Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Strangest thing happened today. My big ol’ black and white cat, Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah), came up to me and said, “Me-ow.”
He surprised me. Tucker normally says, “Mrrew.” Or, “Rrow.” “Mrph.” “Mruph.” Things like that. Meow? Never. It was like hearing a dog say, “Hello.” Or a deer offering, “Good afternoon.”
Me-ow. It was so clear. So distinct. You could have knocked me over with a paw.
Mood: Merryholidaysism
December 24, 2024 has claimed Twosda in Ashlandia, where the beer is local and cold. Rain fell in clunk drops all night, yielding to an un-Christmasy morning fog. Rain and sunshine have since warred around 43 degrees. Low will be 36 F and the high will be 46 F, cutting a narrow band through the day.
While Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) has shrugged off the weather and remains inside, Butter Butt (previously known as Papi the ginger blade, but also once known as Meep) continues his rigorous testing to verify that better weather is not available through a different door. Several times when he was left in through the front door, he immediately galloped to the back door for egress, as if time was now some critical aspect of his testing.
Beer with friends was done last night as we slid our weekly greet and drink up from Wednesday to Monday due to some holiday happening on Wednesday. Small gathering of the faithful but family members augmented our numbers. A fun time was experienced, as it always is. We raised our glasses in salute of new possible states, Canada, Greenland, and Panama, the latest things PINO-elect Trump has floated. TBS, except for Canada, he hasn’t actually proposed these places be states. As always, he vaguely intones what might happen, suggesting anything is possible. Anything except sanity, sure. Someone suggested Trump has generated more weirdness-based statements because other world events drew the news media’s attention; he thus issued ideas to get the spotlight back on hisself.
I took it on myself to walk the .75 miles down to the watering hole and back. I’ve done the walk many times and know that it used to take me fourteen minutes. Going wasn’t too far of a challenge, as it’s a slight downhill slope all the way, and it was early-ish, and the weather was almost balmy. Returning up the hill, buffeting by wind, spit on by rain, a few pints sloshing around inside me, consumed twenty-two minutes. By the end, my foot was a flaming riot of irritation. Some tender care and soothing words made it right in a while.
In accordance with the rules and customs, I would now air my grievances, as it’s part of that holiday, Festivus. But I’ve pretty much aired my grievances all year, not holding back to wait for one day to spout off. With that out of the way, I turn attention to the music. Staying with the whole X-mas idea, The Noel Neurons brought Eric Clapton singing and playing “Cryin’ Christmas Tears” to the morning mental music stream (Trademark wrapped). Hope you enjoy it.
Hope your days are comfy and joyous no matter what holiday you celebrate, or if you celebrate none at all. Here’s the music. Back to my regularly scheduled coffee and writnig. Cheers
Floofdulum (floofinition) – An animal which swings back and forth between two or more activities, locations, or activities. Origins: From Flooftin, circa 1659.
In Use: “Many pet floofs become floofdulums as they age, rotating between eating and sleeping, eating and sleeping.”
In Use: “Crystal was a staunch floofdulum, sleeping in bed with her people at night, moving to the sunny living room in the morning, and then joining her people on the sofa in the evening.”
In Use: “Wanting to eat everything available, Sir Bear became a floofdulum, dashing between food bowls in search of every last bite.”
Mood: Weatherplativ
Hey, it’s Munday, December 23, 2024. A surly northern wind is snapping at us and messin’ with the trees. Clouds have rolled over the sun, rendering it a weak incandescent bulb. Temperature is 46 F but that wind cuts a few degrees off the top end.
Butter Butt. That’s my wife’s new nickname for Papi the ginger blade. I asked her what caused her to give Papi that floofonym. She shrugged. “No real reason. I looked at him and it came to mind.” But it somehow fits him.
Today’s song is a celebration of winter solstice. Except it isn’t. A line hooked The Dear Neurons’ attention: “We so tired of all the darkness in our lives.” That came to me while looking out the window and thinking about the short day & the right wing. Both deliver darkness to our lives. Just after that, Der Neurons lowered “Steppin’ Out” by Joe Jackson into the morning mental music stream (Trademark high steppin’).
We’ve turned the annual corner on the short days of daylight but who knows when we’ll shift away from the right wing darkness? Started with the ‘Tea Party’ stuff, which into MAGA, Proud Boys, Oathkeeps, and other militia. Add to it the general craziness and willful ignorance permeating the GOP in Congress, and PINO-elect Trump stuffing his cabinet with billionaires who long ago sold their sold, and the darkness is worse than a black hole. (Which suddenly makes Les Neurons go, “Hold on, maybe we should go with ‘Black Hole Sun’ today.”) Naw, going with Jackson. “Steppin’ Out” is a lighter, happier, you know?
Here we go, another day from 2024 going into the books. Just a few more left to savor. Cheers
Mood: Sindawriting
The calendar declares that winter has officially entered the stage. Still feels more like a good fall rather than early winter in Ashlandia, where Teslas are found around every corner. A riled up wind is carousing around the neighborhood, stirring things up. Doesn’t sit well with our floofs. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) says, “Merci, non.” But Papi the ginger blade insists on thinking, “Maybe it’s different now,” every fifteen minutes. Temperature isn’t bad at 49 F on this winter day, Sinda, December 22, 2024. Light rain and a high of 52 F are expected. Visuals say, yeah, that can be done. Clouds in varying densities from sheers to cotton layers in heather, oatmeal, off-white, and charcoal, pleasingly illuminated with eastern rising sunshine, set off against brittle blue sky, parade along the sky walk.
Today’s song is “Boys Don’t Cry” by the Cure. I don’t know why it’s in the morning mental music stream (Trademark blustery). I only remember one dream and it seems wholly unrelated to its tale of databases, strawberries, and fried food. Just in the kitchen, bustling about with floof feeding activities as Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) asks again about when he’s going to have his order delivered. Click, clink, bonk, the song is playing in the mmms and I’m humming along.
Done with the morning cuppa. Went down well. Brekkie is finished. Dressing’s final touches of shoes, socks, coat are needed, then I’m off to the coffee shop to cavort with muses and do the keyboard finger dance. Hope your day gives sublime satisfaction, no matter which season or weather elements are encountered.
Floofingent (floofinition) – A decision or activity conditional on an animal’s mood, activity, behavior, or decision. Origins: 15th century, Middle Flooflish, borrowed from Middle Froof & Medfloofal Latin.
In Use: “Invited out for a holiday dinner, Bob hedged, telling others that his cat seemed down, so his attendance was floofingent on her.”
In Use: “Barb’s acceptance of men in her life was largely floofingent on her dogs’ reaction to the guys she brought home. If the dogs said no, the relationship was done.”
Mood: Drowsaday
I slept in today. Three aspects drove it. One, my foot was cranky for rest, two, the night’s weather, and three, my bed was seductively warm and comfortable.
Foot/ankle continues getting better but I press to improve. That sometimes backfires. It’s a two-step, you know, step forward, step back, step forward, step back.
The night weather, though, holy stormy, Batman. Wind was busy when we went to bed. Rain was dumping. Few hours later, I awoke to distinctive moaning and a freight train sound. My youthful tornado experiences mumbled to my sleepy mind, “That sounds like tornado.” I checked the time – 5:05 – and rumbled out of bed and to the outside doors. Looking for tornado funnels, of course. In the dark. Hello.
Papi was out. That dumbfounded me. I checked his back patio condo. His usual refuge, it was disconcertinhly empty. Rain was spraying through the covered patio, because the wind was shoving it sideways. So it wasn’t the safe harbor that it normally was. Given that, I pelted back to the front door. See if Papi was cowering around there. Nope. I did some calling and whistling. No Papi. Repeated that in the back. Watched, waited, wondered.
Back to bed. The wind dropped the moan and its freigh train imitation. Serenity settled over the darkness. Whap, whap, whap. Papi’s familiar rap carried from the front door. I hustled out there to bring him in.
His fur was dry.
To end the tale, I fed Papi and returned to be ’bout 6:25. Settling in, I elevated my foot. Tucker found my hand and rested his head on it. Sleep hit me over the head. When my awareness next resurfaced, the timepiece’s digit were showing 9:45.
Pretty out there today, Saturday, December 21, 2024. Everything is wet but drying. Nothing in my vision’s field is wind-disturbed. Sunshine and a cloud-marbled blue sky rocks the valley. Temp of 46 with a few degrees left until we touch the high. That might be deceptive; I just watched an elderly-appearing guy making his way up the hill past my house. Wearing a light jacket with bare hands, he yanked the zipper up as far it would go and pulled his hands up into his jacket sleeves.
Today’s morning mental music stream (Trademark snoozing) occupant is Willie Williams with “Armagedeon Time”. Came ’bout from mind mutterings while listening to the wind and hoping the homeless and animals were all safe. But with lyrics like, “Lot of people won’t get no justice tonight” and “lots of people won’t get no supper tonight”, the song is a fitting tune to herald the coming year and concerns about GOP willingness cut up the nation’s social safety net.
BTW, this is it, shortest day of the year in the northern hemy. Take a few days but the days will cease their early sunsets and begin curving toward more hours of sunshine. Feels really needed as we end the tumultuous 2024.
Got coffee, had brekkie, and ready to boogie. Here’s the music. Merry solstice, ya’ll. Cheers
Telephloofny (floofinition) – A person who speaks to animals in conversation as if they’re having a phone conversation with them. Origins: Oregon, United States, 2024.
In Use: ‘Taylor didn’t now when she became telephloofny — was it because of her mother — maybe — but as she went through the house, dressing, eating, cleaning, she spoke with her cats, dog, birds, and fish, telling them her plans, rejoicing over a change of the weather for the better (“Sunshine and blue skies, and look at you all, already in position to enjoy it”), finishing by asking each, “Do you have any special plans for the day? Digging up a plant? Just floozing?”‘
Flooftaposition (floofinition) Positioning of two or more creatures in close proximity that highlights their differences in demeanor, form, or markings. Origins: 2024, worldwide web.
In Use: “Kittens or puppies rambunctiously cavorting around a stoic and patient mother is one of the classic flooftapositions familiar to people.”
In Use: “The flooftaposition of floofchievous ferrets playing around their calm feline brother has captivated the Internet.”
Flooftente (floofinition) – Friendly cooperation or informal alliance between animals or species. Origins: 1908, France.
In Use: “Although competing for treats and attention, Indigo and Blue soon realized flooftente would aid them, a deal sealed when the cat broke into a cupboard and delivered treats to the dog.”
Michael Seidel, writer 