What the Cat Heard?

“Para bailar La Bamba - Para bailar La Bamba . . .”

If you’re reading this post you may recognize the lyrics to the adaptation of the Mexican folk song, La Bamba, released October 18, 1958, by Richie Valens. I’m certain, listening to this tune played on the guitar you would quickly find yourself tapping your toe to the beat. And doing your best to sing along.

Me, I’m still wondering what the cat heard?

Cat lovers out there maybe you can provide some insight.

While playing the introduction to La Bamba, my cat (Junior), jumps to my shoulders, needles a little, settles in, and meows in my ear. I suppose if he could talk he would say: “Dude, how many times do you have to repeat the same segment to get it right?”

No doubt, his comments might be a lot more entertaining than listening to me attempt this catchy tune on my guitar.

Allow met to set the stage. Every morning I strap on my guitar, check the tuning, and begin to practice. For flexibility, first its a series of warmup finger exercises: gliding across frets through all six strings, up and down the neck. Then the pentatonic scales, major and minor chords (E-F-C-Am-D). Next sliding up and down the neck attempting to repeat the chords with barre chords. Now granted, I’m not as efficient with barre chords yet but with the light touch of the Tele, I’m making excellent progress.

Well, about the time I break off to play the intro to this song Jr. decides he’s not getting enough attention and jumps to my shoulders. He shifts positions a couple of times then settles with his head against my right ear and wants to be petted.

“Ok, ok, I’ll scratch behind your ear, just sit still please.”

All the while his tail whipping back and forth slapping me up-side the head as if in rhythm to what I’m playing.

This goes on until I shift positions to flip the page on the music stand. Then Jr. jumps down, sits on my keyboard, and proceeds to stare directly at me as if to say, “Have you settled down yet?”

I relent, tip my shoulder a little and he immediately resumes his position on my shoulders, purring in my right ear.

Now for those of you learning guitar, I really do not recommend the technique of having a 15-pound cat on your shoulders as you practice.

Granted, over the past three years, Jr. has heard me butcher many tunes I’ve attempted to play.

So, I guess I’m still wondering, “What the cat heard?”

This is Patrick Ball, thanks for listening, see you in the next episode.

Comments

When Fear Becomes the Default

In this special episode, When Fear Becomes the Default. Early Sunday morning, I was cycling past a small veterans’ pocket park in San Marcos. The air was still, the streets nearly empty. On one corner stood a young woman, alone, holding a hand-painted sign that read: “Be ANGRY. ICE agents are murdering people.” I pedaled past, but the words stayed with me. I knew the context—the footage and headlines from Minneapolis the day before, already ricocheting through the country and hardening opinions. Even in the quiet of the ride, the noise followed. Two miles later, I stopped at a red light. A black car with dark windows pulled up inches from my bike. My heart jumped. My first instinct wasn’t neighbor —it was threat . I found myself bracing, scanning, and wondering if the person inside was angry, armed, or looking for trouble. Then the door opened. A well-dressed young woman stepped out, walked to the trunk, and pulled out a sign that read “Open House.” She turned, smiled brightly, and sa...

The Language of Home: Building a Sanctuary

This episode is for anyone trying to find their footing in a new place—whether it’s a new city, a new job, or a new country. The light in Florence, Italy, has a way of making everything feel like a Renaissance painting—the golden hue on the stone, the steady rhythm of the Arno River, and the feeling that you are walking through a history much larger than yourself. I was there to give a presentation to a class of Gemology students. I was prepared to discuss color grading and refractive indices, but not to be outed as a language tutor . Feeling very much like a guest in a storied land, a hand shot up enthusiastically. "You’re the guy on the podcasts," the young woman said, her eyes bright with recognition. "You’re the one teaching us English." I laughed nervously. If you know my flat Midwestern accent, you know the irony here. I am hardly an Oxford professor. But later, as I wandered the cobblestone streets beneath the shadow of the Duomo, the humor faded into a powe...

Practiced Hands: The 50-Year Warranty

What Doc Burch Taught Me About Staying Active. We talk a lot about "life hacks" these days, but most of them don’t have a very long shelf life. Usually, they’re forgotten by the next app update. But back in 1972, I received a piece of advice that came with a 50-year warranty. It’s the reason I’m still on my bike today, still chasing a golf ball around Carlsbad, and still—mostly—in one piece. The Kick That Changed Everything It started with a literal kick in the pants. A kid at school in Cuba, Illinois, was joking around and caught me just right. By the next morning, my lower back was screaming. My mom didn’t reach for the Tylenol; she reached for her car keys. "Let’s go see Doc Burch," she said. "He’ll fix you right up." Harry E. Burch, D.C., was a fixture in Lewistown. He’d graduated from Palmer College in ’59 and had been our family’s go-to for years. He was a man of practiced hands and steady eyes. After a quick exam and an X-ray, the mood in the room s...

Sweden Called . . . They Said No.

Have you ever wondered about the Nobel Prize? Let's look at Where Genius Meets “Wait—Where’s My Medal?” Every October, the Nobel Prizes are announced, and humanity pauses to celebrate the "greatest benefit to mankind." And every year, like clockwork, a specific type of person appears online to complain—at length—that they were robbed. (Well, maybe this year more than most.) The Origin: A Legacy of Guilt The prize exists because Alfred Nobel, a Swedish inventor, had a crisis of conscience. Nobel held 355 patents, but he was most famous for inventing dynamite. When a French newspaper mistakenly published his obituary, calling him the " Merchant of Death, " he decided to buy a better legacy. In his 1895 will, he left the bulk of his massive fortune to establish five prizes (Physics, Chemistry, Medicine, Literature, and Peace). Because he was Swedish, he entrusted the selection to Swedish institutions, such as the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences. The only outlier...

On The Fly

Search This Blog