Tag Archives: Banner and Balboa

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.

 

The Feline Geneva Convention: Peace Talks in the Kitty Jungle

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Two cats rest together on a carpeted floor near a window. A black cat is stretched out on its side, and an orange cat is curled up beside it. Soft natural light from the window creates a calm, cozy scene with a cat tree in the background.

Two cats sit together on a carpet near a glass door, the orange cat upright and the black cat lounging beside him, both looking like they’re deep in important “cat business.”

Go away hooman. we’re busy

The Great Truce of the Kitty Jungle

I don’t know what’s going on in the halls of cat chaos, but Banner and Balboa seem to have worked out a truce of sorts. Looks like they’ve held thier own Geneva Convention and come to terms of some sort.  Balboa is usually the temperamental one, yet lately he’s been right there beside Banner like they’re co‑captains of calm. Maybe there’s hope for World Peace after all.

Summer Sunbathers & Squirrel Watch

Maybe it’s just summer. These two love lounging in front of the slider on warm afternoons, soaking up the sun like tiny furry sunbathers. Mornings have them nose‑to‑screen, vibrating with excitement as squirrels race along the top of the fence like they’re running the Indy 500.

I had high hopes that adding a sock of birdseed to my flower basket would attract sparrows or finches to entertain the boys, but it’s been a couple of weeks and still no interest. We get a few birds on the fence, but none come to visit the hanging basket. We aren’t allowed to have feeders on our decks — the folks on the first floor complained — and honestly, I can’t blame them. Still, I was hoping for at least a few visitors.

Fireworks, Hideouts, and Evening Drama

Evenings are quiet in the condo, mostly because the neighbor is shooting off fireworks every night. As soon as the first bang goes off, Balboa vanishes like a magician’s assistant. I don’t even know where he hides. Banner, not so much. The noise doesn’t bother him — but then, not much does. He’s such a laid‑back kitty cat.

The Cat Grass Chronicles

Both boys are leaving my little AeroGarden alone now that they have their own cat grass. Balboa visits his garden every morning, and usually after dinner I’ll find him poking around in it. Thankfully he seems to have stopped chewing it. When the first garden sprouted, he plowed through it like a furry lawnmower and deposited a pile of cat‑grass straw right in the middle of the hallway. It looked like a slimy haystack. No repeat performances, thank goodness.

Closing Thought

For now, the Kitty Jungle is calm — no zoomies, no turf wars, no dramatic monologues from Balboa. Just two cats enjoying summer, sunshine, and the occasional squirrel show. Peace may be fragile, but I’ll take it while it lasts.

Squirrel in a tree