Category Archives: animals

The Invasive Creatures of Suburbia

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The mongoose may be cute but he is an invasice species in Hawaii

Every Place Has Its Own “Wildlife”

Every place has its invasive species.
Florida has pythons.
Hawaii has the mongoose.
Australia… well, Australia has everything and then some.

And if you’re lucky enough not to share your ZIP code with an actual invasive species, you still have the local wildlife: deer tiptoeing through the gardens, skunks waddling with bad intentions, coyotes trotting around like they’re late for a meeting, maybe even a badger or two if the universe is feeling spicy. Then there are the cute ones — chipmunks stuffing their faces, squirrels plotting whatever squirrels plot, and of course the rogue turkey who thinks he owns the cul‑de‑sac.

I have all of that.
But I also have something… extra.

Meet My Personal Invasive Species

I have Toolman Tim on steroids.

While other invasive species creep in quietly, mine announces himself with the subtlety of a jet engine. If he’s home, something is running. Always. Leaf blower, lawn mower, wood chipper, snow blower, chainsaw — I’m convinced he has a generator just to power the rest of his equipment.

He takes immaculate care of his home, I’ll give him that. His lawn looks like it’s auditioning for a golf tournament. His shrubs are trimmed with military precision. His driveway is so clean you could perform surgery on it.

But the noise.
The noise.

Summer Dreams vs. Suburban Reality

Summer arrives and I think, Ah, fresh air, maybe I’ll open the slider and sit on the deck.

Banner and Balboa hear the slider open and immediately assume the world is ending. Instead of watching the world go by like normal cats, they scatter like I’ve just announced a fireworks show in the living room.

Meanwhile, my neighbor hears the same warm breeze and thinks, What if I ran every motorized object I own… in alphabetical order?

Our landscapers come once a week, roaring through like a NASCAR pit crew. If my neighbor and the landscapers ever coordinated schedules, we’d get one big burst of chaos and then peace. But no. They operate like they’re on alternating shifts, ensuring continuous, rolling noise pollution from dawn to dusk. It’s like living next to a construction site that never actually builds anything — just revs, blows, grinds, and growls for the sheer joy of it.

I swear the birds have started wearing tiny earplugs.
Banner and Balboa would too if they had opposable thumbs.

 

A Little Loud, But Harmless

And yet, I can’t be mad. He’s not rude. He’s not messy. He’s not blasting music at 2 a.m. He’s just… enthusiastic. Overly. Mechanically. Enthusiastically.

Still, if the state ever updates its list of invasive species, I might submit a nomination. Because while the deer nibble, the squirrels plot, and the turkey struts around like he pays the mortgage, my neighbor is the only creature in the ecosystem who seems powered entirely by gasoline and adrenaline.

Sunflower and butterfly 2018

Some people attract birds.
Some attract butterflies.
Apparently, I attract the suburban equivalent of Tim “More Power!” Taylor — and trust me, he lives by that motto every single day.

 

 

The Furry and the Restless- Episode 2 The Cardboard Coup

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Banner sitting proudly in the cardboard box, blissfully unaware he’s about to spark a feline power struggle

Scene 1: Banner’s Brief but Glorious Reign

Banner discovered The Box with the wide‑eyed optimism of a cat who believes the universe occasionally gifts him nice things.

He stepped in, sat tall, and lifted his head like he was posing for a Renaissance portrait.

Banner’s internal monologue:
“Yes. This is perfect. I am perfect. The Box is perfect. Everything is going great for me personally.”

For a shining moment, Banner was the Prince Regent of Cardboard, blissfully unaware that his reign had an expiration date.

Scene 2: The Return of the True Monarch

Balboa reappeared — not running, not pouncing, just materializing like a villain entering stage left.

His eyes narrowed.
>His whiskers stiffened.
>His soul whispered:

Balboa’s internal monologue:
“I leave for FIVE MINUTES and this is what I come back to? Treason.”

Banner, sensing the atmospheric pressure drop, executed a graceful, drama‑free exit — the kind that says, “I was done anyway.”

Scene 3: Consolidation of Power

Balboa climbed into The Box with the solemn dignity of a king returning to his throne after a brief and embarrassing coup.

He inspected the corners.
>He checked the flaps.
>He sniffed the air like a monarch detecting betrayal.

Balboa’s internal monologue:
“I can still smell him. Unacceptable. I will be filing a formal complaint.”

Then he sat — tall, tense, and deeply unimpressed.

Scene 4: Banner’s Hopeful Interlude

Banner retreated to the top of the cat tree — the highest point in the land — and gazed down upon the cardboard kingdom like a tiny, fluffy general surveying the battlefield.

His tail twitched.
>His whiskers quivered.
>His little cat brain began swirling with plans.

Banner’s internal monologue:
“Okay… okay… hear me out. What if I… take back the box? Not now. Later. When he’s sleepy. Yes. A surprise insurrection. Brilliant.”

From his lofty perch, he looked almost regal — if “regal” included the occasional distracted blink and the faint hum of a single orange cat brain cell working overtime.

He knew Balboa ruled the cardboard empire.
He knew any rebellion would be short‑lived.
But that didn’t stop him from dreaming.

For now, he plotted.

Scene 5: The King’s Return (and He Is Not Amused)

Balboa eventually arrived to reclaim the new box, too.

He settled in with the expression of a king who has discovered someone sat on his throne without permission.

Balboa’s internal monologue:
“This kingdom requires constant supervision. I am surrounded by fools.”

He sat alert, annoyed, and fully prepared to defend his cardboard empire from future uprisings.

🐾 The cardboard kingdom is secure… for now. But in this house, the next coup is always just one box away.

 

The Midnight Gremlins Have Arrived

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Banner and Balboa, the midnight gremlins, resting up for thier midnight shenanigans

When Biology Betrays You

Cats are crepuscular creatures — meaning they’re wired to be most active at dawn and dusk. In theory, that should make them perfect companions for humans. They nap when we nap, they prowl when we’re vaguely functional, and everyone lives in harmony.

In theory.

Meanwhile, my sleep schedule has begun wandering around like a toddler in a mall. My Fitbit regularly tattles on me, reporting a grand total of 4–5 hours of sleep most nights. I make up the rest with naps whenever the universe allows.

New Habits, New Chaos

Two things have changed in my household recently:

  1. I’ve started doing deep breathing/meditation at bedtime.
    Shockingly, it’s helping. I fall asleep faster and stay asleep longer — aside from the 3 a.m. bathroom pilgrimage.
  2. I got an AeroGarden.
    More on that in another post, but let’s just say I did not read ahead in the instructions. I followed them step by step like a good little rule-follower… until the very end, where a tiny footnote casually mentioned that the grow light is on a timer.

A timer I unknowingly set for 4:30 p.m.
Which means the grow light blazes like a miniature sun all night long and shuts off at 7:30 a.m.

Great for the plants.
Fine for me — I’m in the bedroom.
But the cats?

Does a Midnight Sun Scramble Kitty Brains?

This is the question that now haunts me.

Because last night, around midnight, something woke me up. I cracked one eye open and saw… ears. Two little ears at mattress level. I reached out and felt fluff.

Banner.
Sitting silently on my step stool, perfectly positioned so his face was level with mine. Staring. Unblinking. Like a Victorian ghost child but with whiskers.

I rolled slightly, and another shape entered my field of vision.

For a moment, I thought Snoopy in his vulture pose had materialized in my bedroom.
Nope.
Balboa, perched on my nightstand, looming over me like I was a snack he wasn’t sure he was allowed to eat.

They should have been asleep.
They should NOT have been conducting a midnight surveillance operation.

The Weeklong Experiment

The AeroGarden has only been running two nights. I’m giving it a week. If Banner and Balboa continue their nocturnal sentry duties, I may have to reset the grow light so it runs during the day instead of lighting up the house like a UFO landing pad.

I adore my cats.
But being stared down by two furry gremlins at midnight?
Spooky.

 

Bald Is Beautiful (But Not for Cat Furniture)

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Banner and Balboa exploring the new cat tree 2023

🐾 The Balding Cat Tree Chronicles

When Inspiration Hits at the Worst Possible Time

There are days when I can’t think of a single blog idea, and then there are days like today — when I’m running late, haven’t even finished my coffee, and suddenly inspiration hits me right between the eyes.

The Shocking Discovery

I walked past the cat tree and froze.
Not because a cat was dangling off it like a circus performer.
Not because someone had knocked it over again.
No.
Because the thing is bald.

 

I’m talking down to the plywood, like a bar of hotel soap that’s been used by every guest since 1998. The once‑fluffy carpeting is now a memory, a suggestion, a rumor. If you squint, you can almost imagine what it used to look like.

Gratitude… Sort Of

Now, logically, I should be thrilled. If Banner and Balboa are scratching the cat tree, they’re not scratching my furniture. That’s a win. A victory. A tiny miracle. I should be doing a celebratory lap around the living room.

But here’s the thing:
Cat trees are not cheap.
And being on a fixed income means I can’t just stroll into PetSmart, point at the deluxe model, and say, “Wrap it up, boys.”

The GoFundMe That Will Never Be

So naturally, my brain — helpful as ever — whispered,
“Maybe you should start a GoFundMe for a new cat tree.”
Don’t worry. I’m kidding.
(Probably.)

The Boys Take Credit

Meanwhile, Banner and Balboa are standing proudly beside their handiwork like tiny contractors who just completed a major renovation. If you ask them, the exposed wood is a design choice. Very modern. Very minimalist. Very ‘we did this on purpose, Mom.’

Balboa even sat on the top perch, surveying the room like a king on a throne made of splinters. Banner, of course, immediately tried to chew the corner, because why not add dental work to the list of future expenses.

Turning Chaos Into Content

So here I am, running late, staring at a cat tree that looks like it’s been through a war, and thinking, “Well… at least it’s a blog post.”

And honestly? That’s the joy of living with cats. They destroy things, they cost money, they shed on everything you own — and somehow, they still give you something to laugh about on a Tuesday morning when you’re already behind schedule.

Stay tuned. The boys are already eyeing the curtains, so I’m sure Part Two is coming.

 

THE FURRY AND THE RESTLESS

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In a world where cardboard boxes hold power, alliances shift like sunbeams, and brothers battle for territory, a new saga emerges. Premiering today on Cat TV: The Furry and the Restless. The pilot episode is already causing a stir in living rooms everywhere — and you, dear reader, get the first look.

Balboa’s beloved cardboard retreat, the emotional support box whose invasion sparked the dramatic events of this episode of The Furry and the Restless.

The cardboard box Balboa claims as his personal fortress — the scene of the great kitty soap‑opera showdown.

 

⭐ THE SCRIPT — THE FURRY AND THE RESTLESS: Episode 1 — The Box Betrayal

[Opening Narration]
In a quiet condo in Taunton, two brothers navigate love, betrayal, and the fragile politics of shared cardboard real estate. This… is The Furry and the Restless.

 

 

Scene 1: The Living Room — Early Afternoon

Balboa lounges regally on Deborah’s lap, purring like a villain plotting something tender.

Balboa (internal monologue):
“At last… peace. My sanctuary awaits. It’s my box and my fortress. My emotional support cardboard. Soon I shall retire to it and contemplate my greatness.”

Banner wanders in with the energy of someone who has never once considered consequences.

Banner:
“Oh look. A box.”

He steps in. He settles. The paper crinkles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Balboa (eyes widening):
“…No. No. NO.”

Scene 2: The Betrayal

Balboa launches off Deborah’s lap like a furry missile fired from a catapult.

Balboa:
“ABSOLUTELY NOT! THAT IS MY SANCTUARY!”

Deborah (caught in the crossfire):
“BALBOA—! OH FOR THE LOVE OF—”

Banner (blinking slowly):
“…What?”

Chaos erupts. A dramatic zoom‑in on Balboa’s betrayed face.

 

Scene 3: The Confrontation

Balboa circles the box like a panther circling a rival king.

Balboa:
“You dare enter my cardboard kingdom? My sacred retreat? My PAPER‑LINED HAVEN?”

Banner:
“I just… sat down.”

Balboa:
“You have violated the Treaty of Cardboardia!”

Banner:
“I didn’t know there was a treaty.”

Balboa:
“There is NOW.”

 

Scene 4: Deborah Attempts Peace Talks

Deborah stands between them like a weary UN diplomat.

Deborah:
“Gentlemen. Please. It’s a box.”

Balboa:
“A BOX OF GREAT EMOTIONAL SIGNIFICANCE.”

Banner:
“…It’s comfy.”

Deborah:
“Banner, honey, maybe try the OTHER box?”

Banner:
“There’s another box?”

Balboa:
“NOT THAT ONE EITHER.”

Scene 5: The Aftermath

Balboa retreats to the top of the cat tree, glaring down like a dethroned monarch plotting revenge.

Balboa (dramatically):
“I have been wronged. I shall scream at 3 PM to express my suffering.”

Banner (already napping):
“Okay.”

My Box

Deborah (sighing):
“And so it begins…”

End of Episode 1

Next time on The Furry and the Restless:
Will Balboa reclaim his cardboard throne?
Will Banner accidentally start another war?
Will Deborah ever get through a day without feline drama?

Stay tuned.