After watching CSI last night, it seems important to blog about scritchin’ and yiffin’ — if for no other reason than to bring my wife out of the state of shock in which she’s been since we checked things out on the Internet because we could not believe the story line was based on any reality in this dimension.

Secondarily, however, it occurred to me that the episode might explain some of the odd things that have happened to me over the last few years …and how I might have inadvertently contributed to them. And so I thought perhaps I should clarify a few things.

For those who did not watch CSI last night, the show starts off with a guy found on or near a highway (I missed the first few minutes of the show) in a Rocky Raccoon suit. He is, to put things bluntly, roadkill. He was apparently struck by a car. The first question becomes “What is a guy doing in the middle of the road, outside town, dressed as a raccoon?”

As I recall, the person who struck him is dead, also. There’s something in there about an 18-wheeler, but, as I said, I didn’t see the first few minutes.

Things get even more confusing on the autopsy table: It turns out he has a through-and-through bullet wound that apparently went in his back, out through his chest, fired from either from a very high position, or while he was on all fours, or (as it turns out) both.

Somewhere along the line, a suspect is questioned and admits to scritchin’ and yiffin’ with Rocky. He insists — correctly, it turns out — that he is not responsible for Rocky’s death. However, it also turns out that if Rocky had only scritched instead of yiffed, he might still be alive today.

So what does this have to do with me? Other than the insanity of it — or perhaps the Humor Quotient — why did I feel compelled to write this post?

Well, okay. Mostly it was the Humor Quotient.

But I can’t help wondering if it explains a few things that have happened to me over the years. You see, when I was younger, I had the good fortune to be occasionally identified with Tom Selleck — as in, “you kinda look like Tom Selleck.” More often, it was “you kinda look like Chuck Norris.” Occasionally, it was “you kinda look like a furry little monkey.”

Unfortunately, I’m also prone to (deliberately) making up words. One of those words is “scritch.” I often use it instead of “scratch,” as in “Could you scritch my back, please?” (Among other things I learned this morning, Merriam-Webster defines “scritch” as a variant of “screech.”)

A final reason for my compulsion to clarify: I often call my wife, based on a favorite story of ours, “Bunny.” Therein lies the rub…or scritch…or yiff…

As it turns out the aforementioned Rocky Raccoon was a member of a group of people known as “furries.” You’ve heard of people who believe they’re males accidentally born in female bodies, or vice-versa? Furries are people who believe — or want to believe — that they’re really animals accidentally born into human bodies.

These nature “lovers” dress up in costumes and “socialize.” This includes “scritchin’,” or scratching a “fur” on the chest or behind the ears (because it’s pleasurable, I, uhm, hear), and sometimes “yiffin’,” which might include sounding like a fox, but usually involves some form of — by my definition — kinky sex.

We’re not talking role-playing games here. We’re talking communities. Specifically, we’re talking about a community of people built loosely around the idea that they aren’t really people at all, but instead are, um, “furries.” The sort of folk who are getting in touch with their inner kinkajous, if you will.

They hang out together, and there are more of them than you might think. — Jeff Schultz and Nicole Chardenet, “Furries” (last visited March 3, 2005).

For my wife and I, “more of them than you might think” means there’s at least one.

At any rate — particularly since, as I understand it, not a few geeks are furries and the article quoted above mentions getting in touch with your inner kinky Jew — I want to point out that although there may be people who believe I look like Tom Selleck a furry animal and although I may be prone to use words like “scritch” and although I may refer to my wife as “Bunny,” I am not a furry!

Now get off my leg.