WMEO Special Report: It’s National Toasted Marshmallow Day!

An empty WMEO 9 news desk sits in a brightly lit newsroom. A microphone and two sheets of paper rest on the desk, and multiple blurred screens with news graphics appear in the background along with a city skyline.

This is an WMEO Special report. Our anchors are on location tonight.

We bring you live from the WMEO campground, a full report on the marshmallow celebration for Toasted Marshmallow Day. Our intrepid reporters, Banner and Balboa, are on location tonight, investigating the state of marshmallow toastiness across the region. Early findings suggest high fluff levels, excellent golden‑brown technique, and one missing marshmallow (Balboa continues to deny involvement).

Cartoon versions of two cats sit by a small campfire at night, each holding a stick with a marshmallow over the flames. The orange cat on the left and the black cat on the right are roasting marshmallows in a simple outdoor scene with a dark background and grass at the bottom.

[Live‑Mic Moment] (Audio crackles. The campfire pops.)

Banner: “You burned mine again!”

Balboa: “It’s called caramelization, genius.”

Banner: “It’s called sabotage.”

Balboa: “You’re lucky I didn’t eat yours for evidence.”

(Producer voice off‑screen) “Uh… we’re still live.”

Both: “Oh.” (awkward pause, then cheerful tone)

Banner: “Back to you at the desk!”

Stay tuned for updates as the investigation heats up.

 

Two marshmallows on a wooden stick roast over bright orange flames, with the marshmallows turning golden brown as smoke rises from the fire.

When Wildlife Pays the Price for Human–Wildlife Encounters

 

A brown bear stands among dense reddish‑brown autumn shrubs, reaching its nose toward the branches while foraging.

A Headline That Never Gets Easier

Every so often, a headline pops up that makes me stop what I’m doing and sit with it for a moment. This week it was the story out of Colorado: a bear euthanized after attacking a fisherman. It’s the kind of headline we’ve all seen before, and it never gets easier to read. And by the way, the angler was hospitalized with non‑life‑threatening injuries and is expected to recover. The bear wasn’t given that chance.

Whenever wildlife and humans intersect, the situation is fraught with danger. Sometimes humans behave recklessly. Sometimes animals react instinctively and sometimes no one does anything “wrong” at all — it’s simply a moment where two worlds collide, and the animal is the one who pays the ultimate price.

Not Every Encounter Is Human-Caused — But the Consequences Always Fall on the Animal

It’s easy to blame humans for every wildlife incident, and sometimes that blame is deserved. But it’s not always that simple. I’ve had encounters where humans were absolutely the problem, and others where the animal reacted to something as small and unintentional as the color of my rental car. And I’ve had moments where neither side provoked anything — we simply surprised each other.

The common thread is this: the animal is punished for the encounter, no matter who or what caused it.

The Yellowstone Bison Who Was Just Being a Bison

A few years ago, a tourist in Yellowstone was attacked by a bison. The headlines were dramatic, but the park rangers made a point of saying the bison would not be euthanized. It wasn’t aggressive or dangerous. It was simply being a bison — defending its space the way bison have done for thousands of years.

That decision stuck with me. It was one of the rare times the animal wasn’t blamed for behaving exactly as nature designed it to.

The Old Faithful Selfie That Could Have Gone Very WrongBison

Contrast that with another Yellowstone moment I witnessed at Old Faithful. A lone bison was grazing near the geyser, minding its own business. A teenage tourist decided she needed a selfie with it and approached from behind — close enough to touch it.

She got her picture. She also got lucky.

That bison was feeling mellow. If it hadn’t been, we would have had a very different headline. And if anything had happened, the bison would have been blamed and likely euthanized, even though it was the human who created the danger.

 

The Tree Bear and the Crowd That Pushed Me Forward

Then there was the little bear sitting in a tree right next to the road. I had a long lens and didn’t need to get close, but the crowd behind me kept pushing forward, nudging me closer and closer to the bear so I could “get the shot.”

That bear could have been down out of that tree in seconds. If it had felt threatened, if someone had moved wrong, if the crowd had surged — that bear would have reacted instinctively.

And the rangers would have come, and the bear would have been killed.

But the bear didn’t do anything wrong. It was just being a bear.

The Black Rental Car and the Territorial BisonGetting ready to pass by

And then there’s the encounter that had nothing to do with human recklessness at all.

I was trapped in traffic on a Yellowstone road, nowhere to go, when two bison suddenly charged my car. My black rental must have triggered their territorial instinct — bison don’t have great eyesight, and something about that color set them off.

Their hoofbeats thundered behind me as they chased my car down the road. I wasn’t close to them, and I hadn’t interacted with them at all — they reacted purely on instinct.It was simply a moment where wildlife reacted the way wildlife reacts.

If they had reached the car, if they had injured me, if anything had gone wrong — those bison would have been blamed. Not because they were dangerous, but because they were wild.

The Grizzly Bear: A Moment That Could Have Gone Either Way

In Grand Teton National Park, I was hiking — and in that park, every trail is bear country. I turned a corner and suddenly found myself face to face with a grizzly. We both froze. We both startled. And then, mercifully, the bear turned back the way it came.

I headed straight for the parking lot. That was close enough for one day.

Neither of us did anything wrong. We simply surprised each other. But if that bear had reacted differently, if instinct had taken over, if fear had turned into defense — the bear would have been the one to die for it.

The Bull Moose Who Needed a Moment to Decide

Another time, hiking to a waterfall in Maine, I surprised a bull moose and a cow. The female slipped quietly into the forest. The bull didn’t. He stared me down first — a long, assessing look — before he too disappeared into the trees.

Moose are enormous, unpredictable animals. If he had charged, it would have been catastrophic. And yet, again, neither of us did anything wrong. We simply crossed paths in a place where both of us had a right to be.

The Colorado Bear: A Familiar, Heartbreaking Pattern

Which brings me back to the bear in Colorado.

The fisherman may have startled the bear, or it may have been stressed, hungry, or defending a food source. It could also have been nothing more than a moment where both were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

We’ll never know the full story. But we do know how it ended: the bear was euthanized.

Not because it was a monster. Not because it was malicious. But because it was a bear — and bears don’t understand our rules.

The Wildness We Keep Shrinking

Every time we kill a wild animal for doing what wild animals do, we shrink the wildness left in the world. We make nature smaller, safer, more controlled — and less alive.

Human–wildlife encounters will always be dangerous. Danger can come from humans, from animals, or simply from the unpredictable reality of sharing space with creatures who don’t speak our language.

But the tragedy is always the same: the animal pays the price for the intersection.

And that’s what makes these headlines so hard to read.

 

 

 

 

 

Lake Monsters of the Adirondacks: My Family’s Monster‑Free Record

 

Beautiful Lake George surrounded by lush green hills, framed by leafy branches in the foreground, with a small sailboat visible on the water under a clear sky.

Growing Up Between Two Monster Lakes

My family has spent a lot of time on the two Adirondack lakes most famous for monster sightings. My mother grew up in Ticonderoga, right between Lake George and Lake Champlain, and I spent my childhood on Lake George. We used to road‑trip to Vermont and often took the ferry across Lake Champlain. If Champ was going to make an appearance, we were giving him every opportunity.

He never did. My mother never saw him either. Not even a suspicious ripple.

Champ is the celebrity cryptid of the region — the Adirondack Nessie — and people have been reporting sightings since the 1800s. Meanwhile, my family crossed that lake so many times we practically deserved a loyalty punch card, and still: nothing. Not even a polite bubble.

Champ: The Famous Monster Who Never Showed Up

Champ gets all the attention. Books, documentaries, blurry photos, breathless eyewitness accounts — he’s the star of Lake Champlain. And yet, despite all those ferry crossings, neither my mother nor I ever saw anything that even hinted at a lake monster.

Plenty of waves. Plenty of logs. Zero monsters.

Georgie: The Lake George Monster We All Joked About

Lake George has a monster too, though it’s a much quieter legend. Growing up, we kids always joked about “Georgie,” the Lake George lake monster. I assumed Georgie was just the local version of Champ — a long‑necked creature lurking in the deep water, ready to pop up and terrify boaters.

 

I never knew Georgie had an actual origin story. Apparently most people don’t, because Georgie tends to get lumped in with Champ and Nessie as if he’s part of the same folklore family.

He isn’t.

The Wild, Forgotten Origin Story of Georgie

Georgie was a hoax — and a spectacular one.

Back in 1904, painter Harry Watrous built a ten‑foot lake monster out of a cedar log, complete with a skinny neck, big eyes, a wide mouth, and hemp‑rope whiskers. He created it to get revenge on a newspaper editor who had tricked him with a fake giant trout.

Watrous anchored his monster in Hague Bay and rigged it with a pulley system so he could make it rise dramatically out of the water whenever he felt like causing chaos.

And he did.

Panicked boaters, screaming passengers, parasol attacks — Georgie caused absolute mayhem. Watrous revived the monster again in 1934 just to “spoof the world” one more time. The original Georgie still exists and lives at the historical museum in Hague.

None of this made it into the version of Georgie I grew up with. To us, Georgie was just the Lake George monster — the one we joked about while swimming or boating, the one we pretended might be lurking under the dock. The prank faded, but the idea stuck.

My Family’s Real Lake Sightings (Everything Except Monsters)

And despite all that time on the lake, I never saw Georgie. My mother never saw Georgie. And my brother — who has spent more time on Lake George than anyone I know — has never seen Georgie.

This is impressive, because my brother has seen everything else.

He’s seen rattlesnakes swimming across Lake George. The lake’s had rabid beavers. He’s seen deer swimming across the lake like they’re training for a triathlon. He’s seen strange wakes, odd shadows, weird currents, and fog that makes the lake look like a horror movie set. There have even been water spouts!

Island Camping: Prime Monster Hours, Still No Monsters

My brother also camps out on the Lake George islands during the summer, which means he’s out there at night — prime monster hours. If Georgie were real, my brother would have had front‑row seats.

But no. Not a single monster sighting.

If Monsters Exist, They’re Avoiding Us

Between Champ and Georgie, the Adirondacks are supposedly home to two lake monsters. My family has spent generations swimming, boating, camping, ferrying, and occasionally dodging rabid beavers — and we’ve never seen one. Not even a hint.

If the monsters are out there, they’re clearly shy… or they’ve decided my family isn’t worth the trouble.

Mohican-Paradise-Bay-

 

WMEO 9 — Feline News Desk Commentary- What’s in a Name

The Newroom cats of WMEO prepare to share thier thoughts on the mews of the day

WMEO 9 — Feline News Desk Commentary- What’s in a name?

Broadcasting live from the living room newsroom

Banner:WMEO 9 Breaking Mews: “The humans are renaming lakes now. Apparently renaming the Gulf of Mexico wasn’t enough — they’ve moved inland.”

Balboa: “Next up: renaming puddles. I call dibs on the one under the kitchen sink.”

Banner: “Experts say Lake Ontario might become Lake America. I say experts need a nap.”

Balboa: I renamed my litter box Lake Trump. It still smells and its still a terrible idea. Still more thought than the humans put into theirs.”

Banner: “Experts say renaming a lake doesn’t fix anything. I say experts should look at my brother’s litter box.

Balboa: “Hey! My litter box is a natural ecosystem. It has layers and  history. It has… sediment.”

Banner: “It has EPA violations.”

Kitty Litter box with a sign designating it as Lake Trump. 2 crayons sit ont he floor

WMEO Educational Moment

Banner: “By the way, Lake Ontario already has a name. It comes from the Huron and Iroquois languages meaning ‘great lake,’ ‘beautiful lake,’ or ‘sparkling waters.’”

Balboa: “So it already had a good name. Unlike my litter box.”

Banner: “Correct. Some things don’t need renaming. Some things need cleaning.”

2 Newsroom cats signing off at the end of thier mewscast

 

Banner: “More updates as the humans continue renaming things nobody asked them to.”

This has been a WMEO Commentary. We Meow-You Listen

Please resume your regular scrolling

 

Rainbow Bridge Remembrance Day

A serene landscape featuring a wooden bridge over a small stream surrounded by green grass and colorful flowers. A bright rainbow arcs across a golden sky with soft clouds, and a butterfly hovers near the center, creating a peaceful, dreamlike scene.

In Memory of Mr. Jazz Rainbow Bridge Remembrance Day was created by author Deborah Barnes in honor of her beloved cat, Mr. Jazz, who passed on August 28, 2013. It’s a day to remember the pets who touched our lives and left pawprints on our hearts.

Today we honor the pets who shared our homes, our routines, and our hearts. Pet loss is a grief that cuts deeply. They become family, and when they’re gone, the silence they leave behind is enormous. Many people say they mourned a pet more than a person — and while that can feel uncomfortable to admit, it’s true for many of us. We love them fiercely, and we lose them fiercely. And still, we adopt again. Because love is worth the risk.

My Rainbow Bridge Roll Call

Mittens – My first cat. Black with white paws, and the beginning of it all.

Squinty – A semi‑feral, long‑haired, scruffy stray… but I loved him anyway.

Starsky and Hutch – A matched pair of white cats with black ears and black caps on their heads.

Shadow – A polydactyl adventurer who loved car rides and terrorized every squirrel in the neighborhood.

Pyewacket – The sweetest little black‑and‑white kitty.

Little Joe – A rescued Persian, loyal right to the end.

Smoky – Saved from animal control and a hoarding situation. Declawed, poor thing, but still gentle and sweet.

Buddy – My boomerang cat. I tried to re‑home him three times, but he kept coming back. He wanted to be with me — and he was, until he passed.

Rocky – My first orange cat. A very special boy. We were together almost 20 years, and his passing left a hole in my heart.

Each one gone, each one remembered. All of them loved.

And beyond the cats…

There were dogs who wagged their way into my life, a parakeet who filled quiet mornings with chatter, and even a horse whose steady presence taught me patience and trust. Each one left their own mark, but the cats — oh, the cats — have always been the constant thread through my years.

The Present Moment

Banner and Balboa are here now — six years old already, somehow. Half their lives lived, half still ahead.

A Wish for You

If you’ve recently lost a pet — cat, dog, bird, reptile, or a companion I can’t even imagine — I wish you comfort. I believe they will be waiting for you at the Rainbow Bridge, whole and happy, ready to greet you again someday.