Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Flooffeinated (floofinition) – becoming energized by the interaction with, or the presence of, housepets.
In use: “Although he made coffee every morning, stepping into the back yard with his cat and dog instantly flooffeinated him as they rolled in the grass and sunshine, and then chased one another.”
Beer-floof (floofinition) – housepet who enjoys drinking beer.
In use: “He had to watch his dog because the little beer-floof always lapped out of his mug of beer whenever the opportunity came.”
Techno-floof (floofinition) – a housepet who enjoys interacting with electronic technology or who is fascinated or entranced by electronic technologies such as telephones, televisions, and computers.
In use: “After showing his cat videos of birds and squirrels on the large smart-TV, Cameron was surprised one day when he heard the television go on, apparently by itself, in the living room. When he checked, he found his cat sitting on the sofa beside the remote. It seemed like the little techno-floof had watched him and knew how to turn it on.
“No way, Cameron thought. There had to be another reason for how the television came on.”
Interflooftion (floofinition) – a task or activity left incomplete because of a housepet’s assistance.
In use: “She planned to put up the Christmas tree and decorate it, but a classic interflooftion orchestrated by the cat and involving the puppies shredded that plan.”
The dream felt like a made-for-TV rom-com. I was a clean-shaven young NCO in a pressed service-dress uniform and tidy haircut. Due to weather circumstances and other logistic problems, I was required to help a four-star general for an evening. The general was a notoriously finicky and critical man, but I accepted my assignment with an aw-shucks gulp.
He was at a conference. The evening didn’t go as planned but I managed to keep a step ahead, and it went well from the general’s point of view, if not to anyone else’s thinking. (Sorry, but details are lacking.) The general then wanted to leave – now. But his aide, chief-of-staff, and other personnel weren’t there. Nonetheless, he wanted to go now. So I led him out of the building.
It was late a cold and starless late night outside. It’d been snowing for several previous days but sunshine had prevailed that day. Much snow had melted, flooding streets with icy slush. It was messy and travel was limited. But no problem, I took to the general to my parents’ house. Previously in the evening, I’d come by and set up a place for the general in their sprawling split-level. After showing the general to his place, I went upstairs and told my parents about their house guests. They accepted it with a matter-of-fact shrugs and smiles.
After that, I checked in on the general. He was fine, didn’t need anything and stressed, he didn’t want anyone to disturb him. He had work to do and then was retiring for the night.
Good to go. I returned to the convention center and encountered the rest of his group, as hoped, because they needed to be told what’d happened. They demanded to know where the general was. I explained it all to them and answered their questions. Their hostility soothed, they admitted that I’d done well. One insisted that he wanted to visit the general. I told him the general said he didn’t want disturbed. I left them discussing what they were going to do and went home.
As I arrived home (my parents’ house), a car of young women pulled up. The neighbor’s daughter left the car. The car left with the young women leaning out of their windows hooting and waving at me. The daughter, a short brunette in her late teens whose father was in the military, came over and flirted with me, beginning, “I hear you kidnapped a general.”
I told her the story. We flirted and then I was temporarily called to the house because the general wanted something to drink. When I returned, the young woman’s older sister, a tall blonde, was there. She asked me, “What would you do with slush like this when you were a kid? Wouldn’t you build a dam?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
The older sister said, nodding, “You settled a debate. Good-night.”
She left us. The young women and I went for a walk along the slushy street, building slush dams, but also breaking one open.
The dream ended.
***
Somehow, from all of this, I ended up thinking that the dream was about the outcome was the only thing that mattered.
Floofstring (floofinition) – a pet who pulls more on your heart than others.
In use: “All her pets pulled on her heartstrings but her first cat, Snuffy, was her life’s floofstring.”
Floof-si-do (floofinition) – a figure in which a human and animal pass each other foot (human) to shoulder (animal) or head, and circle each other as the pet tries for the human’s attention, and the human tries not to step upon or kick the animal.
In use: “He had a full plate of cheese and crackers in his hand, but that didn’t stop his pet from initiating a little kitchen floof-si-do.”
I’ve decided that a new holiday is in order. Don’t worry, it’s a personal holiday. It shouldn’t affect you.
(“Then why do I care?” you respond. “Well,” I reply, “maybe you’ll want to adopt my holiday after you read about it. Maybe you’ll want to have your own personal holiday. You can, you know.”)
National holidays are often so impersonal for me any longer. Commercialization, false patriotism, and cynicism have ground them down. Yeah, I get some credit for all that.
I was watching QI on BritBox the other night. As part of the program, Sandi Toksvig told about a Bolivian holiday, the Day of the Sea. A landlocked nation, Bolivia remembers the day they lost access to the sea. Here’s a little history about it from Boliviabella.com.
What initially detonated the conflict was Bolivia’s intention to charge a 10-cent tax per 100-pounds of potassium nitrate (saltpeter) harvested by Chilean companies in the Atacama Desert. The Chilean government did not accept this Bolivian decision and ordered its troops to invade the Bolivian regions of Antofagasta and Calama, where Bolivia had no military presence and most of the population was of Chilean descent.
It is because of the Battle of Calama that today we celebrate the Day of the Sea. With just under a hundred soldiers, Commanders Eduardo Abaroa (Bolivian) and Ladislao Cabrera (Peruvian) faced over 500 Chilean soldiers. Abaroa was obstinately defending a small bridge over the Topáter River, when on the 23rd of March 1879 the Chileans ordered him to surrender. His response was “Me, surrender? Tell your grandmother to surrender!” after which he was promptly shot dead.
I was instantly inspired. No, I wasn’t planning to shot anyone nor get shot or go to war. Let’s put all that to rest.
I love beaches, seas, and oceans. When I lived in California, my wife and I made a habit of visiting a little town, Half Moon Bay, almost every weekend. Situated on the Pacific coast south of San Francisco, it had wonderful beach access. Walking along the beach was permitted, and the town had restaurants, coffee shops, and book stores that we enjoyed. When it came to buy a house, we decided we’d buy one there. Hearing and smelling the ocean every day was wonderful. I’d get home from work and walk down there to check it out. Sometimes my wife would accompany me.
Moving to Ashland in southern Oregon meant giving up easy beach and ocean access. So, last night I decided to celebrate my beach and ocean addiction on a personal holiday once a year. Since I moved to Ashland in July, I decided my holiday will be on July first.
And like the people of Bolivia, I’ll stop doing everything and listen to the sounds of the oceans for ten minutes, and remember.
He repeated something that his wife had told him. “I never said that,” she said before anyone else could speak.
Indignation rose. Yes, you did, he began to say, but considered, maybe he’d heard it wrong. Maybe he was mis-remembering. Or maybe she’d said it wrong. Perhaps she didn’t remember saying it, or the people that told her had told her wrong. Or maybe she’d incorrectly remembered what she’d been told and then told him wrong, but didn’t remember it.
The only way to resolve this would be record and index everything so that he could go back and know exactly what was said.
Yeah, right. Who had time for that?
He smiled. “Sorry. I guess I got it wrong.”
