The Purse
She sat at a coffee shop table a dozen feet away, alone, attractive, maybe thirty, so he watched, a voyeur.
She probably knew but didn’t look. Setting her small black purse down, she opened it and took out a phone. An Apple laptop followed.
He gawked. Purse that small, little circular thing with a gold chain, couldn’t hold anything that big. That purse was like a TARDIS.
She drew out a power cord. A hardback book followed. Bottle of water.
No way, he told himself, no way. All that stuff from that purse wasn’t possible, and yet, he knew what he saw.
Looking up, she gazed at him with electric blue eyes and smiled.
Like she knew exactly what he was thinking.
Monday’s Wandering Thought
Stripping down to shower, he tossed his dirty undies on the floor to be taken to the hamper. The cat immediately marched over, sniffed the garment, and sat down on it. A purr boomed out.
Liked he claimed a major prized.
An Old Friend
Night came with silence
But then there was a sound
Something cracking hard
Like a window coming down.
Atlas leaped to investigate
And then froze in the spot
It could be something dangerous
And that meant a lot.
But still he had a duty
To protect his furless folks
So he would do as needed
Because his duty was not a joke.
So boldy, inch by inch,
Atlas sniffed and advanced
Till he came to the danger
And finally could relax.
For it wasn’t a burglar
Nor a killer or a mouse
Just the ghost of an old friend, Titan,
A dog who once lived in the house.
Sunday’s Wandering Thought
He needed to iron a shirt. Short sleeve. Cotton. Button up.
Been so long since he’d ironed a shirt. Used to do it almost every day in the military and quite often when he was in marketing. New materials and different work activities and standards had lessened requirements to iron.
He was still using their thirty-year-old iron. Why not? It works. He figured smart irons have finally arrived, though what a smart iron would do, he doesn’t know. Probably robot irons have arrived, too, just give it the shirt and it’ll know what to do. But he had to manually do it, setting up the little board and then plying seams, collar, yoke, sleeves, and most treacherous of all for him, the placket with steam and heat to make it all look unwrinkled.
After all that, he didn’t wear the shirt. Oh, well. It’d be ready for next time.
Floofking
Floofking (floofinition) – 1. The ruling animal of a household, group, etc.
In use: “Everyone assumes the floofking must be male because of the human definition of king, but per the flooftionary, a floofking is the dominant animal regardless of gender, size, or species. Humans tend to think themselves as the floofking of their domain, as do cats.”
2. A human who is able to manage and influence animals.
In use: “Marjorie was the neighborhood’s unquestioned floofking — a cat – dog – bear whisperer, according to stories — interacting with everything, especially crows, who happily joined her whenever she left the house.
3. To play like an animal or engage in play with an animal.
In use: “Soon after arriving home, Lucy showed up at Bob’s feet with her favorite toy, ready for a period of floofking.”
Floof Chef
Floof Chef (floofinition) 1. Individual responsible for preparing animal’s meals.
In use: The house floofs knew that he was the floof chef, so they never bothered his wife or anyone else, but as soon as he arrived him, the floofs gathered and pressed him into duty.”
2. Animal who supervises or monitors all food preparation activities.
In use: “As soon as they went in to begin making dinner — a time which was hardwired into the floof’s psyche — the floof joined them to complete his duty as a floof chef.”
Michael Seidel, writer 