Tag Archives: Banner and Balboa

The Cardboard Box Wars Have Resumed

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Large Amazon cardboard box on my dining room table, the infamous THE BOX that sparked the cat wars.

🐱 The Cardboard Box Wars: Summer Truce Broken

Banner and Balboa sitting shoulder‑to‑shoulder at the sliding door, peacefully watching the summer yard together.Ah, the living room truce. It was too good to last. The cardboard box war wasn’t over — it was merely suspended, much like certain conflicts in the Middle East. A ceasefire, not a peace treaty.

All summer long, the boys were peaceful. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder at the window, watching squirrels, crows, and humans riding lawn mowers. Once they got over the noise, it became their morning entertainment. A live-action nature documentary.

But summer is ending, and the cats are getting restless. The squirrels are still out there, perpetually hungry and hiding nuts, but apparently that no longer holds their attention. And I — their long-suffering hooman — accidentally reignited hostilities.

📦 The Great Box BreakdownStack of empty cardboard boxes on the living room floor, ready for the Great Box Breakdown.

It started innocently. I noticed the recycle bins were empty — a rare cosmic event. I can never figure out when they get emptied, so there’s never room for anything. My cardboard box supply had become a mountain.

So out came the X-Acto knife. Banner and Balboa watched closely. I swear I saw a tear in Balboa’s eye.

I kept one box to hold the flattened cardboard. The plan was simple: take all but one box to the trash. They’ve been sharing a box in the living room all summer, peacefully coexisting like two diplomats who finally learned to take turns.

🚀 The Orange Missile Strikes

Banner sitting proudly inside THE BOX on the dining room table, claiming it for the first time all summer.I was down to THE BOX — the large box that was the focal point of the spring wars. I reached for it with high hopes of reclaiming my dining room table.

Then it happened.

A furry orange streak launched itself like a ballistic cruise missile. Banner was on the table and inside THE BOX (for the first time all summer) before my hand even got halfway there.

Tail up. Paper crinkling. Banner settling in.

The box had been reclaimed at the last possible moment.

🔄 The Power ShiftBalboa sitting deep inside THE BOX, surrounded by crinkled packing paper, claiming it after the power shift.

Like any good peace negotiator, I let the moment settle. I figured Banner would lose interest, and I could attempt a stealth removal later.

But when I returned from taking the other boxes outside, the situation had changed.

Banner was now in the living room box. Balboa was in THE BOX.

A full personnel swap.

🏳️ The War Resumes

Believe me, I know when I’ve been beaten. The Box Wars have resumed. Someday I may regain the use of my table… but today is not that day.

Banner and Balboa battling over the cardboard box, one inside and one reaching in — the Box Wars fully resumed.

 

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

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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.

The Daily Cat Food Circus: Banner the Crunchy Monk & Balboa the Diva Prince

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Two cats sitting on a carpeted floor near a sliding glass door — an orange tabby with a fluffy tail and a black cat with bright yellow eyes — with a beige cat tree and a blue mat in the background.

Meet My Boys: Banner the Crunchy Monk and Balboa the Diva Prince

My boys’ eating habits are going to be the end of me. I swear I spend more money on cat food than on my own groceries, and for what? For Banner—my chunky, overweight orange tabby who cosplays as Garfield but without Garfield’s enthusiasm for literally anything edible. No lasagna, thank you. 

Banner eats one thing: crunchies. Dry, boring, hairball‑preventive nuggets of kitty kibble. That’s it. Six years of the same crunch nuts. Six. Years. Why isn’t he sick of it?

Every morning I top off his bowl—carefully measured, because he’s already shaped like a decorative throw pillow—and he sits there politely, takes two bites, and walks away like a man who just tasted a wine flight and found it “acceptable.” Then he nibbles on that same bowl all day. Predictable. Calm. Reasonable. Honestly, he’s the only stable man in my life.

Balboa: The Morning Diva Who Demands Breakfast in Bed

And then… there’s Balboa.

Balboa is a diva. A dramatic little man-cat who believes he is entitled to breakfast in bed. I wake up with his “little” body plastered to my side (he’s not little anymore, but don’t tell him that). If I dare move, he gives me a look like I’ve ruined his entire morning. “Bring me breakfast, hooman slave.” In your dreams, sir.

I stagger to the kitchen, swap bowls, give Banner his crunchies… but Balboa? Nowhere. He’s still in bed, waiting for his royal summons.

The Wet Food Ritual That Never Goes as Planned

I set his can of wet food on the counter—not opening it yet—and head to the bathroom. As I pass the bed, a tiny black head pops up from the pillows like a dramatic groundhog predicting six more weeks of attitude.

Back in the kitchen? Still no Balboa.

I refuse to put out his wet food until he joins us, so I go to my desk to do my morning routine—blood sugar test, emails, the usual. Eventually, anywhere from five minutes to an hour later, His Majesty saunters in, stretches, meows loudly… and walks straight to Banner’s bowl to eat crunchies.

Crunchies. The SAME crunchies he has ignored for years.

The Manipulation Begins: “Feed Me Now, Hooman”

I try to let it go. I try to ignore his “I’m starving” whimpers. But then he starts scratching me like a tiny furry velociraptor. Fine. I feed him.

Does he eat his very expensive almost‑a‑dollar‑a‑can wet food? Of course not. He walks away and finds a box to sit in for the day. He got what he wanted: he made me serve him breakfast, even if he has no intention of eating it.

The Waste, the Budget, and the Vet Who Says He’s Overweight

I don’t waste my food.  My grocery trips are  planned and meals portioned out. I stretch leftovers. But Balboa? He licks the gravy and leaves the rest like a toddler rejecting vegetables.

He’s not starving—last year the vet said he was overweight by a pound. He’s definitely flunking his physical this year.

I’ve tried skipping his morning meal, but if I want peace in the house, that’s not an option. He is persistent. He is dramatic and he is very spoiled.

Conclusion: I Live With a Diva Cat and a Crunchy Monk

He is… a diva cat. And I am his exhausted, financially ruined, gravy‑scraping servant.

Look! 100,000 views

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“Deborah sits between her two cats, Banner (orange tabby) and Balboa (black cat), with a softly glowing, ethereal image of her retired editor‑in‑chief cat Rocky in the upper right corner.”

The Dustyroads Team — Banner, Deb (aka Dusty), Balboa, and Editor‑in‑Chief Cat Rocky (retired)

Hello my friends, loyal readers, and family.

Today is a very special day at Arounddustyroads. It feels like I’ve been writing forever, but this morning we crossed a huge milestone: 100,000 all‑time views. My little blog — this one‑woman column from Taunton that started with a camera, a keyboard, and a stubborn posting schedule — finally hit six figures. And we couldn’t have done it without you.

Along the way I had a finicky editor‑in‑chief cat who kept nudging me forward even when the going got tough. Rocky may be retired now, but his legacy lives on. Banner and Balboa have big whiskers to fill.

Here’s to the next 100,000 views. 

 

Those Silly Kitty Cats Are at It Again

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And a Four‑Year Mystery Is Finally Solved

Banner and Balboa, those silly kitties,  have a talent — not just for finding things, but for finding the exact things I don’t want them to find. Rubber bands, paper clips, bottle caps, the occasional bug… and yes, even my car keys. (If you missed Banner’s infamous key‑hiding caper, you can read the full story here: Tale of the Lost Keys — October 3, 2021.)

Their preferred playground is the middle of my tiny kitchen floor. Runner‑up: the bathtub. At least in the bathroom they’re out from underfoot.

Anyway, there has been a mystery in my house for more than four years. It only ever annoyed me when I wanted to use my food processor — and only when I wanted to grate carrots — so you can see why it wasn’t exactly top of mind.

The Food Processor Era Begins

I bought that food processor in a moment of weakness. A literal one. I had just shredded a five‑pound bag of carrots by hand for a carrot cake, and my arm was about to fall off. My thought was “There has to be an easier way.” I watch the Food Network. I watch the cooking shows. You drop ingredients in, press a button, and voilà — shreds, purées, grinds, blends. It was time to modernize.

I brought it home, plugged it in, dropped in a carrot or two, and it worked beautifully. Perfect shreds. Coleslaw here I come. I gave it a place of honor on the counter.

The Carrot Catastrophe

Now, I’m not always the most mechanical of people, and the next time I tried to shred carrots… mush. Tiny bits. Sand. What was going on?

I ran to my computer and watched YouTube videos. Looked simple. Tried again. Same result. Back to the old‑fashioned hand grater I went, but the food processor was still great for bread crumbs, crushing crackers, and grinding honey grahams for pie crusts.

Over the years I kept reviewing how‑to videos and giving carrots another try. No success.

Then one day, I had an epiphany. I Googled the parts of a food processor.

And there it was. The answer to my question. The missing part. The center shaft.

 

I only had the shaft with the blade. So when I put carrots in, they got shredded by the disc and then immediately chopped to bits by the blade underneath. I couldn’t remove the blade without having the center shaft to put in its place.

Head‑slap. Duh.

 

Enter: The Culprit

Okay all you culinary experts, stop laughing. I can explain.

Not long after I got Balboa, I found the little culprit in the kitchen playing with a plastic thing. I had no idea what it was — I thought it was something he found under the sink. He used to go in and out of there all the time, and I figured it was leftover from when the workers replaced the countertops.

Now that I realize what I’m missing, I recognize the thing as the shaft from the food processor.

Needless to say, it’s long gone. It was tossed even before the Great Kitchen Declutter.

Balboa posing in the middle of the kitchen with the food‑processor shaft he ‘liberated,’ looking very satisfied with himself.

The Wallet‑Smacking Finale

The worst part? That tiny plastic thingy costs almost as much as a new food processor to replace. Can you believe that.

One small moment of stupidity… one big bang on the wallet. But at least I finally know why I couldn’t shred carrots with my food processor.

When that part gets here, I may have to make a carrot cake to celebrate.