Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofeasance (floofinition) – Misconduct or wrongdoing by an animal, especially a housepet. Origins: 1763, Flance, from floofaire to do wrong, from floo (animal) + faire, from Floofin, facere, to make or do.
In Use: “Coming home often led to findings of floofeasance in the house, but Sugar and Charley’s adorable expressions always saved them from being disciplined.”
The markers of familiarity intrigue me. I like to walk and friends and strangers comment on seeing me walking around town. People often mention they know me by my hat and its flair. My flair reveals my interests in writing, coffee, beer, the Steelers, and being retired military and living in Oregon.
On my end, I know several dogs who come into the coffee shop by name but I don’t know their owners’s names. People socialize differently with animals. The baristas and other customers often talk to the dogs by name. But even when people talk to the owners, names are rarely used, a facet of behavior which intrigues me.
Things are changing, though. This week, I learned that sweet Lenny’s owner is a retired sociology professor. Happy and social Sugar’s people are Thomas and Alice. Bear — who lives up to his name with his size but is a friendly, relaxed pup — belongs to Norm and Sarah. In this way, gaps are closing, and we’re all becoming friendlier and more open.
Today, Jessica didn’t know my name or regular coffee order. She did remember my Co-op number and knew that I was Brenda on that account. She and I enjoyed a good laugh about it.
Little interactions like all of these help enliven the coffee shop writing life for me.
I was at some sort of crowded little outdoor coffee. The business was wedged into a place not made for business. Small tables crowded together on a patio lined with low cinder-block walls on two sides, flowery weeds growing out of cracks, all on the edge of a tiny parking lot. A street is close by. The actual business, a rustic hole-in-the-wall offering is on the parking lot’s other side along with two or three other tiny businesses.
Pretty day and I’m a young visitor. A ginger and white cat comes to check me out. A woman who comes and goes says, “She’s begging for food. She’s always begging for food.” I try to accommodate the friendly feline. Fortunately, I have cat food! It’s cheese and something. I open the plastic cat food container and let the cat sniff. It’s eager, so I put the container down under the table, under a flowery tablecloth, so the cat can eat it.
The cat quickly returns. “You didn’t eat all that, that fast, did you?” I look below. “No, you barely touched it.” I laughed and scratched the cat’s head. “You just like being fed, don’t you?”
The woman returns with a small dog. Terrier type with curly beige fur. The dog is polite, with bright eyes, sniffing around but making no sounds.
“He’s looking for food,” the woman says. “He likes to eat the cat food.”
The dog finds the cat food and goes to town. Then the woman orders him to follow her and they’re off again.
I feed the cat again, laughing at myself for doing so. I open several of the plastic tins just to humor the cat. It licks and eats from several of them, then comes back in a quest for more.
The woman and dog return. I tell the woman about opening several packages for the cat. I realize that I’ve been sitting there for a few hours and worry about the food going bad. I ask the woman if it’s okay for the dog to eat them. The dog watches me with silent hope during the exchange. When the woman says, “Yes,” the dog jumps down and I give it some old food.
Then, in a dream shift, a friend arrives. She’s another writer. I know that she’s quit writing but she’s here to talk to me about it. So we go walking. She’s young, Black, and shorter than me. I encourage her not to stop writing. She feels like it’s become a waste. I ask her, “But if you don’t write, how will you know what you think? Isn’t that important to you?”
She repeats what I say. We’ve been walking on a trail. Now we come to a bunch of teens. They’re crowding around a bush. Dozens of tiny black insects buzz through the air. “The hornets are back,” one teen says. “Look, they’re building a nest.”
He indicates a space inside a bush. I look. Yes, the little black things are building a thing that looks like a miniature beehive. I’ve never seen anything like it. I wonder if these are really wasps. I don’t really know.
Dream ends.
Floofcretion (floofinition) – 1. A product of animal discharges, body ejections, shedding, etc.. Origins: 1846, from A Home Guide for Life with Animals.
In Use: “Michael loved his cats but admitted that their floofcretion — hairballs, shedded fur and whiskers, and litter box donations — sometimes wore him out.”
2. The quality of an animal’s ability to be cautious or reserved. Origins: Middle flooflish from the 14th century.
In Use: “The two puppies were completely different, with Normal being the soul of floofcretion, never barking or whining, always happy and gently playful, while his sister, Abby, terrorized feet, shoes, socks, and furniture, raging with loud barks and growls whenever anyone exercised the temerity to approach the house.”
3. Ability to right to judge, rule, or govern an animal’s sounds, activities, or behavior. Origins: 17th century, noted first written use found in A Book of Rulings for the Governance of Animals in Homes.
In Use: “Many humans think that if they let animals like cats and dogs into their homes, floofcretion is theirs by fiat, but the animals often turn the tables on humans when it comes to matters like what the animal can eat, where they can sleep, what they can attack, when they can race around the house…and other irritating but endearing flooftivities.”
I broke out of my writerly cocoon this week. I typically get into the coffee shop, find a table and seat, assume the position and shut down to being friendly. I have met Kim, another writer, and chat with her regularly, but briefly. We each respect the writer’s privacy and methodology, so while we will emerge to joke and exchange words, we shut back down and get down to our respective writing processes.
Meanwhile, though, there are dogs. People bring their pups in with them, a practice I applaud. Living in Europe, it wasn’t unusual to encounter dogs in restaurants, cafes, and shops. I’m fine with them.
And the dogs are fine with me. But because they come and visit me, I end up chatting with their people. Then the people open up with their curiosity about what I do there each day. In explaining, others overhear. They volunteer later, privately, that they’re a writer, too. It’s a veritable writing hive.
I also ventured out of my cocoon on my own. A woman sat down beside me yesterday as I was wrapping up. She put a book down, along with a notebook. Always interested in people’s reading material, I glanced over. The book’s title was A Wild Life, a book about women in botany and their discoveries. I have several botanist friends, learned, intelligent, charming people who are passionate about botany. I said, “Pardon me, I saw your book. Are you a botanist?”
“I wish,” she responded.
We chatted about the book and why she chose it. A local person, Lucretia Saville Weems, is the author, and the woman saw it in Bloomsbury’s local authors section and was interested and bought it.
Packing up, I said my goodbyes to her but wasn’t done socializing. I’d noticed a young couple. She was wearing a One Piece sweatshirt. My wife and I are One Piece fans, so I had to pause to compliment her on her top, and then we talked about the television series and enjoyed some laughs.
Probably just something in the air for a few days. I’m back in my cocoon today, ready to get to it.
When black Frida comes, it’ll be chilly, with limited, diluted sunshine in Ashlandia. This is November 28, 2025. Just a few more daz and the eleventh month of 2025 will be in the books. Meanwhile, it’s 43 F and a high of 55 F is hoped. Rain? WTH knows?
A little tomfloofery for your day is in the link. Click and enjoy this interaction between two species.
https://www.facebook.com/share/r/1D5u1AAETU
Today’s music was derived from looking out the window. I was visiting the back scene with Papi, gathering some sunshine against my face and gazing on the leaves on the ground. Dead and dying leaves passed through my thoughts. Instantly Les Neurons began a song in my morning mental music stream about dying leaves and dirty ground. The words were there along with pieces of melody and fragments of sound. What was missing were the title, performer, and the rest of the song. As it didn’t come to me, I took to technology to recover the rest. The answers: “Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground” by The White Stripes. I thought it a bit cruel of The Neurons to do that to me, trying to me think and remember when I hadn’t even had my coffee yet. Sometimes, I swear, I don’t know what gets into The Neurons.
We had a delightful Friendsgiving, meeting a few new people and visiting with a dozen and a half friends. The food was its usual delicious, the standard for these outings. Standard and straightforward T Day offerings but with organic stuff, vegan offerings, and gluten-free choices.
We chatted briefly about politics. “We ain’t buying it,” was chatted up. We also discussed “A House of Dynamite”, a movie about potential nuclear way now playing on Netflix. One wonders how the Dizzy Donny Regime would respond to detection of an incoming ICBM, given that Donny cut the head off the senior military ranks, replacing them with people more politically reliable to Donny but less experienced. Some had even retired at lesser ranks and were returned to service to take up new positions. Not reassuring.
Hope you had a decent Thirstda. Now out and onward. Cheers
Apflooftude (floofinition) – A natural ability to understand animals. Origins: First noted in the 17th century in an instruction pamphlet titled A Treatise on Travel with Animals, published in France, author unknown.
In Use: “Just when people begin priding themselves on their apfllooftude, the furry floofy floofballs demonstrate bewildering behavior that defies people’s grasp about what’s going on.”
I thought EB was in love with me. She’s a very sweet small dog with wavy caramel and white fur. Her people say, “She’s a bit of every cattle dog you can think of.” I thought EB was in love with me because of the way she was staring up at me.
Her person said from beside me in the coffee shop, “I’m sorry, she has a staring problem.”
I laughed that off. What soon became apparent was that EB loves attention and people love to bestow it on her. Every other person going by stopped to pay an EB fee, loving on the small, sweet pup.
Then Sugar entered. Sugar is a ‘service dog’. Says so on her vest. She’s a coffee shop regular. The staff knows her and spoils her with treats.
Sugar and EB met nose to nose, tails going with enough propellor motion that take-off seemed imminent. After permitted to converse a bit, Sugar was led across the room with her people where she rested by a table.
Didn’t end there. Sugar and EB eyed one another across the floor with a quiet wistfulness, like teenagers longing to know one another. “Why are they keeping us apart?” their eyes asked.
Both eventually gave up, settling down to sleep under tables, part of the brisk and lively coffee shop scene.
Guess it was just another case of puppy love.
Ineflooftable (floofinition) – An animal who cannot be avoided, resisted, or changed. Origins: Circa 1623, first noted in print, 1801, The Ineflooftable: How Animals Change Lives & Free Humans.
In Use: “Many talk about the ‘cat distribution system’, wherein an ineflooftable feline shows up and decides, ‘you’re my human’ and makes themselves at home.”
A man and his companion sat down with their dogs on the coffee house porch. Both people had pastries which they sat down on the table. The dog immediately went for that.
“No, Curry,” the man said, lightly touching the dog. “Come on. Make good decisions.”
I laughed to myself. I bet the dog thought that going for the food was a good decision.
Michael Seidel, writer 