Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Pawzer (floofinition) – Floof term for a large and powerful individual, essentially comparing them to a German Panzer tank from the WWII era.
In use: “Encountering Bruno, the big dog which the kittens were to live with, all reacted to the pawzer with spitting and hissing, claws drawn, daring him to come closer. Though Bruno looked like a pawzer, he was sweet and relaxed, settling on the floor. Within a short while, the cats were using him as a mountain to play.”
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.”
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.”
R.F.M. – Rapid Floof Movement (Floofinition) – Unexpected fast motion done by animals, often without a cause which humans readily comprehend.
In use: “As one, the sleeping floofs raised their heads and then launched a R.F.M. Debra shouted at the disappearing animals, “What’s going on,” but none of them slowed down to explain. They just disappeared into hiding places in other rooms.”
The beginning was chaotic. My wife and I were younger people. She had a girlfriend staying with us, no one knew from RL. We also had a small brown puppy on a red leash, a very smart dog.
She and her friend were trying to start a business. As I wasn’t involved, the details are scant to me. I was busy fixing things around the house, working in bathroom pipes around the sink and tub, then dashing over to work on the computer, helping my wife and her friend with their computer and the printer. All the time, the puppy follows me around and I talk to you. My wife will sometimes say, “Oh, no, where is the puppy,” because the puppy isn’t where she left him. “Relax,” I answer, “he’s right here beside me.”
Wife makes a tentative decision. Someone is interested in their business but they have to go meet them, which is a five-hour drive away. Will I take her? We jockey back and forth in the conversation, we me explaining that I don’t want to stay overnight because we have the puppy and there are things I must do, followed up by asking her, are you staying the night? How long will you be there?
She’s anxious with excitement, indecisive and scattered, frustrating me. I finally force the issue: I’ll drive you up and then return tonight. I’ll be driving ten hours. A neighbor comes and takes the puppy.
Then we’re in a car on a highway. I’m driving. I’m in the right-hand land of this divided highway, behind a car. The car is slowing. There’s a motorcycle in the left-hand lane but they’re several hundred yards back. I want to change lanes but the car in front of me is suddenly slowing. Checking my driver-side mirror, I discover that the motorcycle has caught up. I accelerate a little, create space, and change lanes.
That lane is now also slowing by a tremendous amount. What’s going on? I wonder, trying to see what’s ahead. First, we’re no longer on concrete; we’re on a soft dirt path. There are construction signs. The road is being worked on. Everyone, including us, is on foot, following one another like we’re cars.
We’re slowing. Ahead is a vertical pipe. We must climb up that. I’m carrying all of my wife’s luggage plus some long, heavy metal thing. I realize that I’d need to climb without using my hands. My wife and her friend anxiously watch, waiting for my decision about what I’ll do.
I realize, nobody else is carrying anything. They left it in their vehicle. Why didn’t we do that? I intuit that the construction people will transport the cars up to the other end of the pipe. This infuriates me; why do we need to leave our car at all? Why can’t they just transport the cars with us in it?
“Come on,” I tell the others. “We’re going back to the car.” I figure that there must be another way.
We’re back in the car. I drive fast in the opposite direction. There’s a detour sign on my left. I turn the car that way even though my wife wants to stop and think it over. We’re suddenly at our destination. “I knew it,” I crow, pleased.
Xenofloofic (floofinition) – Fear and hatred of strange or foreign animals, or animals not normally seen in the area.
In use: “Rising up with a yowling growl, Pixie rushed the window in a fresh xenofloofic display, trying to attack the intruder floof — a small tabby with a white chest and matching mitts that Fran had never seen before — through the glass. Pixie was further infuriated that Fran went out and fed the other cat, gave it water, and checked it over for injuries and identification. The gall of her!”
He pads through the house though there’s little light,
Making little sound.
Confirming everything is alright,
Unwilling to let his people down.
Then he returns to the beds,
Checking everyone’s heads,
Reassuring himself that they’re fine.
And has a little to eat,
And then, relaxing, goes to sleep,
Doing the work of a floof kind.
Michael Seidel, writer 