Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) came to the room’s door. Sitting down, he composed his tail and then looked at me. Then, very deliberately, in a deadpan voice, he enunciated, “Me. Ow. Me. Ow.”
It was so weird. He never says “me. ow.” He says, Mrrrmpf,” and variations of that, like a grumbling old man too bored to bother with a whole meow. Or very loudly, sharply, “Mmrrrrowl.” But “me. ow”? No.
It was like he was doing some offbeat feline impression of Bob Newhart or Steven Wright as a cat. “Me. Ow.”
Floodiac(floofinition) – The definition of a band of twelve floofstellations dictating the properties and characteristics that floof display. Origins: Middle Flooflish, borrowed from Floofglo-Froof and Flootin. First noted use in the 14th century.
In Use: “Based on how their animals race around the house, many people mistakenly think their floof is a Zoomacorn, but in floofuality, zoomies are just one trait among many that assign floofs their sign on the Floodiac.”
In Use: “The way that her cat, Marmie, loved water, Karin knew her girl was born under one of the water signs in the Floodiac, like Aquafloofius.”
In Use: “Chester’s dog’s amazing balance had Chester believing that Cormac’s Floodiac sign was Libfloof.”
Day has broken, smoky and sunny in Ashlandia, where the temperatur is 69 F. The smoke isn’t ours; it’s from one of the many fires burning in California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, or Canada. Or maybe somewhere else. Or all of them. While the election rushes on, the world turns, the heat increases, the planet dries, and catches fire. While the Olympics parade across our screens, typhoons, hurricanes, and storms take death and destruction to new levels. What isn’t on fire might be flooding, like down in Florida. Just take some time to check out the many ‘natural disasters’ that we’re either recovering from or enduring right now.
It’s Saturday, July 27, 2024. Too late to wake up. It’ll be 89 F in Ashlandia today, not too bad, so long as we don’t drive too far away.
Don’t know what was happening before the moment today when the jay flew in through the bedroom’s open sliding door. The bird landed on the stepping machine and let out a screech. Papi the ginger wonder bounded in after the bird, jumping up onto the bed and orienting to acquire the target. We have a vaulted ceiling in that room so the bird flew across first to the idle fan, perching on a blade, and then to an air vent embedded in the ceiling. Striped ginger tail wildly lashing, Papi leaped from bed to dresser, directly below the bird.
Meanwhile, I’d arisen and was addressing the bird, telling them that they need to get out. Closing doors to the bath and hall, I pushed the slider to its max. Taking the hint, the jay shot out. Papi shot out after it.
I looked out. It was a happy ending with the bird in a tree scolding Papi, and Papi returning to tell me good morning.
Well, with all these fires going on in the news and Trump’s campaign burning like a housefire as GOPers toss fuel on in, and Kamala Harris catching fire with voters and groups, The Neurons pulled up an old song about fire. Called “Sleep Now in the Fire”, the song is burning up my morning mental music stream (Trademark aflame). The 1999 song is about this little rock band called Rage Against the Machine. You tell me what it’s all about.
Be strong, stay positive, lean foreward and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee and I are going at it. Here’s the music. Cheers
Flouddite(floofinition) – An animal who refuses to adapt or change. Origins: early 19th century Floofland.
In Use: “Simon le Meow was such a flouddite that when the new dog came into the household, Simon would act like the dog wasn’t there and just go about his business, baffling the dog, who really just wanted to be friends.”
In Use: “Being a bonafide flouddite, Caramel wouldn’t eat from her bowls when they changed her eating set up, forcing Carol and Pat to put the bowls back where they had been.”
Floofcipitate(floofinition) – Something happening abruptly that was triggered by an animal’s actions. Origins: early 21st century Internet.
In Use: “A loud ‘woof’ in the house’s soft stillness floofcipitated the cat leaping up, Pat knocking his glass of wine over, and Linn dropping her phone. Laughter followed.”
It’s Sunday, July 21, 2024. Quiet rules the neighborhood. The cats and birds are all chilling. Haven’t seen any deer, cougars, foxes, or bears. I guess they’re off chilling somewhere, too.
Wildfire smoke crashed the scene yesterday. Gaining density, we were soon sitting in a yellow fog at 96 degrees F. The smoke carried out Air Quality clear up into the unhealthy zone, finishing just short of hazardous. The cats were forced in, the air purifying machine turned on, and the windows kept closed as sunlight fled and night swarmed in.
Dawn brought relief. Temperatures wre huddling in the low sixties. Smoke mildly grays the blue sky but visibility is much better. I’ve cautiously opened a few windows. Doesn’t smell overly bad. I experience some eye tearing and itchy now and and again, then a dripping nose, and a bout of sneezing, but overall, it can be endured. All the weather sources are agreeing that we’ll touch the high eighties as our temperature’s ceiling. That’s a welcome change.
I don’t know where the smoke is originating. California has several going. Southern Oregon where I live is relatively fire free. East of the Cascades delivers a different story, as major fires are going in Oregon on that side, especially by the Idaho border. Hope all stay safe and the fires are soon contained.
“Danger Zone”, a song by Kenny Loggins and associated with the movie Top Gun is storming the morning mental music stream (Trademark threatened). I don’t know why The Neurons pulled the 1986 song from the mental archives for this morning. It doesn’t seem overtly dream related. Could be smoke & fire thinking, I guess. I don’t believe that it’s a political manifestation as I swerved away from politics this morning.
It’s a kind of strange video. 80s music, 80s clothing, 80s dancing. But they’re my people. LOL.
Have a better one. Be strong, stay positive, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music and there’s the coffee. Help yourself. Here we go. Cheers
Dry, hazy, hot. Not as hot as many U.S. places. Haven’t really checked the rest of the world. I’ve been mired in my American experience.
It’s 83 F in Ashlandia, where the sky is postcard blue and the sun beams down with frying bacon intensity. Gonna get hot today. How hot is questionable; one source said, 99 F. Another gave us a quote of 95 F. Somewhere in the upper nineties is my guess.
Tomorrow will be cooler, they’re saying. Fingers crossed, they’re right. Some are saying, 89 F will crown the temperature. Others declare, 91 F.
I’d love something in the high eighties for a change. I’m working on the side yard. We have a couple raised beds located there but chose not to use them this year, because we had other plans. While I was away in May, this yard grew thick with weeds. Now they’re all straw yellow and ripe fire fuel. I’m trying to remove it all but the heat gets in my way. Also, I grab this stuff and it just breaks away. Getting rid of it is going to be an involved process. I’m considering watering it to green it and then pull it up.
Papi and this jay have something going on. Papi is our ginger blade, a rescue floof abandoned when neighbors moved away. He and they apparently didn’t get along well. He’d started visiting us and socializing. Originally calling him Meep because of the soft sound he made, we started feeding him and giving him shelter when the weather went to shit. Eventually, he was ours and his original folks were gone.
I don’t know what precipitated it, but whenever Papi leaves the house and goes into the backyard, this jay flies over and screeches at him. I mean, it’s relentless. This started several days ago but this morning’s episode seemed more intense. I had the bedroom slider open to let the cool night air in, with the screen closed. Papi came in and ate just before six and went back out, and that jay started up like a frenzied MAGA fan. I could see the bird on our table yelling at Papi. Papi didn’t seem to be doing anything in response.
Anyway, out of that, The Neurons conjured the 1972 song which Billy Paul had a hit with. See, I’d said to myself, Papi and that jay have a thing going on. I guess The Neurons thought that segued well with the song’s lyrics, “We have a thing going on.” So now I have the song playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark scratched). If you listen to the song as I did, I sang along but subbed the words, “Papi and the jay have a thing going on.” When I sang it to Papi, I swear that he rolled his eyes and walked away.
Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee is mingling with the tastebuds. Time to jam. Here’s the music. Cheers
Floofroad (floofinition) – 1. The path taken by an individual to meet an animal, or vice versa. Origins: early 21st century Internet.
In Use: “Mark’s normal floofroad for finding strays is just to open the front door. It’s like, if he opens the door, they will come. And he can never turn any away.”
In Use: “Many people’s floofroad to a new floof addition to their home begins with a visit to an animal shelter, but more frequently in this Internet age, the floofroad begins on social media.”
2. The course an animal takes to get from point to point.
In Use: “Papi’s floofroad is never straightforward, as he engages serpentine routes to go from door to door — except when he’s heading for his food bowl. Then he’s like an arrow shot from a bow.”
Welcome to Ashlandia, where it’s Thursday, July 18, 2024. Currently sitting at 70 degrees F under an unfettered blue sky, we expect to achieve a high only three degrees above our July average, 95 F. I’m looking forward to a summer day when we’re three degrees below average. Yes a day in the high nineties would be a treat. On the plus side, our dry conditions keep us from being flooded as is happening in other parts of the U.S.
A friend was relating some cat tales to a group last night. His cat is now mature and they’ve been leaving together for a few years, so he finally broke it to her that she was adopted. He thought she took it well.
Later, though, she was lying on the floor in dim night light. He went by, brushing his foot against her back leg. She instantly bolted out of there at the speed of light. In the process, she used his big toe to launch herself, and her claw left a nice souvenir. Next day, he had the front door open but the screen door on so she could look out. Well, she climbed the screen and got a claw stuck. He saved her and she rewarded him with a five-inch scratch. I wondered, was this all accidental, or was she acting out because she learned she was adopted?
Cats.
Today’s music comes from noodling thoughts. I’d been thinking about how Evangelicals have embraced Trump. He’s one of them is their claim, which means, they’re like him, yeah? In doing so, they’ve basically re-branded themselves with Trump’s values. It sickens me. Anyhow, eavesdropping on my thinking, The Neurons dropped Joan Osbourne’s 1995 hit song, “One of Us” into the morning mental music stream (Trademark hopeful). Eric Bazilian wrote the song. In it, singer and writer wonder, what if God was one of us? A stranger on a bus trying to make their way home. They create an image so far away from the Evangelical’s bizarre twist that Trump is a holy savior.
Right. Let me the picture the scene. Can you imagine Trump taking a bus to go home? Imagine him among the hoi polloi. Of course, he’d be trying to sell something and bragging about how great he is. “I’m the greatest savior ever,” he’d declared. “And it’s not just me thinking that. The Pope told me. He said, ‘Donald, you’re the greatest savior ever, cause you’re not a loser. You’ve never been nailed to a cross.'”
BTW, it’s Sour Candy Day. I’m not a fan of sour candy but if you are, please indulge.
Stay positive — yes, deep breaths, right? Be strong. Lean forward. Vote Blue in 2024. And drink coffee. That last is totally optional for you, but I’m having some, black, hot, and unadulterated. Dig me?
Flooven(floofinition) – A blend of ‘floof’ and ‘haven’, means a place or space where an animal feels safe and comfortable. Origins: 2023, North America.
In Use: “Cats often enjoy secreting themselves in places where they can’t be found, but Trucker, with his ability to open and close drawers, cupboards, and doors, took it to new levels with floovens throughout the house. Nobody ever knew where they would find him next.”
In Use: “Barney was a large dog, a sweetheart who’d been abused as a puppy, who needed a quiet place as a flooven.”