Tag Archives: Banner and Balboa

Living With Banner & Balboa: A Cat Household I Still Don’t Understand

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Two cats sit among dozens of bright orange pumpkins in an outdoor pumpkin patch. Banner, a medium‑haired orange cat, sits upright on a pumpkin, while Balboa, a sleek black cat, rests a paw on another pumpkin beside him. Rows of pumpkins fill the background, with trees and distant buildings visible, creating a colorful autumn scene.

Cats I’ve Known… and Still Don’t UnderstandA bald man with a beard and glasses stands against a plain white background. He wears a purple shirt with rolled‑up sleeves, a gray vest, and multiple bracelets. His tattooed arms are crossed as he looks directly at the camera with a confident expression.

I’ve lived with cats my whole life, and I still don’t understand them. I’m no Jackson Galaxy — I’m barely Jackson Cul‑de‑Sac. Every cat I’ve ever had has been their own brand of strange, but Banner and Balboa have taken things to a whole new level.

An orange cat rests on a desk beside a black coffee mug with a “Java Joe’s Coffee” logo. Papers and small electronic items are scattered around the workspace, and the cat appears relaxed, lying close to the mug.Meet Banner: The Chunky Orange Desk Ornament

Banner is my medium‑haired, chunky orange boy who believes my desk is his personal lounge. He stretches across my keyboard like he’s claiming territory.

Pet him too much? He bites. Stop petting him too soon? He bites. Banner believes biting is a love language.

He loves paper bags and the crinkly cat tunnel — but only if it’s placed directly in the middle of the living room like a trip hazard. Move it two inches? It becomes dead to him.

Wet food? Banner tries to bury it like it’s a crime scene. Crunchies only, please.

Meet Balboa: The Black Streak of ChaosA black cat sits comfortably inside a large cardboard box filled with crumpled brown packing paper. The cat looks relaxed, nestled among the paper, with wooden furniture visible in the background.

Balboa is a completely different brand of weird.

Crinkly treat bags? Terrifying. I opened a bag of corn chips and he evaporated — one moment head‑butting me, the next a black streak fleeing the room.

Banner’s beloved tunnel? Balboa pretends it doesn’t exist. He ran through it once last week and immediately regretted it.

But give him a cardboard box and packing paper and he’ll crinkle and rearrange until everything meets his artistic standards. Then he curls up inside like a cozy little gremlin.

A black cat lies on a textured gray surface with one front paw extended, showing small, partially visible claws. The cat rests its head on the fabric and looks relaxed, with soft lighting highlighting its dark fur and the texture of the material.Balboa’s Signature Move: The Needle‑Claw Attention Tap

When Balboa wants attention, he doesn’t bite — he pricks. Tiny, deliberate needle‑claws, just enough to say “Notice me,” but not enough to draw blood. It’s like being tapped by a very small, very demanding sewing machine.

Doorbell Drama: Two Cats, Two Reactions

Doorbell rings? Balboa becomes a ghost, usually hiding behind the headboard. Banner becomes a Walmart greeter, racing me to the door like he’s expecting company.

The WMEO Chaos Crew

They are opposites in every possible way… but they’re my team, my chaos crew, the heart of WMEO.

Two cats sit behind a winter weather news desk. Banner, an orange cat wearing a red scarf with a snowflake charm, sits beside a white mug labeled “WMEO I ❤️ Weather.” Balboa, a black cat, sits next to a small brown suitcase with a “Key West or Bust!!” sticker and a boarding pass sticking out. A microphone sits between them, and a weather map showing snowy conditions appears in the background with text like “Below-Normal Colder” and “El Niño.” The desk displays “WMEO 9” and “WMEO Winter Desk Live.”

Cooperative? Never. Entertaining? Always.

 

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.