Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofswoggle (floofinition) To trick or deceive an animal. Origins: Southern United States, 17 century. First noted in print in A Human Guide to Fascinating Floofs & Their Flummoxing Fancies.
In Use: “One recent net trend shows people floofswoggling dogs with the ball trick.”
In Use: “People cutting cakes made to look like a cat in front of a cat is an example of how people entertain themselves by floofswoggling their housefloofs.”
Blue is struggling for a presence against a gray and white coalition of clouds and fog. The sky is a dramatic pastiche for a classic fall line up of trees showing off golds, reds, yellows, and yes, some greens. My trees out front are into the traditional game of “Which leaf will hang on the longest?” Relevant numbers for this Sunda, November 11, 2025, are 63, 72, and 42, for the present, high, and low. My house’s outside system glowers that it’s still but 54 F out there. Overall, these elements blend into a pleasant fall day, good weather, if you can get it.
My wife is enamored of those talking button mats for floofs. These mats feature buttons which correspond to things like food, water, outside, treat. The floof presses a button to express themselves. We don’t believe Papi will ever be willing to express himself like that. He’s a reserved orange who keeps his thoughts behind a mysterious, watchful facade. We agree that Jade would’ve made full use of the buttons to drive us nuts. She was intelligent, vocal, and willful, wanting to be involved in everything, complaining and chastising us for not being forthright with sharing food, demanding to be pampered. She would’ve been a video star.
I see that Trump is manifesting his concerns about GOP election losses and the ongoing Trump-Epstein Shutdown (TES) of 2025 by losing his mind, blasting out crazier and angrier texts and statements. The GOP has decided that the best course forward is to do nothing, earning them another award as the Party Which Cannot Govern. That’s okay with MAGALand, as they think the government is out to get them and full of liberals which persecute the white man, especially if they’re a good, Christian, God-fearing, honest billionaire like Donald Trump. (Yes, that was 24k snark.) WWJD has left the building; they’re all about What Will Trumpy Do? It’s all good in their books. Evidence of preying on young women? That’s okay. Ripping off the taxpayers? Long as he’s in charge, they’re fine. Preaching hatred, divisiveness, breaking the economy, and starving citizens? Yeah, they good. WWTD. Some are starting to question about what they’ll do AT (After Trump), but they’re using very hushed tones. To question that there will an AT suggests that Trump is mortal, that he won’t be around forever. Judging from the way overweight Dozy Donny is shuffling around at this point, the countdown on him has begun.
So the “Cruelty is the Point” Trump-Epstein Shutdown of 2025 forges further into record territory, protecting Trump from being exposed for what he did with Epstein, stuff that put Epstein in jail, while demonstrating that Trump and the GOP does not give a crap about anyone but the wealthy and powerful. He and they have confirmed who they are, as long as you’re not hiding in some right-wing bubble.
Musically, despite a long and interesting dream, The Neurons are dedicating today’s theme music to DJ Dozy Donny Trump. This comes after reading the news, yeah? The Neurons said, this sounds like today’s morning mental music stream inhabitant should be “Manic Depression” by Jimi Hendrix. Yeah, that’ll play. This is interesting but uneven footage from Jim and Experience doing their thing.
No sign of grace and peace in my area yet. Coffee has answered the call, though, so I have a coffee grin spreading. Hope y’all have an awesome sojourn. Cheers
Where is the fur
Where is the purr
Where is the regarding gaze
Maybe out in the sun
Somewhere having fun
Or resting in some shade
Then he arrives
Taking me by surprise
Leaping onto my lap
To tell his news
Through chirps and mews
It’s my buddy, my fur friend, my cat
My fellow Terrans. Today is Thirstda, June 5, 2025 in Ashlandia. Some refer to the day as Thursday.
Summer is rising in Ashlandia. Ridiculously blue skies have us covered like a fine duvet. Sunshine is showing up early and staying late, putting on a bright display. Today’s high will be 82 F, about 8 degrees north of our present temperature. Humidity is not bad, and light winds lazily stir the leaves and brush past.
Papi is happy as a floof can be, chirping around the house in the early morning before floofsconcing into a nap nest. My wife isn’t as happy. Although her various ailments are easing, mosquitos are finding her irresistible. Their bites swell on her which is an annoyance. As for me, I’m embroiled in an agent hunt put my personal happiness and satisfaction both at 7.5 on the scale, where ten means it’s all awesome. That might just be coffee influencing my spirits.
The world continues its status as fascinating but complex. For example, forecasters and personnel at NOAA. We’d heard that DOGE took its usual cleaver to NOAA. Meteorologists vacated the business, taking early retirement, etc. But there was U.S. Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick at a Senate hearing telling us that the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) is “fully staffed” with weather forecasters. Meanwhile, a search for news updates about NOAA tell multiple other stories.
Scientific American: New Hires Will Still Leave the NWS Dangerously Understaffed, Meteorologists Say
Milwaukee Journal Sentinel: NOAA is scrambling to fill positions after Trump’s cuts. How are Wisconsin offices faring?
The Mirror US: Florida weatherman warns viewers he won’t be able to predict hurricanes because of Trump’s federal budget cuts
Those stories were all posted a day ago. Lutnick testified last week.
There’s always been news churn where politics encumber how facts are related. But vetting those facts with the TACO Regime is increasingly challenging. We do understand that. Trump is a dedicated liar and butchers facts. He’s willing to make up anything to make himself look good. The people he hired are right off the same cookie sheet.
Today’s music is by Billy Joel. “We Didn’t Start the Fire” is Joel’s musical recitation about facts and history culled from his lifetime. The song came out in 1989. From Wikipedia:
Joel conceived the idea for the song when he had just turned 40. He was in a recording studio and met a 21-year-old friend of Sean Lennon who said “It’s a terrible time to be 21!”. Joel replied: “Yeah, I remember when I was 21 – I thought it was an awful time and we had Vietnam, and y’know, drug problems, and civil rights problems and everything seemed to be awful”. The friend replied: “Yeah, yeah, yeah, but it’s different for you. You were a kid in the fifties and everybody knows that nothing happened in the fifties”. Joel retorted: “Wait a minute, didn’t you hear of the Korean War or the Suez Canal Crisis?” Joel later said those headlines formed the basic framework for the song.
Looking further back in U.S. history, there’s been multiple awful times to be 21 years old, a truth known around the world. Some irony creeps in for someone from a privileged background, Sean Lennon, son of John Lennon, making that observation back in 1989.
The Neurons brought the song into the morning mental music stream after I read about actual wildfires in the United States and Canada. I feel for the people and animals in those places, as we’ve worried about California and Oregon wildfires for much of the last twenty years.
But the song is a good song for today, mostly because it strikes me that the TACO Regime is trying to fan the flames rather than fight the fires. As others note, it’s increasingly evident that TACO is tearing down the world order to make it easier for the wealthy to take over, rule, and make more money. Anyway, here is the song.
Got my coffee. Hope you have your beverage of choice. Let’s do the best that we can today. Here we go. Cheers
Floofsconce (floofinition) – Term to describe animal sleeping in a safe, protected, and comfortable space. Origins: 1594, western regions of Floofrope.
In Use: “People who share life with floofs are always pleased when their floof can floofsconce somewhere where the people can reliably find them safe and comfortable.
In Use: “For feline floofs, under and behinds bushes outdoors in the summer is where they often floofsconce.”
In Use: “As a puppy, Animal usually dropped and slept wherever he stopped playing, but as an adult, he always floofsconced in Matty’s room, on their bed.”
Clouds have overtaken Ashlandia again. It’s a cool summery start to June, this being Sunda, June 2, 2025, and a pleasant way to ease out of spring, that being the current rotation, as we’re north of 0 degrees latitude.
Did you read about the mutation which they believe give orange cats their color? Scientists track down mutation that makes orange cats orange. The story comments, “It took researchers a century to find the genetic glitch that causes orange coloration in cats.” Turns out the Arhgap36 gene was involved. Go figure, right? They weren’t able to find any explanations for the orange personality, though.
Today’s song is in honor of PINO TACO. TACO, which means, “Trump Always Chickening Out”, has become PINO Trump’s favorite nickname. *snark*. The Neurons came up with it as I was breaking my fast. Into my morning mental music came “Macho Man”, the 1978 Village People song. But instead of the song’s original lyrics, The Neurons were singing “TACO, TACO man. PINO Trump is such a TACO man.” And so on. The revised lyrics don’t make a lick of sense, but it’s a rock parody, and it’s fun singing that PINO Trump is such a TACO man.” Heh.
Now, I must press on. My oven igniter replacement DIY project is underway. It’s been fraught with issues. Blood pressure has probably gone higher than any mountain. So, onward once again. I think I’ll start with some tacos. Some reason, I’m craving them.
And reminder, this is Jun 1. Big demonstrations planned for Jun 14. Be there or be a MAGAt. Cheers
I’m still riding a good mood. Knock on wood, right? Well, depends on your age and beliefs, I guess. I was speaking with someone the other day who claimed that ‘knocking on wood’ was to summon good spirits. I always heard/slash read it was the opposite: to scare off evil spirits or to avoid tempting fate.
Today is Frida, May 23, 2025. Sunny in Ashlandia, we’re anticipating a warm stretch. It’s not going to be a steady rise. Today will be 75, tomorrow will be 82 F, and then it drops a little again before rising into the nineties by Wenzda. Clouds lurk like spectators at a crime scene but blue sky and sunshine are on the main stage.
Per usual in Trumpland, the news is a blender full of good and bad news. Supreme Court rulings, miscarriage of justice, vindictive DOJ action on Trump’s behalf, redistribution of wealth to the wealthy at everyone else’s expense catch most of my attention. I was intrigued to see how expensive beef is becoming. I don’t eat much beef so prices have skyrocketed without me noticing. Lot of it is driven by Texas beef and the cost of feed. The cost of feed has increased because of drought. Don’t worry; Trump will be all over this, as he’s a big advocate of addressing climate change. Yes, that’s snark. We know Trump will try to blame former President Joe Biden and the Democrats for it. I’ll just shake my head and move on until the rest catchup. With tariffs on beef from multiple countries, beef prices are set to increase more.
Today’s music is related to a dream. I was in the kitchen, chatting with Papi, aka butter butt, about his brekkie when dream snippets floated in on my brain waves. As more dream made its way into memory, I recalled an individual in the dream telling me, “Don’t forget me when I’m gone. I won’t forget you.” It’d been a touching dream scene.
The Neurons were on that like Trump jumping on a woman. “Don’t Forget Me (When I’m Gone)” was soon playing in my morning mental music stream. I had no idea what year it came out or who performed it. The net helped me learn that it was 1986 and a Canadian group called Glass Tiger.
Alright. Got my coffee at the coffee shop. Sunshine is warming the outside world, and shadows grow shorter and sharper as we move into the afternoon. It’s Memorial Day weekend and vehicle traffic in Ashland has jumped. Hope you have an awesome day. Cheers
Noctrol (floofinition) – Floofterally, ‘nocturnal patrol’, a phrase employed by animals in reference to activities done between sunset and sunrise. Origins: 1600s, early middle Floofish.
In Use: “Spunk entered the house after her humans finally answered her summons and opened the door. Excited by all she’d seen on her notrol, she chatted to them, but all they did was tell her how sweet she was and feed her.”
In Use: “During his noctrol, Austin Powers witnessed Mark leave bed and quietly go to the kitchen, open the refrigerator and get out leftover pizza. Knowing Mark was on a diet, Austin Powers quietly joined him, demonstrating again that floofgilance pays off.”
Greetings from Ashlandia to all you Mundaheads. Yes, we’ve reached another Munda milestone in our mostly mundane lives. I’m speaking for myself, of course. I’m sure none of the rest of you deal with a Mundane Munda.
The weather here is mundane, sunshine with clouds, blue skies, and the sometimes drizzle. Out looking for spring last night, Papi, our ginger housefloof, was wet every time he re-entered the house following a nocturnal patrol. I never heard any rain. I assumed Papi was dashing through sprinklers. When I got up, though, I saw that, yeah, it had rained through the night. We’re still looking at a taste of the low 70s F today and an overnight low in the upper 40s. This week promises more time bouncing through rainshine.
Cleaning the garage and taking away the trash yesterday brought an expanse of free time to silently think. I used to do these sort of tasks with a boom box playing. I don’t bring out the boom box any longer. Boom boxes were so ubiquitous last century but I haven’t seen anyone using one for years, it feels like. So my work was done in silence. I didn’t mind the silence, as I practiced fiction writing in my head, a feat which always intoxicates my muses and brings them back to give me more.
The other thing from yesterday was the lack of floofervision. I used to share floofmeciles with several cats. Most were active floofervisors, there to help me open boxes and study the contents. Papi was more of the laissez floof management style. He showed up to see what I was doing and ensure nothing to eat was there but usually left with only a short comment. There was a time when the likes of Jade, Tucker, and Quinn would be stamping things with their paw of approval. Sort of missed that but at the same time, less interruptions to move animals were needed.
Politic news again had me GRRRRRRRRRRRing over my morning coffee. I read that the Roberts Court is allowing the Trump Regime to remove protections for Venezuelan refugees while it’s still being contested in court. A lower court had stopped the deportations and kept protections in place. Trump disliked them because, you know, President Joe Biden had extended those protections. Trump’s regime argued that the protections were not in the nation’s best interests and undermined national security. Therefore, the protections should be removed so the Venezuelans could be shipped out of the United States. Reading that, I thought, “Trump’s actions aren’t in the nation’s best interests and undermine national security. Can’t we depart him?” Then I sipped some coffee and smiled.
Another of my friends took the pledge. She wrote on FB: “I’m done posting shit about the clown. I’m just so sick of his garbage. Im sick of the clowns in Washington too afraid to stick up for the American people, their constituents or just filling their coffers with bribes from the orange clown and his fellow billionaires with the goals of killing off the poor, I’m just sorry for the folks who voted for him and will now have all of their programs and help cut.
“So I’m done. No more. I know what I know and see and read. And hopefully someone will have the balls to throw the garbage out”
We know who she means: PINO Trump. I feel her. He’s only interested in enriching himself and his family, as long as they are also going along with him.
Today’s music came during my work yesterday. As is often the case, The Neurons started song based on something they observed or perhaps a fragment of thought or a fleeting memory. They act on it, and music arrives in the mental music stream. In this case, it was a 1980 song by REO Speedwagon, “Keep On Loving You”. Why in the world did The Neurons snag this song while I was cleaning the garage and cars, etc? I don’t know. It remains in the morning mental music stream, though. Freeing myself of it requires me to offer it to the general public. So here it is, from my head to my computer to the internet to your computer (or other electronic device) and then into your head. Isn’t technology amazing?
Well, that’s the morning stuff. Coffee has been loaded and stored in my energy cells. Now I’m ready to get ‘er done. Pitter patter, here we go — again. Cheers
My oldest item on me would usually be my underwear or socks. My wife shamed me into buying new underwear.
“What would your mother say about this?” My wife was holding up a pair of my boxers.
“I always wear clean underwear,” I answered. “That’s all Mom worried about.”
My wife put fingers through holes. “She wouldn’t be bothered by these holes?”
“It’s enough material. Come on, it’s underwear.”
After pressure like that, I examined my undies with a more critical eye. Sure the elastic wouldn’t hold them up any longer. And parts of them were as sheer as honeymoon negligee. Yes, my wife had a point. The underwear was purchased before we moved here. That was in 2005. I think I had them before we moved to Half Moon Bay, in 1999. So new boxers were purchased. It wasn’t easy. Materials have changed, etc. That’s a whole different tale.
As for my socks, I now wear *shudder* compression socks. Every friggin’ day. They are not old.
We come at last to the oldest thing on me: my gray pullover fleece. It’s a quarter zip. I purchased it for $20 in May of 2001 at the Stanford Shopping Center. I know these details because Mom was visiting and I was starting a new job at another startup, Internet Security Systems.
My wife and I had been married over 25 years then. Mom had never visited us at any of our homes. True, she lived in Pittsburgh, PA, and we’d never lived closer than 300 miles. That was with our first duty assignment at Wright-Patterson AFB, just outside of Dayton, Ohio. For eight of those years of marriage, we were outside of the United States. And on three more years, I was alone overseas.
So, I bought a ticket for Mom, and she was there. She took a photo of our black cat, a long-haired rescue we’d named Sammy. Sammy had been left behind on military base housing. We took him in and discovered that he was a beautiful, sweet, intelligent kitty. Mom happened to take a photo of him while he was on the patio enjoying sunshine. She spent a week with us and then went home. Two days later, we rushed Sammy to the vet, where he died, cause unknown. I was wearing my gray fleece that day.
That big old cat loved that fleece. He liked to climb inside it while I was wearing it. Nestling against my belly and completely out of sight, he’d purr himself to sleep. Then he’d start snoring. My wife always laughed because it was like my belly was snoring. In an aside, a few years later, we moved again. Another rescue cat joined our household. Like Sammy, she liked crawling up under the fleece, curling up against me to nap inside my garment, while it was on me. I think Sammy would have approved.
I always remember Sammy when I don this old fleece. Even if it’s for doing yard work, as it was today. And when I do, I always smile.
Michael Seidel, writer 