- The kale started growing again. We’d grown and harvested it. Well, my wife, really. I helped buy supplies. Provided extra hands as needed. The kale took off initially, then wilted under a combined attack – heat, insects, sun. Wife battled on, then clipped it back. Per her orders, I moved its planter off the patio. I put them in the bush’s shade. Matter of convenience. Surprise: the kale is back. Hasn’t been watered since harvest two plus weeks ago, so she began watering it. It seems to like that shady spot.
- Tomatoes are doing well. Great to go out and pluck tomatoes as required. Ditto, the squash. Romaine is all gone, though. Sad face.
- Did some wardrobe culling. My wife’s simplify switch suddenly turned on. Ergo, I am expected to participate. Out went five bags of clothing between her and me. Two bags of books. Book sellers aren’t buying. Those like Powell’s who buy wouldn’t accept these books. The books are too worn. A bag of shoes. Old blender.
- Culling is a serious matter. Embarrassing, too. How much do I need? Well, I’m sixty-five. Things have been acquired for different eras and their needs. Much of it is from my suit and marketing days. Yes, wore suits. Did trade shows. Visited customer sites. Also required for when I returned to company headquarters. That was my U.S. Surgical Days. I worked in California. Headquarters was in Connecticut. Tyco acquired us. Talk about a crazy time. Yeah, time to get rid of those shirts. The ties were already gone. I left Tyco in 1999. Still did marketing work after that for a period for another startup involved with coping with peripheral and coronary chronic total occlusions. It was going under so I went on to Network ICE in 2000, where suits were no longer required.
- Also departing my wardrobe were my jockstraps, sweat bands, and racquetball gloves. Haven’t played in two decades. There it all was, buried at the drawer’s bottom, waiting for daylight.
- Purged underwear, too. I had enough underwear, I found, to go without washing them for fifty days. Why so many? Well, a large number was undies which no longer fit. Good-bye, I told them. Blew them a kiss. Now I have enough for twenty days. Don’t judge me. I judge myself enough for all of us.
- Ten belts were surrendered. All leather. Browns, tans, blacks, burgundy. Tested first. I could see where I wore them. What holes were utilized. Usually the third or fourth. The test today was that the belt must reach at least the second hole. The results amazed me. I generally couldn’t get the tip to the buckle. I had no idea that leather would shrink so much. Only four belts now remain. Black, brown, fancy, and plain.
- Catching up on the wildfire news in the U.S. west. Bootleg Fire still burns. Sixty percent contained. 420,000 acres. Drought is spreading. Deepening. Lightning strikes are causing more fires. I turn to other world news. Move beyond the Olympics. Past the spiking — again — COVID-19 numbers. Past the tales of regretful vaccine hesitant folks who are woke after suffering themselves or losing someone close. On to Europe, where Italy, Greece, and Turkey are evacuating tourists due to wildfires. It’s a hot, hot, hot world, and it’s getting hotter.
- Absorbing how much floofitude is on exhibit by a cat’s encounter with a spider or cob web. We have loads of them. Webs, that is, not cats. Just have three cats. Probably have so many webs because we have a strict no-kill spider policy. It’s an unending chore cleaning webs out of corners and from ceilings, walls, patio, porch, and garage. Spiders love throwing up webs. I opened the living room patio door this morning. Stepped out. Breathed in. Considered the browning landscape. Then turned to return inside. Walked straight into a web. Some spider must have seen the door open and hurried a dragline across there.
- The cats have different reactions to webs. Papi, aka Youngblood, the Ginger Blade, and Meep, is the youngest and most graceful. When he encounters a web, he immediately backs away and goes around it. Boo, our large-size bedroom panther with the small velvet paws, hurries through the web while shaking his head. Tucker, the big black and white alpha cat, stops, shakes his head, washes, and then shoulders on. I’ve witnessed this several times over the months — seriously, the number of webs and how quickly they emerge staggers me — spiders are productive little critters — and I’m certain about my assessment on the cats’ behavior.
- Writing has been entertaining. Yes, that’s the term I’ll employ. Absorbing will work as well. I’ve gone surprising places with the story. Then pause as I think, oh, WTF, and ponder the direction. I keep telling myself, just get out of your own way, fool. Don’t overthink anything. Just write. That works. Just need to hurdle myself. An interesting noir style has emerged. So I have a science fiction mystery thriller noir going.
- Got my coffee. The day’s second cup. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. Then I’ll go clean off spider webs. Cheers
Floofpitulate
Floofpitulate (floofinition) – To give in to an animal or to accept an animal’s choice or decision.
In use: “He wanted to get up but the cat wanted to remain in his lap, so he floofpitulated and took a nap.”
Unfloofgivable
Unfloofgivable (floofinition) – 1. An animal that can’t be given away.
In use: “They called the puppy, part of a litter of rescued orphans, Smuckers, a name given by their youngest boy. He was supposed to be fostered, but Smuckers turned out to be unfloofgivable, remaining with the family for his life.”
2. An action or behavior toward an animal that can’t be accepted or tolerated.
In use: “As the Internet reveals videos of despicable treatment of animals, more activities once accepted as routine or normal, such as puppy mills, are now being blasted as unfloofgivable.”
3. Action by a human, especially a pet owner, deemed unacceptable by a pet.
In use: “The cat wanted bacon and wasn’t given any, unfloofgivable to her. In retaliation, she walked about, jumping up onto floofboten counters, knocking things off, nipping at ankles when people passed, and loudly meowing in complaint.”
Lollapafloofza
Lollapafloofza (floofinition) – Four day private festival of animals, for animals.
In use: “Cats and dogs often disappear for a day or two during Lollapafloofza, worrying pet owners, but they generally safely return, leaving the owners to wonder where their pets have been.”
Floofshaming
Floofshaming (floofinition) – Behavior used or looks given by an animal that makes people, especially pet owners, feel ashamed or guilty.
In use: “As she sat and ate her sandwich, not even offering Brutus a sniff, the Maine Coon sat there with a floofshaming expression that caused her to turn away so she couldn’t see him.”
Floofbitis
Floofbitis (floofinition) – Faked illness brought on by an animal’s behavior.
In use: “She called her friend and told her that she couldn’t go out because she had a flare of floofbitis. After disconnecting, she scratched her dog’s head as he slept on her lap, nibbled a piece of gouda, sipped a little Merlot, and resumed reading the latest Louise Penney novel.”
Dynfloofsy
Dynfloofsy (floofinition) – Powerful group or family of animals that maintains a prominent position for a considerable time.
In use: “Although they had three large male dogs and two large male cats, Jade and her female successors established a dynfloofsy, decreeing they controlled laps, food bowls, and the best sleeping places. Just a look from one of them enforced their royal edicts.”
Sisyfloofean
Sisyfloofean (floofinition) – Task involving an animal requiring continual and often ineffective effort.
In use: “She always railed against where the cats should not be — the kitchen counters, the dining room table, the living room sofa and chairs — but keeping them off of these floofboten areas was a Sisyfloofean challenge.”
Floofy Foot
Baby, I’m thunderfoot
Always underfoot
making it hard for you to
move your foot
loving your foot
sleeping on your foot
licking your toes and
biting your foot
leaving drool on your foot
and chasing your foot
making you dance to keep me
from your foot
cause I’m thunderfoot
always underfoot
just another playful
floofy foot
Flooflympic Games
Flooflympic Games (floofinition) – Panfloofic festival held every fourth year, made up of sports, music, story-telling, and other contests, with the victor’s prize a crown of treats.
In use: “Rex was a Flooflympic Games champion three times over, taking top honors in the bed jump, treat begging, and sad eyes competitions.”
Michael Seidel, writer 