Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
The floof is there and then he’s gone,
And then back beside me like a remembered song.
Pleasing me with his looks and presence,
Causing me to give him treats and attention as presents.
So it goes for a number of years,
Feeding him, tending him, addressing worries and fears.
Till it comes, a day so still,
Death has finally broken his will.
And he’s not beside me because he’s gone,
Till my mind brings him back like a remembered song.
We got rock. And coffee. Day is looking good so far.
Spring is holding onto Ashlandia. Up to 54 F now on this Thursday, May 24, 2023, with the weather dregs insisting that the mid to upper 70s is possible today. Well, a blue sky has shown up. Sunshine is plentiful. Wind has stilled and smells less like winter. Maybe we’ll see those temps. Wonderful walking weather or working outside until it’s dark weather.
Still snow up on the crests around us. That doesn’t mean much. Between altitude, latitude, and longitude, they’re in a different micro-clime. Same if you drive up or down the road more than four miles.
I enjoy the long days of sunlight. Looking forward to and not looking forward to summer solstice. Exciting ’bout it because, hey, summer is here! Carries a load of popular memories and high expectations based on who I was and what used to happen in the summer. But as an established adult, summer arrival ushers in the shrinking of the daylight. The reversal begins. Not right away, but the days will grow shorter. Sunset will arrive a little earlier. Sunrise starts poking in a little later. Ah, c’est le vie.
So I have the patio door-rescreened. Everything is cleaned up, re-installed, looking good. I’m pleased. What mesmerizes me are the floof reactions. They cannot simply walk past the new screen and in through the cleaned frame et al. They must stop and in-teeennntttly sniff it all down. Not just once. Several times. The looks on their faces when they do. They become thoughtful. “What is this? What happened to the smells from the previous residents?”
Part of the reason the screen became so torn up and the area a little dirtier than approved is that I’d installed a cat door there. That’s removed now. But with something like the cat door, I had to pause to remember when it was bought and all the felines that graced it with their feet and fur as they passed through. So many different styles. The criminal type, carefully sneaking in, lifting one corner first, peering in, not making a sound. The blasters, charging through like they’re bursting through a defensive line. Oh, and the undecided, entering half way to stop and look around like they’re realizing, that’s not the door to Narnia. A small subset of the tail-placers existed, too, the cat which would enter or leave, but stop just on the other side, leaving their tail in the other side. Such sweeties and lovelies, all, and so missed with their unique personalities.
The Neurons brought up a 1983 song by Simple Minds, “Waterfront”. This was wholly due to Papi the ginger zing. He tapped on the slider for entrance. When he came in, I discovered him soaked. “Is it raining?” I asked. His reply was to sweep against my legs in a full circle, wetting my calves, and then head for a kibble bowl. So I went out to look. No rain. Must’ve been a sprinkler.
But The Neurons were busy by then, singing “Come in, get out of the rain.” The whole course of the song began seconds later and remain full-throated in the morning mental music stream experience. You know, when I first heard this song back in the day, I thought it was a new song from Tears for Fears. It has that beat. Could be right out of “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” to me.
Stay pos and you do you and I’ll do me. Been drinking the coffee, doing me. Off to do other me things now. Here’s the music. Cheers
He watched his cats regard one another. Each feline seemed wary and doubtful of the other although they’d lived together for over six years. He believed that both cats thought of himself as the better floof and thought the other was a little crazy. Of course, being the better floof to them also meant that they were due more attention and treats than that other, inferior floofer.
A long time known
Watching them grow
Kisses and hisses, barks and growls
Friendship and watchfulness
Without churches, witnesses or vows
They’re there for you and you for them
Fur people fur minders fur irritants
Fur friends
Petting his cat, he said, “That’s my sweet baby.”
Never mind that the cat is about seven years old, so he’s no longer a baby, but middle-aged. It’s not about the math, anyway. We all know that when it comes to our floofs.
He opened a cupboard. Floofs hurried over and peered in. They do this whenever he opens any door. He can hear them talking to one another. “Look! A secret door.”
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t know. Wonder where it leads?”
“Maybe we can use it to escape.”
Because they always feel like they must escape this life of comfort.
He pads through the house though there’s little light,
Making little sound.
Confirming everything is alright,
Unwilling to let his people down.
Then he returns to the beds,
Checking everyone’s heads,
Reassuring himself that they’re fine.
And has a little to eat,
And then, relaxing, goes to sleep,
Doing the work of a floof kind.
A small floof,
Who liked to goof,
Was such a funny one.
She liked her people’s bed,
And being scratched on the head,
But really loved the sun.
Kibble was tasty.
And she never ate hasty,
Nor was other food shunned.
Then it was off to sleep,
Another day to keep,
And dreams about all that she’d done.
Bad weather keeps floofs inside
Where they race around, slide, and glide
Kicking dust up with their paws
Damaging furniture with teeth and claws
Picking up speed, they race and jump
Making us freeze as we hear a distant thump
Leaving us to wonder and shake our heads
Wishing they’d calm down and go to bed
Michael Seidel, writer 