posted: February 11, 2004
Our cat is a slut. So much so that even in the midst of whorphing up a hairball he cannot resist attempting to be petted by our neighbor, Boyd. As he writhes and humps about, making a sound like a cold diesel engine refusing to start, he still insists on throwing himself at Boyd's feet, or hands or whatever is close. Luckily, he eventually clears the obstruction overboard, though not without some unwanted assistance from my husband who has had to hold him dangling half-overside.
This undignified performance is interrupted by the approach of Pookie Bear.
Just as Kitts is compelled to seek both expectoration of accumulated fur and the comfort of ear-scritching fingertips, Pookie Bear is incapable of passing silently. Pookie was born a Pomeranian, but has taken up his place in the evolutionary ladder at a rung somewhere between small boy (noise with dirt on) and self-propelled hurdy-gurdy crossed with an ill-natured Q-tip.
Pookie Bear looks remarkably like a giant dust-bunny with spindle-legs which scissor maniacally as he prances forward--and sideways and backward--emitting high-voiced barks as he goes.
And when I say "bark," I mean it. Pookie, despite having no lips to form the plosive with, says "bark, bark!" as he walks. I suspect that, in the same way that pigeons are incapable of walking without bobbing their heads, so is Pookie Bear unable to move without barking, the air in his tiny lungs forced to sharp exhalations with each step as his stiff limbs jam against his rib cage like sticks against a drum. "Bark!" step, "bark!" step, "bark!"
Being of an equivalent weight to a small balloon, Pookie Bear dares not risk ceasing to move for fear of being swept away by an errant breeze... or sneeze. Thus, he barks endlessly in his life-preserving ambulation. I wonder how his owners keep him from floating away at night when he sleeps; I suspect they are forced to throw a net over him and lash him to the bunk under an oxygen tent, so that he continues to breath while motionless, for, by now, his autonomic system has probably given up the fight against the leg-assisted diaphramatic movement and gone completely to Hell.
I do not despise Pookie. Actually, he's terribly cute, with an emphasis on "terrible", for there is nothing more fear-inducing in my world than that which will not shut up, but is too adored by all to be pitched overboard. I feel the same way about most people's children.
Nor do I have any unkind thoughts for dogs. Dogs are cool. Unless they drool a lot or bark or rub up against me and cause me to break out in an allergic rash.
Which is the up-side to the Westminster Dog show, because none of those dogs are barking or drooling. Nor are they anywhere near me. The down-side is that everyone I know becomes dog-crazy (or just plain crazy) in the face of the Westminster competition.
One year, we slouched over to Glenn's house to attend "Dogs and Dogs," a feast of hot dogs and haute dogs. We were slumming all over this sofa in front of the TV when Glenn announced that we all had to determine what sort of dog we were. Unfortunately, we'd missed the "obnoxious prissy breeds," so I was unable to pick a dog for myself, but as the large working dogs continued, Glenn spotted one, jumped up, and dashed out of the room saying "I have it!"
A few minutes later, he returned to the living room wearing a very large, black, afro wig, which drooped all the way down over his shoulders and hid his eyes, and carrying a bottle of whiskey. He threw himself down on the sofa again and took a drink.
"What are you?" one of us asked (I really don't remember who: we were deeply under the influence of hot-dog nitrates by then and nearly incoherent).
"I'm an Irish Drinking Hound!" Glenn replied.
He, at least, does not bark or drool, either. Do you suppose he noticed he was drinking Scotch...?
posted: February 26, 2004
First there was Ferret Math (the phenomenon by which ferret-owners find they have an ever-increasing number of ferrets and ever-decreasing money.) And, as Math is a foundation of Physics, it follows that there must be some kind of Ferret Physics. And there is!
But it is not the physics of ferrets in motion or an explanation for why there are ferrets, but it is a special and rarefied science akin to Quantum Physics.
A Quanta, as we know is a packet of energy. A ferret, as we also know, is a packet of energy. Therefore, ferrets manifest quanta. But what, exactly is the quanta. It is a packet around a particle, of course, but which one?
While it once was posited that an electron orbited the nucleus of an atom, it is now considered far more likely that, in fact, an electron pops about the nucleus, simply appearing, and disappearing, jumping up when energized, falling down when out of energy. And so does a ferret: it hops about apparently at random, popping up when full of energy and falling down when out of energy.
So a ferret is some kind of elementary particle like an electron. Which type? There are two major divisions of particles: fermions and bosons. Fermions are the essential parts, including various leptons, electrons, neutrinos and quarks; bosons are the mediators of forces. All other particles and masses are made of these. Ferrets are very simple, too, so ferrets are either tiny bits of matter or they bring forces to bear.
While it is common to refer to a ferret as a trouble-maker, observation soon concludes that ferrets, in fact, do not find or make trouble, but they mediate Chaos, of which the most common manifestation when in contact with larger bodies is Trouble. One might, for the sake of being clever, dare to call a ferret a "leapt-on" but that would be erroneous, since they are usually the ones doing the leaping in the first place.
So, a ferret is a boson: the mediator of Chaos, a force as yet entirely unrecognized in classical physics, though it's much discussed in other fields, like Quantum Physics. I propose that a ferret Chaos-mediating boson shall be called a "Foo-on" (not to be confused with Egg Fu Yong.)
Foo-ons demonstrate the quantum uncertainty theory in a much larger realm and lower speed, making them easier to observe than all other quanta in action. Foo-ons are capable of tunneling, just as electrons are. They can collapse just about any wavefunction you care to mention if you just let them get their teeth around it. And, of course, they mediate the force of Chaos, so, when their wavefunction does collapse, any event, however unlikely, might take place or, to put it less scientifically, "all Hell could break loose." This phenomenon is frequently observed in ferret-adjacent areas.
In spite of being surprisingly easy to observe, the Foo-on continues to be resistant to complete categorization and codification. Behaviors of Foo-ons are very changeable and seem to be highly random. The mitigation of other bosons may be involved, but it is difficult to tell since the force they mediate is so little understood.
Beyond that, Foo-ons are somewhat irritated by Schroediger's cat, whom they delight in locking in boxes and threatening with dire circumstances. Or any cat, as can be witnessed by the frequency with which they bedevil felines even outside of Herr Schroediger's box. This behavior nearly earned them the name "bite-ons," but cooler heads prevailed.
A serious and proper study of Foo-ons has yet to be conducted by any reputable Physicist or lab. With this amazing dearth of research, I, myself, propose to create an in-depth study of the Foo-on and its behaviors with an eye toward proper documentation of the quantum nature of ferrets and their interactions. It will be long and arduous work to pick up the tremendous slack left by tradtional scientists--perhaps a lifetime work--but I am willing to make the sacrifice for the sake of science.
Now, where do I go to apply for a grant?
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