Category Archives: animals

Nighttime Horrors: A Cat Mom’s Descent Into Sleepless Madness

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my sleep deprived morning ritualThe Sleep Deprivation Olympics (I’m Winning… Unfortunately)

I’m running on 3.5 hours of sleep, and honestly, at this point I’m not sure if I’m awake or just hallucinating in HD. Ever since we “sprang forward,” Banner has decided that nighttime is the perfect time to reinvent himself as a one‑cat Broadway production.

Balboa, shockingly, is the calm one at bedtime. This is the same cat who sprints down the hallway like he’s reenacting The Fast and the Furious: Feline Drift, but come bedtime? He becomes my personal sleep therapist. He sits by my head, stares at me like a disappointed Victorian father, and waits for me to assume the “correct position.” Then he curls up on my hand, presses his face into mine, and purrs like a tiny, furry white-noise machine. I’ve grown dependent on this. I’m not proud.

Meanwhile, Banner Begins His Nightly Performance

Banner refuses to get into bed. That would be too easy. Instead, he begins the Symphony of Increasingly Urgent Meows, starting soft and sweet and escalating until it sounds like he’s reporting a murder.

I turn on the light. I get out of bed. And there he is — perched on top of the dresser like a gargoyle who pays rent. The moment I stand, he hops down and climbs onto the bench next to the bed, ready for his nightly petting session with the rubber mitt.

 

 

 

 

 

So I pet him. I tell him he’s a good kitty, remind him it’s bedtime. I tell him to stop crying. He purrs so hard his whole body vibrates like a furry jackhammer. But I can’t do this too long or he starts biting the glove like he’s trying to “encourage” me. I don’t want to find out what the next level of encouragement looks like.

The 3 A.M. Bathroom Adventure

Eventually he settles… until my bladder betrays me around 3 a.m.

I keep the bathroom door closed at night because Banner LOVES the acoustics in there. He sounds like he’s auditioning for Cats: The Shower Edition. And if he’s not singing, he’s knocking everything out of the medicine cabinet like a tiny, destructive raccoon.

But now I have to open the door. I keep the lights off, hoping to sneak in and out without waking anyone. Foolish. Banner follows me in every time, hops into the tub, and refuses to get out. I can’t close the door because His Royal Stubbornness is lounging in the tub like he’s at a spa.

The Bed Situation (Or: Why I Sleep on 6 Inches of Mattress)

Balboa has now migrated to the exact center of the bed. I squeeze myself onto the edge, trying not to squash him. He will not move. He trusts me far too much.

I’m just drifting off again when I hear something behind the headboard. Banner is up to something. Nothing good ever happens behind the headboard. I turn on the light to investigate. Banner has finally left the tub, so I quickly close the bathroom door.

And that’s when I hear it.

Ack (you know the sound), ack, and one more ack for good measure.

The universal sound of a cat preparing to ruin your life.

It’s 3 a.m.
Banner has produced a hairball.
Balboa is sitting upright in the center of the bed like he bought tickets to this show.

Do I Even Try to Sleep Again

I check the time. My brain is fully awake. Banner is trotting around like nothing happened. Balboa is bright‑eyed and ready for breakfast.

Should I even bother trying to go back to sleep?
Probably not.
This is my life now.

At this point, I’ve accepted that I don’t sleep — I simply take short, involuntary cat‑supervision breaks throughout the night. Banner and Balboa run the household. I’m just the exhausted human who pays the rent.

 

Chasing Giants: A Lifetime of Whale Watching From New England to Alaska and Hawaii

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The Early Years: Cape Ann and the Thrill of Discovery

For years I chased humpback whales up and down the New England coast. This was no small feat for someone with a tendency toward seasickness, but the call of the ocean—and the promise of seeing those magnificent creatures—was stronger than my stomach. One of my earliest and most unforgettable trips was out of Gloucester, heading toward Stellwagen Bank. I was new to Massachusetts then, freshly transplanted from New York and convinced I wouldn’t be here long. So I crammed every adventure I could into those first months.

Now, nearly fifty years later, I’m still here. And that Cape Ann whale watch remains one of the highlights of my early Massachusetts life.

That day, we found ourselves surrounded by humpbacks bubble‑net feeding—so close to the boat you felt like you could reach out and touch them. (We didn’t, of course.) For years afterward, people insisted that New England humpbacks don’t bubble‑net feed. I always love when nature proves the experts wrong. It’s a reminder of how much we’ve learned—and how much we’re still learning.

Boston and Plymouth: Rituals on the Water

I tried a few whale watches out of Boston next. Bigger boats, higher decks, great views—fun, but nothing quite matched the raw magic of that Cape Ann trip.

Eventually I migrated south to Plymouth and became a regular on Captain John’s Boats. Those summer trips became a ritual. It was on one of those outings that I photographed my first breaching whale—a moment that still ranks among my favorite memories.

Hawaii: The Heart’s Home

My whale watching didn’t stop at New England. I found the home of my heart in Hawaii and made annual February trips for years. February is peak migration season, and I often watched whales right from the breakfast table.

I joined the Pacific Whale Foundation and went on their photography expeditions. That’s where I captured my first baby‑whale breach and listened to whale songs through hydrophones dropped over the side of the boat. Pure magic.

Breaching Humpback Calf

It’s just a baby

Alaska: Cold, Raw, and Unforgettable

Then there was Alaska—nothing warm or tropical about that trip. It was cold, wet, raw, and absolutely worth it. The boat was smaller, the whales cruised close to the surface, and we always knew where to look when we heard the whoosh of their breath.

Alaska offers something New England and Hawaii don’t: variety. Humpbacks, orcas, gray whales, belugas—and if luck is really on your side, maybe even a narwhal or a sperm whale. Spring can be beautiful there, but in 2013 we went in May, which turned out to be too early for sunshine. My advice? Aim for June or later.

Why It Matters

No matter where you go—New England, Hawaii, Alaska—whales are magnificent creatures deserving of every conservation effort we can muster. Their importance is so universal that even the Star Trek universe built a whole movie around saving them. (Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, for fellow fans.)

If the Federation thinks whales are worth saving, who am I to argue?
Live long and prosper.

 

Banner, Balboa, and the Curse of the 13th

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Friday the 13th Musings — February & March Edition

It’s the first Friday the 13th of 2026. The month is February. So far it’s been quiet and no major issues. This is the first of three Friday the 13ths this year, which makes it a very special year — or at least a very interesting one.

Peace reign in the home as Banner and Balboa cat nap

February

The universe behaved.
The cats behaved.
Even the weather behaved.

Suspicious, in hindsight.

And then, on February 23rd, Mother Nature apparently remembered she had a reputation to uphold. She dumped a heavy, wet, back‑breaking load of snow on New England and buried us all. A Friday‑the‑13th vibe… just arriving fashionably late.

The dig out begins following the blizzard of 26

March

March didn’t bother with subtlety. It wasn’t even Friday the 13th yet when I woke up to no service on my cell phone. I’d been hacked. Again. These things happen — I shared the whole sad tale in my March 11 post — but apparently March was just laying the groundwork.

Then came Thursday, March 12, when the cats decided to contribute their own brand of “help.”

Banner makes his get away

First, Banner strolled over and hit the delete key at the exact, precise, worst possible moment of a data transfer. I took that as a sign to step away and wait for a quieter, cat‑free moment.

He claims he was framed.

But Balboa had other plans. He emerged from his afternoon nap full of energy and mischief, and in short order he destroyed four — or was it five — mice.
Not the fuzzy, long‑tailed kind.
The kind I actually need to use with my computer.

By the time he was done, I had a small graveyard of plastic mouse parts and one very proud panther‑cat.

Friday the 13th

And then came the big day.

Friday the 13th started quietly enough. We even managed to wrestle Instagram into submission — successfully, I might add — which should have been my first clue that the universe was saving its energy for something else.

Feeling productive, I decided to make a quick grocery run. Lasagna was on the menu for Saturday, and I needed ricotta cheese. While I was there, I grabbed a couple of small extras. Total bill: $19.00.

Until my card was declined.

I had checked my balance before leaving the house. Plenty of money. No reason for drama. Yet there I was, standing at the Hannaford checkout with a perfectly good grocery order and a very uncooperative debit card.

Since I had to drive right past the bank on my way home, I stopped in. And that’s where the real Friday‑the‑13th twist revealed itself:
the bank had accidentally printed — or attempted to print — two replacement cards when mine was hacked. So they canceled the one I was using. The one in my wallet. The one I had just tried to use to buy ricotta.

Which means, of course, that I now get to go through all my auto‑payments and update the card number… again.

Two Down, One to Go

So that’s February and March. A quiet start, a snow ambush, a hacked phone, feline sabotage, and a bank‑card fiasco — all before we even reach the halfway point of this “special” year.

We’ll see what November brings.
Stay tuned… the calendar isn’t done with us yet.

 

March in New England

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The Month New Englanders break from Winter into Spring Chaos

March Madness, Spring Fever, and the Cats Who Run This House

March in New England is a strange, wonderful, chaotic time. One minute we’re shoveling snow, the next minute we’re celebrating the first day of spring, and somewhere in between, the entire region collectively loses its mind over March Madness.

Yes, I knew it was a big deal.
Yes, I knew it involved basketball.
But I didn’t realize just how seriously New Englanders take it until I saw a news story about companies setting up break‑room watch parties on company time.

Excuse me… what
People get paid to watch college basketball at work
Only in New England.

So What Is March Madness

For anyone else who’s been living under a cozy blanket with a box of tissues (hi, it’s me), here’s the quick version:

  • It’s the NCAA Division I men’s college basketball tournament
  • 68 college teams from all across the United States
  • Single elimination — lose once and you’re out
  • It runs from mid‑March to early April
  • It’s one of the biggest sporting events in the country

It’s not a New England invention, but you wouldn’t know that from the way we treat it. Between UConn fans, bracket pools, and the general “we survived winter, let’s celebrate something” energy, March Madness might as well be our unofficial regional holiday.

Meanwhile, Spring Sneaks In Early

I always think of spring arriving on March 21, but this year the equinox showed up on March 20, probably because even the universe is tired of winter and wants to get things moving.

New England, of course, will respond by giving us:

  • one warm day
  • one cold day
  • one rainstorm
  • and a surprise snow squall just to keep us humble

Yes it's March in New England if its not mud its still snow.

But on the calendar at least, spring is here.

Balboa: The Fastest Paw in the East

While all this seasonal excitement is happening, Balboa has declared war on my last surviving computer mouse. He’s the Fastest Paw in the East, and he takes that title seriously.

Today’s crime
I dared to vacuum during his nap.

He stomped out of the room like a tiny, offended emperor, tail flicking dramatically. I had to issue a formal apology in the form of treats. He accepted, but only after giving me the look — the one that says:

“You may continue living here, hooman, but your behavior will be monitored.”

Now he’s back on the desk, supervising this post and occasionally taking swipes at the mouse like he’s auditioning for a martial arts film.

Banner and the Case of the Missing Hair Band

While Balboa is busy waging war on technology, Banner has discovered a new hobby: elastic hair bands.

During a recent bathroom decluttering session, I found an old stash of them.
Banner thought he had won the lottery.

He carried one around the apartment, talking to it like it was his long‑lost friend. Then he took it into the bathtub — his personal gladiator arena — and tossed it around like he was training for the Hair Band Olympics.

And then… it vanished.

I looked everywhere.
Under furniture.
Behind furniture.
Inside the furniture.
Nothing.

The only conclusion I can come to is that once he finished playing with it, he ate it like a tasty little spaghetti noodle.

So that’s it.
No more hair elastics for Banner.
He cannot be trusted with them.
He has lost his hair‑band privileges indefinitely.

March in New England: A Summary

  • Basketball fans are losing their minds
  • Companies are letting employees watch games at work
  • Spring is arriving early
  • My nose is running a marathon
  • Balboa is plotting the downfall of all computer mice
  • Banner is eating hair accessories like snacks

Honestly, it feels about right.

Spring in New England

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Ah Spring: A Season That Arrives When It Feels Like It

Daffodils are a sure sign spring is upon us

A Poem From the Past

Every now and then, a memory from childhood pops up and refuses to leave. Recently, I found myself thinking about a play we did in school — a bunch of hillbillies, a lot of flannel, and one truly unforgettable poem. It went something like this:

Spring has sprung,  
The skunks air out.  
Spring has sprung — just sniff about.  
Mating time is drawing near,  
You can smell it in the air.

Not exactly Shakespeare, but it captured something very real about spring in New England: you don’t need a calendar to tell you it’s coming. Your nose will do the job just fine.

The Calendar Says Spring… But New England Has Other Plans

Technically — officially — scientifically — spring begins on March 20 this year. The equinox arrives, the sun crosses the celestial equator, and somewhere far away, flowers bloom on cue.

But here in New England?
We don’t buy it.

Around here, spring doesn’t start when the calendar says so. Spring starts when the Red Sox take the field at Fenway Park. That’s the moment the region collectively thaws, stretches, and decides maybe — just maybe — winter is finally loosening its grip.

And since Opening Day at Fenway is April 3 this year, I guess true spring will be running a little late. Again.

Local Wildlife Confirms the Delay

If you need further proof, just ask the skunks. They’ve already begun their annual “perfume tour,” leaving unmistakable reminders that love is in the air — whether we want it or not. Nothing says spring quite like cracking open a window for fresh air and immediately regretting it.

Even the Cats Know Spring Is a Moving Target

Banner and Balboa have their own opinions about the season. Banner has already begun his warm‑weather routine of turning on lights with his teeth — a helpful service at 3 a.m., apparently. Balboa, meanwhile, has resumed his post by the sliding door, watching for birds, squirrels, and anything else that might signal the world is waking up.

They’re not convinced it’s spring yet either. And honestly? I trust their instincts more than the meteorologists.

Spring Will Get Here… Eventually

So while the rest of the country celebrates the equinox, we’ll be here in New England waiting for the crack of the bat, the roar of Fenway, and that first warm day that doesn’t immediately get followed by a frost warning.

Spring comes late here.
But when it finally arrives, it’s worth the wait.