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.
Clowns of the Forest and Field
River herring are diadromous fish, meaning they split their lives between saltwater and freshwater. They hatch in ponds and streams, spend their early months growing there, then head out to sea. After several years in the Atlantic, instinct pulls them back home to spawn the next generation.
crucial food source for:
