Cruoof(floofinition) – An intense fatuation with an animal. Origins: Internet, 2022
In Use: “After arriving as a rescue dog at Sara, the senior lab immediately developed a cruoof on the kittens Sara was fostering, inviting them to cuddle and play with him, and watching over them when they ate.”
In Use: “Butterscotch had a cruoof on Mocha, always running to him when she saw him, and grazing beside him as he ate.”
Recent Use: “Lisa developed a cruoof on her aunt’s Bernese Mountain Dog, Samwise, and within a few minutes, the dog seemed to have the same feelings for the four-year-old as the two spent the rest of the day side by side.”
Do you ever imagine that invisibile beings surround you, watching what you’re doing when you’re in your home alone, commenting on it to each other?
They seem to come in three flavors: aliens from space, time travelers from the future, and deceased individuals — especially family — returned as spirits. What they say and how they watch varies, depending upon which group they’re in, and their intentions.
So, for example, aliens crowd around you in the kitchen as you clean up, remarking upon the cultural significance of your routine, applauding your efficiency (or lack of it), comparing it to their own processes and habits.
Floofpell (floofinition) – Urge or drive forward or on by an animal’s exertion, coercion, or insistence to do something. Origins: from Middle English, derived from Latin. First noted use 15th century.
In Use: “Intimidated by the cat, the dog was floofpelled to surrender the pet bed, even though he outweighed her by fifty pounds.”
In Use: “Many cats seem to learn early how to floofpell people to get up and let them in or out of the house, or to feed them in the middle of the night.”
Recent Use: “Animals often effectively employ ‘doe eyes’, a hopeful, charming gaze, to floofpell people to do things for them.”
I awoke feeling tired and realized I’d gotten about six hours of sleep. Wasn’t real concerned as that’s been my norm for years. But I usually don’t feel tired, and I wondered if it had to do with aging, as I’m now sniffing on the border of being 68. So I thought, yes, this is probably the case.
When I went into the office, cranked up the ‘puter and turned to the NYTimes this morning after breakfast, the first story spotted was, “Why Does Sleep Become More Elusive As We Age” in Salon. I don’t think sleep is my issue per se, but rest. Still, it made me feel like they were spying on my private thoughts.
I wouldn’t be surprised if another story emerges soon, “Why Do We Get More Paranoid About Being Spied On When We Age” soon.
Floofbbing (floofinition) – Ignoring someone with you and and giving attention to animals instead. Origins: 2020, United Kingdom.
In Use: “As the pandemic took over 2020, many people forced to stay home became more interested in animals, especially housepets, and floofbbing, which was aready frequently a de facto issue in many homes with pets, began to rise, affecting relationships among people.”
Recent Use: “Reading about floofbbing and its impact on relationships, Michael realized he was also guilty of wriubbing (the i is silent), ignoring someone and giving attention to writing instead. But then, he rationalized, people were also guilty of gaubbing — ignoring others to play games — and reubbing: reading or paying attention to a book instead of another person with them. Hell, there were probably problems with coubbing (computers), chiubbing, too, which would be children, and even trumbbing, ignoring another to focus attention on former POTUS Donald Trump.”
I’ve learned to accept my older self. I’m no longer slender or muscular with thick, shiny hair, striding through places like I might be someone famous. Now I’m graying, thinning, bloated. Sagging and wrinkling skin mark the progress of decades of being.
But I’ve learned that if I don’t look in a mirror, I’ll be alright. Makes shaving my face a serious challenge, though.
It’s Wednesday, November 29, 2023. If you’re counting the days, November has just one more, and then December steps up to assert her presence.
A hazy shade of winter rules out there, even though it’s technically still autum, with gray cotton-candy clouds smothering sunshine and blue sky. Temperature has climbed to 35 F from the overnight low of 28 F at my house. Still dry, we still have a stagnant air warning. The air quality is moderately down because people are using their fireplaces and much of the smoke stays in the area, affecting breathing, eyes, etc.
My wife made me laugh last night. She frequently does, although the way I put, it sounds like a rare thing. Anyway, the cats had me surrounded, one on the floor beside me to my left, one beside the computer on the desk, paw on mouse to my right. I was mildly complaining about them because I was trying to get something done and they were hampering me. “Look how they look at you,” she said. “They’re like, he’s so dreamy.” LOL
Politics influenced The Neurons and their music choice today. Is that a surprise? My wife was The Neurons’ influencer. Trump and his supporters dismay her. She’s a lifelong feminist and social activist, with a long history of standing up for others and fighting for change. So, after reading some Red State news to see what was going on there, she made comments along the lines of wishing Trump was gone. I later discovered I was humming a song to myself. When I stopped to challenge what it was, I couldn’t quit remember it, to The Neurons’ delight. But this morning, I thought about it again, and bang, “I’ll Feel A Whole Lot Better” by The Byrds (1965) cranked up in the morning mental music stream (Trademark ancient).
I initially heard the song from AM radio when it came out when I was nine. Mom usually had music on in the car as we accompanied her when she was shopping and running errands. This being 1965 and later, the cars would’ve been her big white Chevy Impala convertible or her equally huge brown Buick LeSabre. Both had interiors the size of small living rooms, with steering wheels worthy of guiding the Titanic. While I heard it there, though, I learned the song more from my older sister. She had the album, Mr. Tambourine Man. I sharply remember its faded album cover, worn from being slid around. Her little record player was only good for 45s, so she had to ask Mom for permission to playher 33s on the big Magnavox console stereo in the living room, or take her albums to a friend’s house to play them. She played it often enough around me that I later played a bit of it on guitar when I began trying that instrument. Of course, Tom Petty did the song in 1989 on one of his albums, reviving memories of the original.
The song is a quite mellow folk-pop tune. The line in it behind the childhood connection and Trump and his hateful, authoritarian stances is, “And I’ll probably feel a whole lot better when you’re gone.” She and I agree that we will feel better when Trump is gone. Given his diet and overweight appearance, stress from campaigning for POTUS while screaming at people till he turns purple, all while enduring four trials, coupled with his denial about his health, she and I wouldn’t be surprised if a stroke or heart attack felled him within the next few months.
Stay pos, be strong, lean forward. Coffee is delighting my taste buds even as I write. Here’s the music. Cheers
It’s November 28, 2023, a Tuesday. Only seventeen hundred billion shopping days until Black Friday/Cyber Monday/Last Chance Tuesday and Special Deals Wednesdays ads, commercials, mailers, and emails are gone. Then what will we do?
The furnace is busy this morning in Ashlandia, where summers are hot and spring is above average. Faintly gray and softly weak clouds malinger in the blue sky. Awakening temperature was 28 F outside. Inside was a chilly 62 F but at least I was inside and could turn on the fireplace and furnace to warm the house. I count that as a win. We are working our way up through the forties, with expectations that we’ll level off in the mid-fifties.
The floof masters have decided all will be better served by staying in during these cold hours. I appreciate that, as we also have the stagnant air advisory going on, and my nose is feeling it a bit. I worry what it does to the cats. My preference would be that they’re more permanent house cats, going out to nap in the backyard when the air is clear, the sun is bright, and the temperatures are comfortable. But the floofbeasts are obstinate little buggers; it’s one of their main strengths.
Today’s theme music was not a gift from The Neurons. Nor was it dream inspired, or triggered by some conversation. No, I have “Mrs Robinson” by Simon & Garfunkel rounding through the morning mental music stream (Trademark inept). This was inspired by Jill Dennison’s blog about the song. She featured it as her song choice this morning, and tells the story about how the song developed and ended up in the movie, The Graduate. I found an interesting recording of S&G playing it in Central Park, NY, in 1981.
Stay strong, be positive, and keep leaning forward. Hot coffee is being freshly consumed. Here’s the video. Cheers
Flooftimist(floofinition) – A person inclined to be hopeful about animals and to expect good outcomes for animals. Origins: 1759, England.
In Use: “The big black dog was found sick, injured, and undernourished, lying in his own filth in bushes by the side of a busy road. Vets said that the best thing to do was euthanize him, but the dog kept looking at Marcia and wagging his tail, bolstering the flooftimist in her. Finding another vet willing to try to save the dog, six months later, she had a new best friend.”
Recent Use: “With emerging health and medical practices, more people are flooftimists, locating and helping stray, feral, and abused animals around the world in a growing global network of animal activists and friends.”
Michael Seidel, writer 