Category Archives: animals

Golden Tempo Wins Belmont!

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Welcome to Saratoga, NY — known for health, history, and horses. And today’s Belmont Stakes did not disappoint!

Golden Tempo. He did it again — from last place to first in the Belmont Stakes.

For three‑quarters of the race he just loped along at the back, unbothered, unhurried, almost lallygagging. Then he hit the far turn, straightened into the homestretch, and unleashed it. That breathtaking surge — that rocket‑launch from last to first — is why this horse has a grip on my heart.

Golden Tempo surges across the Belmont finish line ahead of his rivals on a dirt track.

 

He didn’t just pass rivals. He blew by them.

Congrats to Golden Tempo and his team.

From underdog to GOAT. You just gotta love this horse.

Happy 6th Birthday, Banner

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Happy 6th Birthday to my mellow, orange cat. Banner aka Mr. Fluffy Butt

Banner Turns 6: Peace, Love, and Orange Fluff

Today my sweet Banner turns six — which, in cat years, puts him right around 40 in human years. Middle age. The era of “I could jump up there… but the universe is telling me to chill instead.”

Banner has always been my mellow gentleman. A big, soft, good‑natured orange fluff ball who radiates pure 60s flower‑power energy. Honestly, he’s a total throwback. Peaceful. Unbothered. Friendly to everyone. If he had thumbs, he’d be flashing peace signs and wearing a daisy tucked behind one ear.

And then there’s his social side. Banner is the cat who runs to the door when the doorbell rings. While Balboa disappears behind the headboard like he’s avoiding the draft, Banner trots over to greet whoever’s visiting. He’s basically a hippie politician — shaking hands, spreading good vibes, and campaigning for universal treats.

Every now and then I can coax him into a burst of play — a jump, a pounce, a brief moment of “wow, man, I can still move.” He always looks surprised at himself, like he just rediscovered gravity.

He’s the perfect counterbalance to Balboa’s intense, territorial, “I am the rightful ruler of this condo” energy. Banner just shrugs, flops over, and lets the world be what it is. Banner knows who he is. A vibe. A mood. A cloud with whiskers who may or may not have experimented with a little “grass” in his youth — and I don’t mean the catnip variety.

The Mischief Behind the Mellow

For all his mellow, flower‑power charm, Banner has a streak of mischief that keeps life interesting. He’s earned a few nicknames over the years — Mr. Fluffy Butt, Wreck‑It Ralph, and Mommy’s Little Helper — each one a tribute to his unpredictable moments of enthusiasm.

My favorite story? The day he stole my car keys. I searched everywhere, convinced I’d lost my mind, until Banner came trotting out with them dangling from his mouth like a trophy. He looked so proud, as if he’d just solved the mystery himself. That’s Banner in a nutshell: part gentleman, part goofball, and always ready to lend a paw… even if he’s the reason you needed help in the first place.

So happy birthday, my gentle, groovy boy. Welcome to middle age. You wear it with peace, fluff, and the kind of charm that makes every visitor feel like they’ve wandered into the friendliest commune in town.

 

 

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.