Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Infloofniac (floofinition) – someone who can’t sleep unless their fur friend is with them.
In use: “She was an infloofniac for weeks after her big Maine coon passed away. There was a hole where his big, floofy body had rested against her side, and she felt it every time she went to bed.”
Floofnanigans (floofinition) – mischievous behavior by a cat or dog.
In use: “The puppies’ floofnanigans as they piled over the children, licking faces, tugging on clothing (and sometimes pulling something off) and wagging their tails, helped break the room’s tension. Good thing, Becca thought, or it would have been a short — or murderous — Thanksgiving.”
Floofsant (floofinition) – feline or canine’s powerful or vigorous impact.
In use: “Although it was two in the morning, a floofsant meow caused him to leap out of his recliner and run into the dark night outside to find the source and help the animal, if necessary.”
Floofcuse (floofinition) – a stare animals employ to convey betrayal, suspicion, and disappointment that hovers around being angry and contemptuous.
In use: “Opening the bag of chips, he began eating them only to discover two cats and a dog walking into the room. Sitting down, the three held a floofcuse on him that began wearing him down. With a sigh, he held out a handful of chips and said, “Do you guys want some?””
*snark alert* If this true, I’m a brilliant freakin’ writer.
(“Notice the ‘tend’,” he reminded himself.)
Floofsayer (floofinition) – someone who can predict a cat or dog’s behavior.
In use: “I met a man who claimed he was a floofsayer. He gave me a kitten and said, “This cat will love you more than any person or animal has ever loved you. She will follow you everywhere, including the bathroom, and sleep on your pillow against your head.” He was right in all regards. That kitten is now ten years old, weighs twenty pounds, and still sleeps on my pillow against my head.”
I knew heartbreak yesterday when, like many people, I was afflicted by shopping cart envy.
Oh, don’t deny that you haven’t experienced it in one form or another. You know what I’m talking about. Some of you have felt it when you’ve seen a cart filled with riches that you don’t have the money to buy. Others experience it when, like me, they look into another’s carts and see the stuff that you don’t eat because it’s not healthy for you, but you want to eat it.
I am a chronic sufferer of shopping cart envy these days. When I was younger, I could eat anything. Eating anything caught up with me as my activities and metabolism slowed and the speed of my waist line’s expansion increased. Ice cream, pizzas, burgers, milk shakes, sandwiches, steaks, cake, pie, doughnuts? Pass them over. Anyone want that last cruller? I’ll eat it.
Yes, I went through that period when I said, “I’m an adult. If I want to eat ice cream for breakfast, I will.”
Then I became, “I am an adult. What responsible adult eats ice cream for breakfast?”
Waistlines change. Diets change. Attitudes change. Yesterday, in Costco, I saw another man’s cart. He had a case of beer, cheesecake, a large pizza, and other treasures. I can’t describe more, as my mind went blank at the dazzling sight. I think I wandered, for the next thing I know, I was standing in a pool of my own saliva in the bakery section with a box of cookies in my hands.
I wasn’t alone.
Exfloofgent (floofinition) – a pet’s urgent or pressing request(s).
In use: “Although it was dark, as is usually the case at four in the morning during Pennsylvania’s winter, the cat began nudging her cheek and nibbling her nose in an exfloofgent to be fed.”
Floofversary (floofinition) – a feline or canine opponent, or a feline or canine that opposes, attacks, or resists.
In use: “The black and white cat that lived next door remained the gray tabby’s mortal floofversary. Seeing the tuxedo boy through the window always triggered warning growls, hisses, and baleful jade stares.”
Cars can surprise me. The Miracle Focus did. Gather ’round, o’ peers of the ‘net, and let me share the short tale.
We have two cars. One car ‘belongs’ to my wife, with the connotations attached that this is the car that she primary drives, and that I slip behind the wheel once in a while. This is a 2003 Ford Focus that we bought new that year. It was replacing the Nissan 200 that was my wife’s car then. Rear-ended, they declared the Nissan totaled.
Saying the Focus is my wife’s car implies the other car, the 2015 Mazda CX-5, is my car. That’s not true. My car was a 1993 Mazda RX-7 R1. I traded it in on the CX-5 at her behest in 2014. The Focus was then going to be traded in on a new sports car for me.
She reneged on the deal.
All that is beside the point, and just lengthens the story without adding to the plot, as did this sentence. The Focus has 105,000 miles on it, not bad for a fifteen-year-old vehicle. My wife drives it around town.
I take care of the maintenance.
I don’t do a good job.
Trying to make up for that, I took the Focus to an Oil Stop to have it’s oil changed, its fluids checked, air put in the tires, and so on. I did that last year, too, actually in January of 2017. It was supposed to be returned for maintenance somewhere in May of 2017.
That didn’t happen.
The maintenance this year, August, 2018, was well-overdue. I wasn’t too worried because no warning lights had come on, and only twenty-five hundred miles had been added since the last oil change.
When I took it into the same Oil-Stop as last year, they wiped out the dipstick and showed it to me. “It’s a little overfull,” the tech said.
That was surprising. I didn’t add oil to the car. No one else had, either. Oil Stop was the last place where anyone had added oil. As is their custom, once they changed the oil filter and put new oil in last year, they’d showed the dipstick to me to prove it was full. Now, a year later, it was overfull.
I was impressed. This car not only wasn’t using oil, but was apparently creating it.
That’s why it’s the miracle Focus.
That, plus I think it’ll be a miracle if my wife ever really does let me get rid of it.
Not that I’m bitter or anything. That would be petty. I’m just saying…
You know.
