Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofbun (floofinition) – Prosifloofic poetry and prose that is about animals or relationships with animals. Origins: Japan, 17th century.
In Use: “One of the earliest recorded floofbuns is ‘The Trail of Shedding Fur’, written in 1784 by an unknown author about their floofs, while a more recent celebrated floofbun is ‘Floof Traveler Floofbun: 1999’ by Ima Katt.”
Puppycat (floofinition) – Example of a anthifloofria to demonstrate that an animal shares disposition or traits associated with different species. Origins: Ancient Fleek, first noted in writings dated in 12 BC.
In Use: “Introducing Max, Carly said, “This is my puppycat. He’s a dog but he thinks and acts like a cat.” As I bent to greet Max, the puppycat sat and stared at me in an uncanny imitation of a cat’s critical, judging gaze.”
“Look,” my wife said. “An ant.”
She was pointing at the kitchen counter between the toaster and coffee maker. Yes, there was an ant. I widened my field of vision. “There’s another. And another.” I pointed them out.
We have ants. My wife and I, I mean. Not as pets; ants are invading.
We noticed them yesterday evening. Black, they’re about a quarter inch long. We don’t kill ants. Our philosophy about insects, spiders, and other critters is live and let live, but it must be our rules.
Ants in the house at this time of year is a surprise. In the past, they’ve invaded during the hot summers, when the ground was parched, and the ants sought water and relief from the blazing heat. Having them as guests in March is a real surprise. That makes us wonder, why now? What are they escaping outside? What do the ants know is happening that we don’t know.
Our process for dealing with things like this is to find their path and cut it off by cleaning without killing. That generally works. But having the visiting ants changes our behavior. I walk around, staring at surfaces, looking for more ants. So far, they seem to be limited to the southern wall, mostly around the fireplace and the dining room bay window. Not many; the most I’ve counted at one time is thirteen.
No trail is visible yet. We can’t figure out how they’re getting in, or where. But we’re on the case. Cuz, you know, we have ants.
And their presence causes a disturbance in the house.
The numbers for Ashlandia on this Sunda morning of March 2, 2025, are 43 F and 50 F, and the word is showers. Were this a jigsaw puzzle, there Twouldn’t be any blue sky pieces. Everything shimmers with a sheen planted by showers that began yesterday just before midights and stayed constant until an hour ago.
Today’s music, brought to me by The Neurons, is “The Long Run” by the Eagles. This easy-going rocker was let loose on the public in 1979 and quickly ascended to a rock classic staple. First, it was by a very successful country-rock-pop group. Second, the era was heavy with disco and punk influence, making rock of this nature more infrequent. Third, it has mellow hooks. Its straightforward lyrics makes it easy to sing along with. Then, its lyrics about relationships reflect what a lot of us wonder: who’s going to make it? What’s going to happen? We’ll find out in the long run.
Which brings us to the Great Undoing of 2025. What’s going to happen? Will the U.S. survive as a democratic republic? Will the ship be righted? We’ll find out in the long run.
“Saturday Night Live” captured the essence of the PINO Trusk White House, especially in regards to Elon Reeve Musk’s behavior, the meeting with President Zelensky, and the announcement about a new PINO Trusk program, DOUCHE. It’s funny but also stirs anger because SNL captures and conveys the vast impression left by this set of idiots.
Butter Butt, aka Papi the ginger blade, is here for a visit and my coffee is chillin’, so movin’ on. Hope your day works out to your advantage. Time to rock. Cheers
Spring continues its bold approach in Ashlandia. Winter will probably bound back in a few days but for now, it’s a beautiful day. 43 F with blue sky and sunshine. At one point in this aging morning, I walked into the kitchen and was met by a fierce shineslam of bright light. Haven’t had that kinda experience in months. The weather ‘they’ tell us we’ll crack 71 F today. But we saw 73 F at my abode’s weather thingy yesterday, so I cautiously hopeful that more the 70s will make it to the show.
This is Friday, February 28, 2025. Yes, the end of the year’s second month has arrived. The third month begins tomorrow. That’s how it used to work. But with PINO Trusk’s shitstorm and the Great Undoing, who knows what it’ll be? Maybe he’ll declare it February 29. Perhaps he’ll get it in his head that if the calendar doesn’t advance, then he’ll never leave office. He’ll just label every day as Trump and then append them with numbers.
No, that’s actually too reasonable and logical for him and his band of broken people.
Today’s song shouldn’t surprise. “Beautiful Day” by U2 came into this world at the turn of the century. Just decades ago, that seems like a far away time. It’s in the morning mental music stream because The Neurons heard me look out the window and say, “Wow, look at that, Papi, it’s a beautiful day.” For the record, Papi the ginger blade, aka Meep and Butter Butt, agreed. Or seemed to. He went out into the sunshine, stretched, and then eyed everything for threats and intrusions.
Hope it’s a beauty where you are, too. No matter what, try to make it a strong day for yourself.
Coffee has now crept into my system, somehow getting in there when I put it in a mug and raised the mug to my lips and tilted the mug back. So here we go, one more time. Cheers
I think I’d like to be my cat, Papi. With us almost eight years, he remains so wary, I’d like to be him and know if there are memories of events that shaped him.
I’d like to get some insights into what the little floof is thinking when he comes to me and sits by me, staring up. He often does this after he finishes eating. I assume he wants attention, affection, so I scratch his head and chin and pet him. It usually seems to answer his need but sometimes he scurries off like he’s disappointed.
I want to be him so I can find out where he goes when he disappears for an hour. I want to be him to gain insights into how much he endangers himself with his roaming. Kind of looking for reassurance that the worse which I imagine isn’t what’s happening. I want comfort that he’s not running from dogs, almost getting hit by cars, narrowly escaping bears, cougars, and foxes. I want to know what he has against the gray and white cat that shows up once in a while, and why they start yelling at each other. Is it territorial, politics, or something else, like a miscommunicaiton.
I just want to know who he is, what he thinks, and what he does. Really, is that asking too much?
Floofscan (floofinition) – A quick glance to spot an animal. Origins: 1973, UK.
In Use: “Bob did a quick floofscan to find his fur friend, fast checking her regular haunts before discovering her in the clothes basket atop darks waiting to be washed.”
In Use: “Many wags who live with cats refer to floofscans as catscans.”
Happy T-Rex Day! No, this isn’t about the band, who had many hits, including “Get It On” in 1971.
No, we’re celebrating the therapod in our house! Why not? Long gone — the species lived 60 to 72 million years ago — the mighty T. Rex is not forgotten. To celebrate the bipedal carnivore and its big head, we hold our arms up by our chest to mimic the creature’s small forelimbs. Then we walk around the house roaring, imitating what we’ve seen T. Rex do in movies. I find it both fun and theraputic.
Come on, get it on. Cheers
I received my new medical compression sock. Yes, just one, for the left leg. The right leg was in worse shape. The sock for it is now ordered and I’m waiting for it to arrive.
Meanwhile, the new ‘medical grade’ compression sock is custom made for my limb from the knee to the the toes. So one, difficult to put on. Two, comfortable. Three, much more difficult to get off.
But what really struck me is that it has a seam down the back that runs over my calf, Achilles tendon, heel, and on down my foot’s center. As I put it on and aligned it, I was reminded of a previous era, when women’s nylon stockings had a seam down the back. I remembered movies where a woman would show her legs and ask, “Are my seams straight?” So I went out to my wife and asked, “Is my seam straight?”
She rewarded me with a mild guffaw.
Michael Seidel, writer 