Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofetry (floofinition) – Sonnets, odes, rhymes, and verses about animals.
In use: “One of the more famous examples of floofetry begins, ‘Oh, I wish that I will someday see, a poem as lovely as a floof, although we know most floofs are goofs, and those who live with them have the proof.'”
Floofcocious (floofinition) – 1. An animal who exhibits mature qualities at an unusually early age.
In use: “The floofcocious young puppy approached the elderly dog with surprising reserve and respect, carefully stepping around them, letting them sleep.”
2. A person who understands and empathizes with animals at a very young age.”
In use: “The child was floofcocious, bottle-feeding orphaned kittens and puppies animals by the time she was four years old, sitting and comforting old dogs and cats at animal shelters when she was five, reading them stories every day.”
I enjoy watching “Would I Lie to You?” Hosted by Rob Brydon, Lee Mack and David Mitchell lead two teams. Two guest celebrities appear on each team every show, people like Bob Mortimer (who shares hilarious tales), Jo Brandt, Richard Osmen, and Greg Davis. The team members then tell a story about something that happened to them. The other team then guesses whether it’s a lie or true. Points are awarded. Yes, it’s British. My favorite episode involved Germane Greer and cannibalism. I love how the panels and Rob really get into the premise.
I stream it on Britbox via Amazon. I’ve watched many episodes more than once, tests to see how well my memory works as I try to recall if they’re lying or telling the truth. I’m usually wrong. I don’t think that bodes well for me doing my taxes in the future.
Whenever I watch the show, I think, what tales could I share? I’ve come up with one. First, the opening statement. That’s what’s used to launch the premise and cross-examination.
I once passed out three times trying to give blood just so I could have a doughnut.
They would ask the usual questions. When did this happen? Where? How old were you?
I’d answer, “I was in my early twenties, working at a bank in Pittsburgh, PA. The American Red Cross was having a blood drive in the lobby. If you give blood, you’re given a free doughnut. I really wanted a doughnut, so I took my place in line. Then, well, as I approached, I fainted.”
For some reason, as I write this, I imagine it being spoken in David Mitchell’s voice.
You fainted, will be repeated. I’ll nod, affirming that’s what happened.
Then?
“They put me on one of the little beds they had set up and gave me some orange juice. I returned to my desk, but I really wanted a doughnut. I got back in line and fainted again.”
They would ask me, “Was this your first time giving blood? Have you ever fainted before? Do you have a history of fainting?”
It was my first time giving blood. I’d never fainted before.
The ARC again put me on one of their little beds with orange juice. After I felt better, I returned to my desk. But…
I really wanted a doughnut.
I returned to the line, worked my way forward, and fainted again.
“A third time,” people exclaim. “Boy, you really wanted that doughnut.”
“Well, it was free,” I reply, “and I like doughnuts.”
“What kind of doughnuts were they? Were they special doughnuts?”
“Glazed.”
“Were you hurt whenever you fainted?” They would ask. “When you say, fainted, do you mean that — what do you mean?” (Lee Mack is questioning me; I hear his voice.)
“I swooned,” I answer. “My vision grew dim, my legs grew weak and then buckled, I lost consciousness, and found myself being helped off the floor.”
“How long were you out?” Lee asks.
“Not long, a few seconds, maybe ten seconds, I guess.”
“Did you ever get a doughnut?”
“No.”
Rob asks, “Well, Lee, it’s time to decide if he’s telling a lie or telling the truth.”
He’s lying, they agree. Nobody would get in line three times just for a doughnut. Or the ARC would give him a doughnut after the second time, to reward him for his efforts.
“It is a lie,” I tell them when the time comes. “The truth is, it wasn’t me; it was my sister.”
And that’s the truth.
Floofcident (floofinition) – Mishap involving an animal.
In use: “Trying to walk around the cats and puppies when she was making a meal resulted in a floofcident; the resulting crash cleared the room of animals.”
Zerofloof (floofinition) – 1. The first animal in a person’s life.
In use: “Despite going on to share life with a dozen more felines, Jade was forever the zerofloof, and she left her mark in ways no other could touch.”
2. A place or period when no animals are in one’s life.
In use: “He endured zerofloof twice and vowed after the second that he’d never be zerofloof again, because having a dog companion, someone to walk and talk with, someone he absolutely trusted, didn’t need to be experienced when there were so many beautiful dogs out there, waiting for the right person and home.”
Fast paws and sharp claws
can slice you in a second
the cat said, purring
Yallerfloof(floofinition) – 1. Foof slang for yellow animal.
In use: “Many people call Papi a ginger cat but Michael always thought of him as a yallerfloof.”
2. Archaic expression for an animal who likes talking or singing about everything.
In use: “The little puppy began life under hard conditions, becoming a yallerfloof early on, a state he never left as he was adopted and found a home, singing about birds and animals in ‘his’ yard, happily barking when his people appeared, and joyfully yipping when he was about to be fed.”
I’d just been saying to my wife, “Getting hold of Mom is so hard.”
“Why?” She was peering over her glasses, typing on her computer. She’s always doing that – or reading or bathing (much time is spent in the bathtub reading) – so I’m not bothered by bothering her.
“She doesn’t text, or answer emails. I don’t think she checks her email every day or even every other day. She says she’s going to call back, but she doesn’t. She leaves a number but she doesn’t answer it. It doesn’t even go to her email.” I shook my head, dismayed by the recitation. Mom lives a continent away. Visiting her is a challenge. It’s rural on both ends. Rural meaning, no airports within an hour. Rural, meaning the flights to the nearest airport means travel days that begin and end in darkness on either end.
I’d just been saying/thinking these things when the phone rang. Suspicious of telemarketers – they’re focused on car warranties right now (meanwhile, I’m receiving solicitations about being cremated or getting my hearing tested in the mail) – I checked the number. “Mom’s number,” I said, answering the phone.
Hello was exchanged and I began my opening remarks. “How are you? I’ve been calling since you last called but I don’t get any answer.”
“Your father is dead.”
“Really?” Suspicions reared up. “You told me that three times before.”
“Twice. The other time was him.”
“No, he told you that he committed suicide.”
“It was a note.”
“Still, you called me and told me Dad was dead.”
“I thought he was.”
“That he’d killed himself.”
“I thought he had.”
I left the office to wander the house, a nervous habit I had when talking with Mom. “Even though there wasn’t a body.”
“I thought he was being thoughtful and had gone off and killed himself in the woods. He’s really dead this time.”
“Is there a body this time?”
“Yes.”
“I think I need third-party verification.”
“Your sister is here.”
“Which one?”
“Debby.”
“Debby? Really?”
“Yes, she came up to see us. She and the boys drove up. The got here last Thursday. She’s staying in the spare room. Her boys are staying with Jean. I think Jean got the better deal.”
“Probably.”
“Do you want to talk to her? She’ll tell you that your Dad is dead.”
I stopped at the living room back window. A blue jay was screeching in the back yard. Our black cat watched from atop a sunny knoll. “No, I don’t trust Debby any more than you.”
“I understand.”
I changed hands and thought. “What about my other sisters?”
“They’re not here.”
“Have you told them?”
“Yes. Jean is at work. She’s coming over when she gets off, after she picks up the boys. The boys are going to school from home. Rooming.”
“Zooming.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Is anyone there with them?”
“Yes, of course, Dibo.”
“Is he sober?”
“He says he is. Jean doesn’t have any alcohol in the house any longer. Dibo drank it all. She won’t let him buy more.”
“Where there’s a credit card, there’s a way.” I was quoting Mom from her previous calls.
“She took his credit cards away from him.”
“What about Jan?”
“I don’t think Dibo is drinking any more. He quit smoking, too, except for medical marijuana. He lost a lot of weight but now he’s gained most of it back.”
“Did you tell Jan?”
Mom hesitated. “No, I didn’t tell Jan.”
“Why not?”
“She has other things that she’s dealing with.”
“What?”
“Well, she got into an argument over a parking space. Apparently, some words were exchanged. Anyway, some people filmed it with their phones. Now they’re calling her Karen and she’s in jail for assault with a shopping cart.”
I sighed, trying to think of a response. I heard water running on the other end. Talking followed. “What’s going on?”
The talking continued. So did the water sounds. “Mom? Hello, Mom? It’s me, your son. You’re on the phone. Hello?”
Changing hands, I walked the house, listening and thinking.
Mom finally said, “Your father’s up. I need to make him dinner. I’ll call you later, okay? I love you, bye.”
She hung up before I replied. Pressing the phone’s off button, I walked back into the office where my wife continued typing.
“Was that your Mom?”
“Yes.”
“How is everything?”
“Dad is still alive. Debby is visiting, Dibo is straight, and Jan is in jail.”
“Same as last time.”
“Yep.” I sat in my office chair and swiveled it to the front window. A heavy sigh rolled up out of my chest. “Some day she’ll accept that Dad divorced her and the others don’t exist.” I always said that. It never happened. I just went along with it all.
“Phone calls will be a lot shorter.”
I stared out the front window, wistfully watching a man and woman walking a dog. They seemed so normal. But so did Mom. “Yes, they will.”
