Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Legerdefloof (floofinition) – An adroit display of skill or cleverness by an animal.
In use: “Employing legerdefloof with teeth and paws, the golden retriever unwrapped his leash from where it was tied to keep him wandering, and then went over, did the same with his companion’s leash, freeing the two to take off and explore the park.”
The cat is stalking me through the house
Staring at me and asking for something which
Might be a mouse but
I don’t know
And the wife is yelling loudly at me
For something that I was supposed to do yesterday
And all I reply back to her can be
I don’t know
And they’re showing me on the TV screen
Telling a story, the gist is me, and what it’s about
I’m waiting to see ‘cause
I don’t know
The fish in the aquarium was taken to the sea
And if you ask, I’ll tell you it was me
But if you ask why I did it, you probably know
I don’t know
I write this because it had to be
Muses arose and bushwhacked me
I asked them for explanations, see
and they replied,
I don’t know.
The cat led him into the feeding area. Bending down to pick up the kibble bag, the man farted.
The snapped around and intensely stared. Total demeanor asked, “What was that?”
The man snorted. “Oh, what an exaggeration. Like you never heard me fart before.”
The cat pranced to his food bowl. Sitting, he emitted a happy chirp and smiled up at the man.
The weather floof ran in, energetic with excitement. “It’s snowing!”
“Yes,” I answered, “I told you it was snowing before letting you out six and a half minutes ago.”
“It’s really coming down,” the weather floof continued.
“I know. We can see that through the window.”
“My fur is wet. Feel it.”
“Really?”
Not getting the sarcasm (they never do), the weather floof walked to the kibble. “I’m going to re-energize and then go out and see what the weather is like.”
The weather floof is Papi. He is and forever shall be the ginger menace, the orange blade, flash, and a bunch of other names, including Meep. He originated as Meep when he was the neighbor’s cat for the sound that he made. Now that he’s lived with Tucker for a few years, he’s found a proper meow and only rarely meeps.
He’s right about the snow. It’s really coming down. Seriously, it’s coming down. Not laying or sticking, at 36 F. But snow in March in Ashlandia? That forced a number of Ashlandians to pick their jaws up and put them back in place. How many days in a row have we seen snow? That surprises us, too. Every day, Alexa tells us we have another winter weather advisory. “Snow will start at twelve AM and continue falling until nine PM.”
Skiers are happy, though. “Hey, there’s new powder on Mount Ashland.” Yes, we know.
Dawn began early. It is entertaining to find dawn’s arrival obviating lighting requirements as I feed cats, let them out, and let them back in. We only have two now, down from five. The two we have seem to think that they need to fill the space and use the time previously allotted to the departed cats. Sometimes, I’ll call for the late felines just for these two’s reactions. Ears go back. They check each other and look over their shoulders, probably worrying about ghost cats. That’s all we’d need to make life complete.
Maybe that should be a television series: Ghost Pets.
It’s Sunday, March 5, 2023. Just around the corner from little sister’s birthday. Sunrise was at 6:40 and sunset will be at 6:06. The weather floof says it’ll be chilly and snowy today. Sunlight barely lights up the back of the grey sky of clouds. High temp will be 39 F.
A Neil Diamond song, “I Am I Said,” 1971, flows through the morning mental music stream. My wife asked me (again!) if I was going to do some household task. I replied, “I said I am.” The Neurons took it from there.
Stay pos. Drinking coffee helps me in that regard. Gotta go now. The weather cat wants back out. Cheers
“Snow is really coming down now.”
“Yep, it’s really falling.”
That’s how my wife and I talk about the snow. We’re both in our sixties and learned these sharp-edged snow statements from our parents and every other adult we were around in childhood. We’re not alone. If I say one of those statements to friends my age and above, they’ll respond with the other. Like we’re programmed.
It’s Saturday, March 4, 2023. The snow is really falling. As opposed to? Not really falling? It’s 34 F out there. Volume builds up, turning Ashlandia’s Clay Street neighborhood white. But soon as volume diminishes by a flake, it all melts away. Can’t say what’s happening in the rest of the town. I checked the cameras. We have one at the plaza downtown, 2.4 miles north. Snowing there, but not ‘sticking’, to use the meteorological term. Also surveyed the I5 cameras with the town’s exits. Traffic is thin and moving. No one in the chain-up areas. Supposed to snow most of the day, except when it’s raining. High temperature will be 42 F. As you might guess, the sun is as scarce as a Democrat at a Trump rally. White clouds rule.
Sunrise surprised us — not — we were ready — at 6:41 this morning. Daylight’s end arrives shortly after the sun’s departure at 6:04 PM.
The Neurons have Melissa Manchester singing her cover of “Don’t Cry Out Loud”, 1978, in the morning mental music stream. It’s one of two songs playing, taking turns with grave politeness. Other one is “View to A Kill”, Duran Duran, 1985. It’s all about the night’s dreams.
Stay pos. and watch out where the huskies go. My coffee is at hand, reinforcing my low energy levels. Here we go. Time to start the Saturday circus.
Here’s Melissa. Have a strong day. Cheers
He read in a paper, “…they were laying down on their stomach.” He frequently reads sentences like that and wonders, is down necessary? Could they be laying up or in another way? It seems redundant.
Like that phrase so constantly heard, “I was thinking in my head.” Like, where else do you think? Explain.
Snow men, women, and children guard the college dorms, apartment buildings, and many residences. The sun retreats behind clouds in the face of such numbers.
Michael Seidel, writer 