Fabfloofist

Fabfloofist (floofinition)1. Someone who makes up stories about animals.

In use: “Sarah was just three years old, but she was already a fabfloofist, regaling her relatives with adventure tales featuring the family’s cat and dog.”

Floof Over Matter

Floof Over Matter (Often abbreviated as FOM or F.O.M.) (floofinition) 1. Ad hoc policy that a household or organization’s care of animals is paramount.

In use: “He planned to make some changes in the house, but they were immediately terminated because of F.O.M., as his wife said, ‘You can’t do that. It’ll upset the cats and dogs.’ He could have argued that, but they’d been married over a quarter of a century. He understood floof over matter. It was only the floofs and their health and happiness who mattered most.”

2. Magic talents used by animals to make the impossible appear to happen.

In use: “She never understood how her cat got into the places which seemed impossible. Then she read a blog post about F.O.M. — Floof Over Matter — and began to understand that animals had powers which were beyond human comprehension.”

R.F.M.

R.F.M. – Rapid Floof Movement (Floofinition) – Unexpected fast motion done by animals, often without a cause which humans readily comprehend.

In use: “As one, the sleeping floofs raised their heads and then launched a R.F.M. Debra shouted at the disappearing animals, “What’s going on,” but none of them slowed down to explain. They just disappeared into hiding places in other rooms.”

Wednesday’s Floof Music

Papi here. Michael is my can opener. I’m helping him out. He’s running late, partly because he slept in because I woke him up six times during the night to go out and come back in or garner his attention because I was bored and had nothing to do. He was cool about it other than daring to lecture me about interrupting his sleep. These humans have such nerve, lecturing a cat about sleep. Cats know how to sleep. Humans can learn from us.

It’s Wednesday, I heard him say. As if I care. I know humans’ days of the week. They are so funny about days and dates. Take it from me, it’s not what you call a day that makes it smell and feel different. I’ve told him so before, but humans are slow learners, almost as slow as fish.

The sun came up after my first breakfast. Weather outside was cold enough before the sun came that I fluffed up my fur to keep warm. No one was out at that hour, which is why I wanted back in. I tried opening the door myself, but they locked it, and they won’t let me have a key. I tried getting the other cat to unlock the door, but he’s as slow as a human. Fortunately, it became sunnier and warmer. I like the sun.

I understand that I’m required to select a song as today’s theme music. There are many wonderful songs which I know would be great for that. I learned “Moonlight Singing” and “Attack, Attack” when I was just a kitten, of course. Youthful favorites include “Knock It Off”, “Catch It, Kill It, Eat It”, and “Damn Red Dot”. Now that I’m older, I’m more drawn to purr music like, “Find Some Sunshine”, “Let’s Cuddle Together”, and “Don’t Touch Me, I’m Sleeping”. Of course, the Floofies had a big hit with “The Sound of Kibble”. I always like it. I can’t go wrong with Stray Floofs and their huge hit, “Hungry Again, Feed Me”, either. Oh, and “Meow Now” by Kittahn would be an excellent song for today.

The can opener is reading over my shoulder. He told me that since I’m typing for him, I need to have human music. Like that stuff they listen to is music. Dog songs sound better than that human crap.

He said that his neurons (whatever they are) suggested “Honky Cat” by Elton John, even though he’s done it before. He’s drinking that hot, smelly, black water that he likes to sip. I’ve smelled it and can tell you that it’s not worth it, but that’s me. He said that he used “Honky Cat” three years ago but that it would be okay. I don’t care. I’m ready for a nap.

Here’s that music. Meow.

Xenofloofic

Xenofloofic (floofinition) – Fear and hatred of strange or foreign animals, or animals not normally seen in the area.

In use: “Rising up with a yowling growl, Pixie rushed the window in a fresh xenofloofic display, trying to attack the intruder floof — a small tabby with a white chest and matching mitts that Fran had never seen before — through the glass. Pixie was further infuriated that Fran went out and fed the other cat, gave it water, and checked it over for injuries and identification. The gall of her!”

Tuesday’s Theme Music

You might not know unless you have a calendar, but this is Tuesday, 1/24/23. I’m on assignment on twenty-first century Earth where the calendar is sacred, equally important in education, entertainment, and business in most of the world.

I’ve landed again in Ashlandia, a small town, but not quaint. If you remember, it’s located in a river valley in a region officially called the state of Oregon, in a section that is further identified by its geographic location relative to the rest of the state, which is the south. Hence, one staying here for any time will hear ‘southern Oregon’ mentioned. Ashlandia’s population struggles with identity, wanting to have nice things, unable to agree what the nice things are or how much they’re willing to pay and sacrifice to have their nice things. I’ve learned through my many visits here that endless conversations about the same subjects are reprised through months, seasons, and years. Only new home and business construction goes forward even as most worry that they lack the water and infrastructure for new places and many business locations are empty. However, construction is an industry which should not be stopped. Again, as noted in previous reports, they have empty houses and dormitories but argue about what to do about their homeless population.

Ashlandia’s weather is much like its population, muddling on as something somewhere in the middle. It is winter but sunny, cold at night, warming during the day. This day started with temperatures in the high twenties. Sunshine, which came over the mountains at 7:32 in the morning, has warmed the air and earth. With a cloudless blue sky capping the valley, Ashlandia’s temperature is now in the mid-thirties and is expecting to reach the low fifties before the sun leaves the sky at 5:15 this afternoon. (That may be evening; evening and afternoon seem hazy, even misconstrued or misunderstood expressions with haphazard agreement about when afternoon ends and evening begins.)

I heard a song playing on the radio. Radios are in every road vehicle and many people spend time in road vehicles each day. The song I heard was “(You Can Still) Rock in America”. This song was recorded and released in 1983 by a song group who called themselves ‘Night Ranger’, a name which they selected to symbolize what they stand for. Admittedly, the song enthralled my human form. Apparently, my host, a male in in his mid-sixties, knew the song, as he started singing parts of the song. He became especially energetic singing the phrase, “You can still rock in America,” which is also the song’s title. He seemed to become dour, even disappointed when the song concluded. My understanding of this creatures is still weak.

I will partake of ‘coffee’ now. Many, include my host, drinks this to stimulate them each day. It’s one of many stimulants available and used by the town’s population. I’ve attached the song for your sampling. I close with hopes that I’ll not need to stay in this body in Ashlandia for too many more cycles. Your servant, Cheers

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