Tag: Cat

Flooftigue

Flooftigue (floofinition) – Extreme tiredness resulting from mental or physical exertion or illness associated with an animal.

In use: “She loved her collies and cats dearly but sometimes the flooftigue experienced from their constant demands and care (especially the young, rebellious Cortney, now nickname the S.S. Rambunctious, as in “Uh, oh, the S.S. Rambunctious is under steam again, look out,”) occasionally made her wonder life without her pets would be like. Then one of them would give her a kiss and a smile, and all would be forgiven.”

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Cell Floof

Cell Floof (floofinition) – An animal who guards, likes, steals, or uses cell phones.

In use: “Seeing the unsecured cell phone on the bench in the foyer, Tucker assumed his cell floof fur and curled up on it, allowing only a little to show, so his people could appreciate what he was doing.”

Tucker returns from his outdoor napping and sentry routine, and assumes duties as a cell floof (see it by his head?).
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Two More Dreams

I often dream about four things: being in the military (again), cars, houses, and animals. Two of those made it into the second dream. It was the main event. First, though, came a dream snippet.

I was working on rice flavors. I came up with a new, exciting idea: cinnamon rice. Awakening, I thought, cinnamon and rice? That’s been around for eons, as in, say, rice pudding. I was quite excited in the dream, though.

My boss entered. I made my announcement.

He loved the idea. “Cinnamon and rice. That’s our new potato chip flavor.”

Whaaat? I’d been working on potato chip flavors? I was aghast, horrified, and crestfallen. Then I said, move on.

My second dream found me in a huge house. My wife and I had been living there for years, but the place surprised me with its size. Besides several levels, the house featured several wings and a huge yard.

I’d been living on the main levels, I realized, and had forgotten about the other parts. Now, remembering them, I went on a re-discovery exploration. Everything was well lit, plush and well furnished, but some of the white marble steps were dusty. I had to clean those off, I told myself.

Back in the house, my black cat was clamoring for my attention, but I had a house guest. I took her to a breakfast nook off the second dining room (the more informal one). There was a table with three chairs. Two were standard dining room chairs, white with light blue padded seats. The third, in the same motif, was on wheels and featured a wicker headrest that could be folded up to extend the back.

I presented this to my friend. I hadn’t seen here in over a decade. She’d never been to my house. Dressed in light blue and white that weirdly matched the dining room and breakfast nook, she stood there with a laptop bag over her shoulder. “Perfect.” She set her bag down. “I will write and type here.”

Good. She wouldn’t bother us there. But I said, “You’ll be facing a wall.” That was anathema to me; I liked facing a window so I could look out.

“No, I like facing walls, so I’m not disturbed,” she replied.

Weird to me. Meanwhile, I had to pick up the dogs from the vet. I went out as the van arrived, bringing them back. (Yeah, that confused me for a second; I thought I had to go get them, but no, they’d been brought to me.)

I took the dogs inside and let them go. They rushed to one bathroom. Surprised, I followed them in. There, I found kittens: a gray, ginger, and two black and white. They were toddling around, their little tails straight up the air like pointers. The dogs avidly sniffed them.

I called to my wife, “Where did these kittens come from?”

She didn’t answer. That’s where the dream ended.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Song from 1969 is rambling through my head. (Guess it’s Throwback Thursday.) (This is Thursday, innit? Days are sort of bleeding together with a lovely melange of rain, sun, and night.)

“Good Times, Bad Times” by Led Zeppelin is cranking through the stream? Why? Because it can. But I think it sorta works for these P.D. (pandemic days, or pandays, if you must). “Good times, bad times, you know I’ve seen my share.” Plant sings it so much better than me, according to my cats. But then, they’re very critical by nature. They’re like, “Stop singing. Feed me. Stop moving. Let me sleep on your lap. What’re you doing? Where you going? Get back here. Don’t close that door. Hey, what’re you doing? What’s going on behind that door? Let me in! Let me in!”

 

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All I Want (A Cat’s Lament)

Give me strength

to not claw you as you sit

looking at me

and telling me,

“I don’t understand what you want.”

You’re not trying.

We both know it.

We know what I want.

You’re just being dogmatic about what you’ll give me.

Pig-headed about giving in.

Mulish in your approach to our relationship.

Drawing your head into your shell.

Sticking it into the ground.

Or scurrying, mouse-like, from my demands.

Slithering away from facing up to my natural superiority.

Following the herd about what should be done.

Instead of striking out on your own,

and going in there,

and opening every food that’s available

until we find one that makes me happy.

That’s all I want.

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The Surviving Dream

I was out with others. We were in endless stores but outside, in rolling, emerald green hills bathed in sunshine. I was happy but I was aware that it was a dire situation. Everyone was aware. What measures did we need to take? How could we survive?

Then, boom, all were dead.

Then I was getting back up. I was aware it was a dire situation. What measures did we need to take? Okay, I’d just died, so what we’d done didn’t work. We needed to do something else. Then, boom, something was coming, and we all died.

I was back after a second, in the same situation, trying to figure out what to do, then it all happened again.

I spoke with others. How can we stop this cycle? Others were certain that it couldn’t be stopped, they saw no way that it could. But a man in uniform stepped forward.

He was dressed like a WWII Nazi officer, grey uniform and hat, black epaulets, knee-high shiny black boots, in a movie. “Actually, it can be stopped,” he said. “You just need the right place to hide and the perfect timing.”

Before I could question him more, he said, “Ah, here it comes again.”

I saw something coming, or more correctly, looking down and across the stores on the grassy hills, I saw its effects on the people and world. I warned others that it was coming as I took cover with a cat. I died.

Born again after that, I joked with the cat, “Well, that didn’t work. Did you die, too?” The cat didn’t answer. Then, knowing the cycle was short, I began hunting for the next place to hide. This time, I seemed more aware of the threat coming toward me. It rippled through the people and fields like a light breeze blowing through a rows of wheat. Watching it come up, I timed my move and stepped aside.

I’m not certain if I died or not. There wasn’t a moment of awareness of dying, but I was again considering the situation, the German officer beside me. “No, it’s not that easy,” he said in a jocular voice.

I was dubious of him. “I think you’re trying to distract me. Who are you? Why are you even here?” I had the sense that he was there for misdirection. He was there to stop me from seeing and thinking.

An event was coming again. Picking up my cat, I turned my back and hunkered down under a table.

The dream ended.

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A CBD Update

I have cats.

That’s my human POV. The cats put it, I have a human. The cats say, I make demands, play with things (because I’m booored), and show affection (sometimes offering my human a gift), and in return, the humans feed, shelter, protect, care for me, and give me a body to sleep on so I don’t get cold. As a human, I say, aren’t they sweet?

The cats, smugly, nod, their eyes hooded: yes, we know.

Some of my little felines have issues. After inquiries and research, I decided to attempt a CBD course. The inquiries didn’t do a lot to reassure me about what was going to happen; neither did the research. They’re cats; they’re as individual as humans and offer less insights (and more cryptic insights) into how they’re feeling. Eventually, I purchased Sun God CBD Heka Pet Oil. It’s available locally. Friends swear by it.

Boo’s stress and anxiety drives my feline CBD attempts. Boo, an older cat with a mysterious history, huffs, hisses, panics, and swats at everything. You never know what’ll set him off. His back fur by his rear has matted. Always a large cat (and, we suspect, arthritic), he can’t groom that area. During the consecutive years of wildfire and smoke-filled air, all the cats (except young, short-haired Papi) (aka Meep) developed matting. With everyone except Boo, we bought sprays and used those in conjunction with scissors, brushes, and combs to remove their mats and restore their gloss.

Can’t do it with Boo. He ducks hands, although he’s come to tolerate our petting and stoking. (But beware of going close to his matted fur!) Hairbrushes? No! Hiss, snap, swat, run away, run away, run away, run away. Scissors?

I dare you.

His mats are so bad, they’re like a hard hump on his back (for which we cruelly call him Humpback). You know it has to be bothering him. We have great ideas about what’s going on with his skin underneath. We’ve done research.

We’d already tried other things to calm him. We considered hiring groomers to come to the house, but until Boo calms more, we think that option is out. We have managed to groom some of it down, but not the worse, and without constant grooming, it begins expanding. Something must be done. Hence the CBD.

Knowing Boo’s condition, I knew it would take some time for me to get any quantities into him. The oil smells unusual. Boo doesn’t do unusual.

At the same time, I was trying it on two of the others: Pepper (the neighbor’s elderly cat, who treats our place as her home), and Tucker. Tucker suffers from autoimmune and inflammatory issues. Somewhere older than ten years old, he’s aging, too. He apparently lived a rough street life before reaching our door. Again, he’s a cat without a past (that we know).

I added CBD to the food. Boo ran away. Pepper ate it up, curled up, and went to sleep. Tucker ate some and became…mellow.

Papi did, too. Yeah, he ingested a little with food. When I visited with him afterward, I swear he acted stoned, smiling at me like he was going to say, “You know, you’re so cool. I love you, man.”

The next day, encouraged by the small amounts and reactions, I squirted a few drops directly into Pepper and Tucker’s mouths. Pepper took it in stride; ate, went away, and came back stunningly invigorated. Success. Wow.

Tucker went to sleep. Deep, deeep, deeep sleep. It was so deep and prolonged, I wondered, what the hell have I done to my cat?

Then, after twelve hours of that, he hunted me down in bed in his usual Tucker style, and all seemed fine.

Meanwhile, I bought special food for Boo. He’s partial to things with sauces, so I purchased a more expensive offering, with skipjack tuna and chicken in a delicate broth (such marketing hype, right?). Into it I dropped two drops of CBD.

Boo lapped it up. Then he went outside, found sunshine, and went to sleep, deep, deeep, deeep sleep, for hours and hours. This was in parallel to Tucker’s deep sleep. Tucker was inside sleeping; Boo was in the grass in the back yard. Usually when I open the back door, each looks up from their sleep to see what’s going on. Usually, too, Boo trots over to me.

This time, nothing. From either.

Holy crap, I’d killed the cats.

I checked both for signs of life. They stirred, like, what? But it wasn’t their usual behavior.

After a day of that deep sleeping, I worried about it. I decided not to give any cat CBD to see what happens.

You know what? All are normal, almost back to their pre-CBD form, except that I swear that all seem more relaxed. Pepper continues to be sprier.

At this point in my non-scientific testing, I consider the CBD worthwhile. I have another can of special food for Boo. I plan to administer the CBD to him in it this week. Then we’ll attempt to groom him. Just a little, mind you.

Then we’ll really see if it’s worthwhile.

 

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Tail Tickle

Tail Tickle (floofinition) – The response felt (sometimes with itching or light laughter) when an animal’s tail touches or sweeps across a human’s face.

In use: “Jumping up onto the desk, the cat hopped over the laptop’s keyboard, giving Michael a tail tickle as he passed.”

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