to throw everyone off. Certainty remained in me that she’d made it back. Then I stated my belief that her father had also made it back, using the distraction of his spectacular destruction as a diversion.

That’s where the dream ended. Who this man and his daughter were supposed to be and why we cared is a complete unknown.

The night’s final dream found me with a power to make toys come to life. I could also make them grow larger. Once I learned of my ability, I tested it on a yellow toy dump truck and a green army tank. Finding my wife sitting on top of a tiny green hill, I demonstrated my new skills to her as my black and white cat, Tucker, watched.

In true dream strangeness, I then went to a cafeteria to find something to eat. Although the dining room was full, they were preparing to close. I got in line. Only a young couple were ahead of me. Cloying and loving, they were annoying and silly as they flirted and teased one another over their food selections. Seeing me waiting behind me, they apologized and offered to let me go ahead. I declined and they finished a few minutes later. Stepping up, I found that only pasta with a brown meat sauce and hot dogs were available. I piled some pasta on the plate and then loaded up two hotdogs. Eating one of the dogs, I thought, wow, that really tastes good. I was pleased with having it to eat and scarf the rest down.

My wife rushed in, interrupting my meal to warn me that something was happening to one of my toys. Her explanation was inchoherent so I just ran to where she indicated. As she said, my largest toy, a stuffed bull which was now a dozen yards tall, had fallen into a deep water. I ran over, trying to think instructions for getting out to the bull. But I was still assimilating the situation and didn’t have a clear idea yet.

The bull was running in a circle under the water. I thought he would drown. Then I saw that my black and white cat, Tucker, was riding the bull. As I gaped, I realized that Tucker was guiding the bull. Encouraged by that, I thought instructions to Tucker to help him, telling him to turn toward the shallows. Apparently receiving the guidance and applying it, Tucker guided the racing bull left and left again, and up and out of the water.

Dream end

1

Thanksgiving’s Theme Music

Mood: Thanksthinking

Football and parades are on television. Dawn cracked open a blue sky this morning. Sunshine spilled out across 28 degrees F. It’s 43 and feels like 53, with a high of 48 projected. It gets windy, driving Papi to floofishly beat on the front door window for immediate entrance. His tail highpoints in salute as I let him in. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) gives the ginger blade an askance look of pity as Papi passes him.

Thanksgiving memories erupt. Going to my paternal grandparents on cold and gray Pittsburgh days. Greeting cousins, aunts, and uncles seen only four times a year. Sitting at one of several children tables. Warm house, laughter, cigarette smoke, beer, and whiskey sodas. The children are herded into the cellar to contain noise. The problem: there’s nothing to do in that cellar except mill around. One by one, we quietly sneak back upstairs.

Mom and Dad separate and divorce. Mom remarries and becomes host and cook, but man, she can cook. Thanksgiving meals are always delicious feasts around traditional offerings. We play card games after the meal and gorge on leftovers for days.

Basic training saw me in San Antonio. Luckily, I had Uncle Paul and his family there to host me for Thanksgiving. Danny White led the Dallas Cowboys to victory. Later, I’m stationed in the San Antonio area. Uncle Paul’s family still lives there and my wife and I visit them for Thanksgiving.

A Thanksgiving follows in the Philippines, where my crew invites me into their house for an American-Filipino Thanksgiving. We play a new electronic game called Pong on television.

Our tour in Okinawa is broken into two phases: pre- and post-base housing. In the pre-phase, food prep is shared between several houses. We barely fit into one of the small apartments to eat. Once we’re in base housing, we’re in a large, comfortable space where my wife plays cook and hostess in Germany. As we return to America, Thanksgiving gets more complicated. We’re alone sometimes, or I’m on shift working. Later as I become more senior in rank, we become host for young co-workers and friends. We do the same after being assigned to California.

Out of the military and tired of hosting, we go out for dinner on Thanksgiving for a year or two in Sunnyvale, Mountain View, and Palo Alto, California. My wife has become a vegetarian. An awful attempt with tofurkey is made. Stuffed acorn squash. We end up buying turkey breasts and having much smaller meals. Thanksgiving transitions to Friendsgiving. Friends host others like us and we collect at their homes. The meals feel like the ones I enjoyed as a child. I’ve gone full circle.

I’m going with “Alice’s Restaurant” by Arlo Guthrie for today’s theme music. It’s a staple of my existence, and The Neurons are okay with it. Alice Brock, the Alice in the song, passed away earlier this month. RIP. It plays in the background of my morning mental music stream (Trademark roasted) as I go about preparing to go to Friendsgiving at our friends’ farm. We prepared our food contributions yesterday. Corn souffle, prepared with my wife carefully watching me, is my contribution.

Coffee and I continue renewing our daily relationship. The house weather system says its 50 F out. Plentiful sunshine baths the street. Hope you have a memorable Thanksgiving if you’re participating, and a great day no matter where you are.

Cheers

2

Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts

I cleaned the kitty litter today. The excavated taters were shoveled into a paper bag. I then went through the house with the bag of kitty litter to dump it into the trash. As I went, I held the bag up and called out, “Ho ho ho, merry Thanksgiving.”

I thought it was good symblism for the holiday season upon us.

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Floofymoon

Floofymoon (floofinition) – 1. A lunar event that seems to make animals more energetic or active.Origins: Internet, early 2000s.

In Use: “Bristol couldn’t see the moon because of clouds (and he never looked up at the moon anyway, and privately wondered why that was), but he figured whateverI it was, it was a floofymoon, because the three rescue floofs (they’d chosen him) were rebellious and rambunctious in everyway imaginable, knocking things off the desk, kitchen counter, bedroom dresser, and bathroom counter! It was a night of madness and then they slept like angels.”

2. Short time when all animals or people and animals are getting along well.

In Use: “Most of the time, Bats and Snacks went at it like Steelers playing the Browns, so there was mega levels of barking, hissing, growling, and running 1440 minutes a day, but once in a while, a floofymoon gently landed, and the dog and cat groomed each other and napped together.”

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