Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Going well. He crossed his fingers and sacrificed a cup of coffee and a pen to ward off jinxing himself. One book was still being revised, the fourth go-around. Another novel, Yum, was being written. Spoon fed by the muses, he was tearing through the story. He envisioned a short novel, and so far, it was going to plan.
Knock on wood.
He watched his cats regard one another. Each feline seemed wary and doubtful of the other although they’d lived together for over six years. He believed that both cats thought of himself as the better floof and thought the other was a little crazy. Of course, being the better floof to them also meant that they were due more attention and treats than that other, inferior floofer.
Unbefloofed (floofinition) – To be without an animal or animals, especially farm animals or housepets.
In use: “His dog passed a week after the cat, both startling, sudden events, and he found himself unbefloofed for the first time since he’d become an adult, opening the door for a crow to come into his life.”
He still follows the three S school of discipline for washing pots and pans: Soap ’em, Soak ’em, Scrub ’em.
Floofflee (floofinition) – When one or more animals run, fly, or swim away at great speed from a real or perceived threat.
In use: “Michelin was a large dog with a muzzle greyed with time, but he could floofflee with the best whenever booms broke the air, no matter their source.”
Alexa said, “Your cat, Papi, is at the front door asking to enter the house.” He answered, “Open the door and let Papi in, please.”
“Letting Papi in,” Alexa replied.
It’s really the best thing that Alexa does for him.
And then he woke up.
My wife exercises three mornings a week. Been doing this since we moved to Ashlandia in 2005. Friendships have developed through the years. A coffee clatch after class — which I call the zoo — was added a decade ago.
Today, she came in and handed me half a package of Trader Joe’s dark chocolate espresso beans.
“Where’d you get these?” I asked.
“Deborah. She said she can’t stop eating them so she’s giving them away. Everyone took what they wanted and told me to take those home to you.”
“That’s kind of her.” I sampled three.
OMG good. I understand Deborah’s decision. The damn things are addictive.
He finished his writing session and stood. Glancing to the neighbor on his left, he saw that the man was writing music. Peering at the sheet more closely, he wondered how it sounded.
If he could only read music…
Michael Seidel, writer 