Tag: cats

Wednesday’s Theme Music — Right

Ashland, southern Oregon. Wednesday, September 2, 2026.

Autumn landed in Ashland. Temperatures dropped. The heat came in. Thunderstorms and rain dominated the afternoon.

It was a hard rain — big silver drops falling in rapid succession. Not Portland or Seattle hard, and certainly not monsoon levels, but hard for us. 56 F now, just short of our 60 degrees high. 99% chance of rain today. Moving the needle a little back toward summer tomorrow, the high will be up to the mid 60s. Meanwhile, I am enjoying this rain.

I surfed the Tangle email this morning. In covering the Roberts Court decision to let Trump keep building the Epstein ballroom, they included a section about what conservatives are saying regarding the decision. They include Matt Margolis in PJ Media. Margolis compared Trump’s White House changes to those done by previous presidents, trying to make it seem like the same thing.

Which it isn’t. In all the instances Margolis cited, Congress was involved in approving the funding and construction. Margolis cites FDR’S swimming pool — oh, look, nobody complained about it! They’re treating Trump unfairly!

But FDR’s pool was built with private donations. And the Congressional Record makes this point explicitly: FDR was willing to accept the gift provided Congress authorized acceptance of it. Congress then passed the resolution.

Did Trump do that with the ballroom? We know the answer to that.

Margolis also wanted to compare Obama move to change the tennis courts to basketball courts, conflating it with $375M being spent and two years of construction. Except the records show the money was appropriated for Congress for a project approved for the Bush administration. President Obama just continued the project. And the basketball court didn’t require two years and millions of dollars. Nor did he destroy part of the White House to have it made.

This is all about Trump Double Standards and how MAGAts and Republicans attempt to justify them. Trump makes a mess of things, cutting down trees, removing art, breaking treaties, disrupting alliances, tearing down the White House, screwing up the economy as well as the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool, fucking up the military, starting another war in the middle east, trying to rewrite American history, denying rights based on sex, orientation, and hiding Trump’s involvement in the huge Epstein mess. Much of this is happening while the GOP pantomimes see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil and gives way to Trump.

Watch how it will turn if the Democrats take control of Congress. Republicans will all suddenly be crying about law and order and precedence. If a Democrat is elected POTUS, the GOP will eagerly clamor for checks and balances. Meanwhile, the Democrats will be the ones fixing the Trump mess. Reverting names to what they were, addressing the rocketing national debt, pushing to address the growing measles outbreaks, coping with inflation. The GOP will demand cuts for the social safety nets but not for the wealthy.

That is their MO.

Meanwhile, Trump is making it clear to Republicans that he only cares about them if he needs them. For the most part, he’s dismissive of them, not willing to spend any campaign funds on them while collecting more — for what?

Today’s song came from thinking “bloody right”, as in that damn irritating US right wing. I’m sure they say similar about the left, Democrats, and Progressives. *smile* Anyway, as I mumbled to myself about the bloody GOP — I watch a lot of Brit and Aussie television — The Neurons powered up “Bloody Well Right” in the morning mental music stream.

Supertramp came out with the song in the early 1970s. (Pause to think, wow, fifty years ago. Unpause.) The song has a sharp anti-authority tone to it.

Sample Lyrics

So you think your schooling is phoney
I guess it’s hard not to agree
You say, “It all depends on money
And who is in your family tree”

Right (right), you’re bloody well right
You got a bloody right to say
Right, you’re bloody well right
You know, you got a right to say

Write your problems down in detail
And take ’em to a higher place
You’ve had your cry, no, I shouldn’t say wail
In the meantime hush your face

Sounds suitable for now.

May purrs of joy fill your ears and good companionship carry you through whatever tribulations you’re enduring.

Cheers

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Monday’s Theme Music – Wrapped Up

Ashland, southern Oregon. Monday, August 24, 2026.

Damn hot today: 100 F, but it feels warmer. A red flag warning is in effect. We are expected to cool down again on Wednesday.

I’m off to a late start, courtesy of some animal fight at 2 AM. Woke us up. Went out, gathered our critter, who came in all puffy tailed, although he didn’t seem to be involved.

We decided to keep the cat in. That ignited his determination to go back out. Everything was done to convey that determination: beating on the door, meowing, beating on me. I finally succumbed after an hour and granted freedom. Then, though, I worried: was the cat safe? AAARGH!

I didn’t get up until after nine and had some calls scheduled which proved to be time sucks. Then, off to shower, dress, coffee and writing. Now I’m back home. Just finished lunch, finally posting the theme music.

Really, it’s my own fault for 1) having a cat and 2) for letting the cat worry and control me.

That led to “Wrapped Around Your Finger” in my morning mental music stream. This is a 1983 song by The Police. Charted around the world, so you may have heard it before.

Hope your day goes well. Be safe, be healthy.

Cheers

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Three Dreams Last Night

I can recall having three dreams last night.

One of them is barely recalled. It’s one of those episodic dreams I sometimes have, where there’s no one who I recognize as me. It’s just a story being told, like a television show.

I remember just part of a second one. Three other men and I were traveling together in an early 1960s something Cadillac convertible. We drove through sunshine with the top down. I was very impressed for some reason that there were four of us, two blacks and two whites. I believe we took turns driving.

We wore a uniform, and I knew we were on the same team but have no idea what team. From what I remember of the uniforms, they were white with dazzling embroidery, like something Elvis Presley would wear in concert.

Hungry, we stopped at a place where we decided we would pretend to be lawyers. We thought that ruse would gain us some food because we didn’t have any money. That didn’t seem to work so we drove cheerfully on through a winding orange canyon to another town.

We decided this time to claim that we were reporters. Women were running this place. One large, barrel-chested blonde woman was in charge. She mocked our claim that we were reporters, but they fed us anyway.

Dream end

Third dream involved family and food. I was with my sisters at some gathering at someone’s home. We were outside for most of the dream, where, weirdly, my sisters were baking. Besides them, there were many children. I barely knew most of them and didn’t recognize them from real life.

I needed an engine for some reason and ended up with a V8 engine with headers, a high rise manifold with a single four-barrel carb. The engine block was painted bright blue, and the air filter cover was chrome plated. After I got the engine, I realized, “I don’t need this.” But I wanted to save it. So I picked it up and put it in one of the rooms. I thought, I’ll leave that here for now but I’ll need to move it later.

My sisters and I talked a little politics. Then one announced, it’s time to eat. We got trays and loaded them up.

As I did, I went to cross the patio. Four tiny, perfect silver and black tabby kittens were playing. They’d found something and pounced on it, batting whatever it was with furious energy. I swear, these kittens were no more than three inches long.

My older sister asked me what I was doing and I showed her the kittens. She watched with me a bit, then I moved the kittens so they’d be safe.

The children and I decided to watch television. I wanted to watch football. I knew it was Sunday and games should be on, because of the time. No games were on, confusing me. I did the math: back home, the games start at 10 AM and it was almost 1 here, so there should have been a game on.

I went back to eat more cookies. My youngest sister was still baking. I walked along long tables mounded with food and wondered, laughing, why is she baking more? I ate a few cookies, which was delicious.

One brother-in-law, the Trump-loving one, was present, stretched out on a dark-brown sofa, talking. I wanted to hear what he said, but a plastic cocoon formed over him, sealing him in. I could hear him still talking but it was only a rumble of sound, and couldn’t see him at all.

Getting another cookie and eating it, my little sister demanded in her ominous ‘mom-voice’, “What are you doing?”

Laughing, I replied, “Eating a cookie? Why are you making more? Do you know you how many cookies there are?”

I saw her move the V8 engine which I’d move. I went over and picked it up to take it away, but then didn’t know where to take it.

Dream end.

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Strange, Short Dream

I arrived at home. Not mine, but Mom’s.

It wasn’t one of the places she lived in real life, but I knew it was her house.

No one else was there. The place was messy in many places, totally opposite of anyplace I’ve lived or visited where Mom was in command.

Getting there, I found a narrow bed. White sheets, pink blanket, pillow, but unmade. I decided to sleep a bit.

A long-haired gray and white cat joined me. I talked to it in the way we do with animals, telling the cat, a male, I knew, was very handsome. The cat then *ahem* indicated that it wanted to have sex with me.

Full-blown horror lashed me. I rejected that completely, telling the cat that was sick and disgusting. I added, “You can sleep with me but as a cat, not a sexual partner.”

Unable to sleep after that, I got up and walked around, taking notice of the mess. Part of it on one end was a pond with rocks. Water fed into it but the water was scummy, full of plants and crap. Deciding I would clean it, I went off, found rags, buckets, tools.

My sisters arrived, chattering and laughing, before I could clean it but after a sort pause, I did. In dream fashion, it was miraculously fast and easy.

I showed the others. Everyone was impressed by what I’d done. Two turtles emerged from the pond. My youngest sister exclaimed, “I knew there were turtles in there.”

One turtle puked. Examining that, my sister announced with happiness, “It’s pregnant. I am so happy.”

Mom arrived shortly afterward, the middle-aged person I knew for most of my life. Her hair was blond and she was wearing black slacks with this black and white polka-dotted frilly shirt that she often liked to wear. Smiling and happy, she came in, saying hello to all of us.

Dream end

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The Corporate Merger Dream

I was working –

Though I can’t say where or for who, nor anything like that. Wasn’t anything out of real life.

I was a mid-level manager, mostly working alone. Our corporation was merging with another, a larger one. Although it was labeled a merger, the partner would subsume our company.

I’d ended up providing some important information to make it happen, things which were requested at the last minute. I’d worked fast, long, hard, alone, to make that happen.

Now the merger was taking place.

I went outside. Early dusk was falling over a spare, sort of rocky desert landscape with spiky green plants, along with some thick, squat bushes. Meandering out there, I spotted a wolf.

It saw me.

I cautiously moved back. The wolf closed on me. I moved slowly. As the wolf came closer, I saw it was a husky.

The husky and I regarded each other around bushes, wary and curious. I drifted back into work.

Celebrations about the merger were beginning. Cake was being serves, which was fashioned after NFL teams. My cake was based on the Steelers and had black frosting.

I ate my cake and enjoyed it, then wandered. Speeches were being made. The CEO walked by to make a speech, pausing to slap me on the shoulder and say hello to me.

I moved on, encountering a pair of young men. They were by a pipe. Light lime green water gushed out of the pipe into a large square bright metal pan. The two men sat by it watching. One said to me, “They were asking who you were.”

“Do you mean me?” I responded.

“Yes, they were asking, who are you?”

“Did they mean me or you? I think the know who I am.”

“The new people wanted to know who you were because you were mentioned a few times. They wondered why.”

Shrugging that off, I went back outside to the same landscape. As I walked, I saw orange stripped cats doing different things. A clowder of dark gray kittens were playing at another place. I wondered where the husky was and if the cats were safe.

Dream end.

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Saturday’s Theme Music – Looking back

Ashland, southern Oregon — Saturday, July 4, 2026.

Today is Independence Day in the US, another bright day in my valley, destined to be 90 plus degrees F.

Fireworks aren’t permitted in Ashland. They are allowed in our county, so there’s a storm going on about buying fireworks right outside of city limits. People then come in and set them off.

I’m one of those against fireworks. We’re in the middle of a drought, and they terrorize animals and some people. Each year, I bring my cats in and ensure they’re in a safe place. Papi heads to the darkest and most secure space, the walk-in closet in our bedroom.

I understand that people like the colors and noises. We have other tech that can be subbed for this ancient technology. I know, though, that change is slow around traditions like these.

For me, Independence Day has a very special meaning. I met my wife just a short week before the holiday. I was fifteen and she was fourteen. My father, then in the Air Force, was stationed at DESC, just outside of Wright-Patterson AFB in Ohio. I went to live with him after some run-ins with my stepfather.

Dad and my future father-in-law were good friends. Dad worked for him part time years before when stationed at Wright-Pat, trying to make extra money. When Dad returned after assignments in Vietnam, Germany, Iceland, and Turkey, they renewed their friendship.

I met my FIL, Jim, in May that year, 1971, on a fishing/camping trip. Then I met his wife and daughters in June. That was just a short drop by, though. It was on July 4th that my wife and I ‘really’ met.

Dad had given me an old watch after he bought a new one. I wore that all the time. Back when I met her and my wife and I were getting to know one another on July 4th, she asked me about my birthday. As it happens, it’s on July 5th.

My wife asked if she could see my watch. Then she refused to return it. She waited until after the fireworks. She waited until midnight. Then she presented my watch as a gift and told me, “Happy birthday.”

I lost the watch a long time ago, but I cherish her and the memory.

Today’s song is “Tiny Dancer” by Elton John. For the last twenty plus years while living in Ashland, we go to a friend’s house along the parade route to watch our town’s 4th of July parade. It’s a brunch potluck. Our host used to be our neighbor across the street here; when her husband passed away over a dozen years ago, she moved into a small cottage behind her daughter’s house. It’s our daughter’s house where we and about fifty other people congregate and celebrate.

Our host, though, is Barb, the neighbor from across the street, a sweet and charming but small 96-year-old woman. Her husband told me that he met his wife when she was a teenager. She was studying dance, already in college, and he was at college and walking, when he saw her alone on the bridge, dancing, late on afternoon. He didn’t know who she was but he knew he wanted to know her. Since hearing that story, I often call Barb “Tiny Dancer”. And that’s why the song is in the morning mental music stream.

I have you have a wonderful day, whether you’re celebrating the holiday in the US or elsewhere, or just enjoying life in another nation. I hope it gives you memories that make you smile, and comes with memories about what happened before, and full of people who help make your life a better place.

Cheers

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Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts

Temperature is such a funny animal. 72 degrees inside in the winter and we sigh with comfort. So warm! How nice.

72 F inside in the summer — “Brrr, it feels a little chilly,” my wife complains.

Looking askance, I smile and move, catlike to a pool of sunshine streaming in through the window.

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The Big Spider

I was at the front door, staring at the corner to my right. My wife joined me.

We stared together. “The big spider is gone,” I said.

She and I looked around to see if the big spider was just outside of its usual location. “I don’t see her,” I announced. “You?”

“Maybe he went somewhere else,” my wife replied.

The big spider is a ‘daddy longlegs’. I always thought it was a female because it was large spider. Spiders need to carry eggs so the larger ones tend to be female.

My wife disagreed. “I read that some large daddy longlegs are males.”

Windows flank our front door. The big spider had been in the right window for months, a sentry against insect invaders. I’d watch her web become larger and larger. Some days, I came in and she was actively adding threads. I couldn’t figure out the design, though. Made no sense to me at all.

We didn’t mind the spider’s presence or its web. Never bothered us, so we didn’t bother her. Papi never gave her a glance. Although he’s gone to chase down the laser’s red dot, he’s rarely interested in bugs, insects, or spiders.

This is a huge contrast to Quinn. Quinn used to go after anything that moved on the floor or wall, swatting and swatting with his little black paw. The thing is, Quinn was a coward. If the critter turned and headed his way, Quinn freaked out, backpedaling and scrambling to get away, trying to bat the thing as he did. I never saw Quinn ever ‘get’ anything, but any blueberries that found the floor were whacked across the room repeatedly until it disappeared under some appliance.

We checked the web for a few more days but the web remained empty. I asked our other resident spiders if they knew what had happened to her. None ever spoke up.

I guess it was just meant to end.

And we never named her. She was always just the big spider.

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Floofclude

Floofclude (floofinition) – To be closed off or blocked off by an animal. Origins: Flooftin floofcludere, from floof- animal + claudere to shut, close; first noted use, 1681

In Use: “Marcia often struggled to watch a movie at home because Tonto loved movies and the cat often floofcluded her view of the screen.”

In Use: “Trying to get out of bed was often flooflcluded by the dogs and cats, especially on a cold morning.”

2. Thinking or planning affected by concern and considerations for animals.

In Use: “As Priscilla couldn’t take her animals to vacation on the coast, much of her planning was floofcluded by what to do about them to ensure they were safe, healthy, and well-cared for.”

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