Skip to main content

Junior's Jungle Gym

In this episode - Juniors' Jungle Gym . . .

Does a cat own you? Then I'm sure you know what it's like to be a Jungle Gym. You Don't? Well, allow me to explain.

It begins early each morning (usually 4:30 a.m.) Whomp, you hear the cat, Junior, jump onto the bed. He climbs onto your chest and sticks his nose directly to mine. A friendly face greets me with two large, bright, golden-greenish eyes, white whiskers, and what appears to be a smiling face.

Meow, translation - ”Time to get up.”

"Good morning Junior. (Jr.) Ok, ok, I'm getting up.”

Stretching, you make your way to the bathroom, have a seat, then Whomp, Jr. leaps from the floor to your shoulders and starts his motor purring in your ear.

"What's up, Jr.? Where's Missy.”

Both Junior and his sister Missy spend their days lounging around the house, mainly sleeping. They are decidedly indoor cats. Over the years, we've lost too many cats to varmints that populate the open space behind our house. Jr. and Missy were four months old when we adopted them from the shelter. Thank goodness they are content to wander the house and sit on the windowsills to watch the world go by.

So, you make your way downstairs to prepare the morning coffee to start the day. And there's Jr. seated in the corner watching your every move - waiting!

Once the coffee is ready, you grab your cup and head back upstairs to the computer in your office. It's quiet, you're going through emails - then Whomp, Jr. pounces into your lap and starts squirming back and forth. His tail slaps the keyboard, and all kinds of commands appear on your screen. Not content to sit in your lap, he climbs back on your shoulders to get a better view of what's going on.

About this time, Lori gets up, grabs her morning coffee, and heads for the couch - Ah-Ha, another lap. Jr. scampers downstairs to claim yet another lap. Where's Missy this entire time, you ask? She is casually sitting on the footstool in front of the sofa, just watching this go by.

Now it's breakfast; he follows you to the kitchen, then Whomp jumps on the table. Cautiously he has to make sure nothing has changed, sniffing everything, including your breakfast. Trying desperately to get a lap, he climbs back to your shoulders, not deterred.

"Ok, Jr., time for work.”

So, Jr. yawns jumps down from the table, and retires to his daytime snooze spot. Meanwhile, Missy casually raises her head and watches all this go by . . .

It's early evening; the garage door opens, and as we walk through the door, there's Junior to greet us - stretching - waking up from his all-day snooze, ready to resume his acrobatics.

With a rather demanding - Meow, he runs to his chair (my recliner) in the TV room, leaps to the back, and turns to look at me as if to say; it's about time you got home; come sit down and make me a lap, I want to stretch out.

Perfectly content, he lounges as you scratch behind his ear, purring happily for about five minutes. Then, immediately, he's up, leaps to the footstool in front of Lori's chair assumes his most regal pose, and stares directly at her.

"Ok, with a tilt of his head, as if to say, you've been home at least fifteen minutes. Where's my supper?”

Lori goes to the kitchen, picks up their bowls, and tout de suit Missy comes to life. She starts meowing and walking in circles while Junior sits patiently waiting for his supper. After supper, Missy returns to her spot, circles a few times then settles in for the evening.

Now ready for action, the jungle cat decides its time to check out the garage, makes his rounds, then, with a burst of blinding speed, circumnavigates the living room, jumping from one chair to another, over the top of Lori, then - Whomp pounces on to my lap. Not content, he jumps from lap to lap throughout the evening.

"Ok, Jr., time for bed.”

He immediately claims my warm chair and allows me to get ready for bed; I'm tucked in for the night, then I hear the bedroom door open - Whomp, it's back to my chest until he realizes I'm going to sleep. So, it's back downstairs to claim Lori's lap once more before she turns in for the night.

There you have it, a day in the life as Juniors Jungle Gym.

I’m Patrick Ball; thanks for listening. I'll see you in the next episode.

Comments

Don H. said…
I think your cats are telling us the meaning of life: Explore my surroundings, choose to accept the world I'm living in and just relax and just BE!
Patrick B. Ball said…
You know Don, I think you're probably correct.

Most Popular of All Time

Back to School (Without the Triple Lindy)

I hadn’t set foot inside a public library in over thirty years. Last Saturday, when I walked through the sliding doors of the modern County of San Diego branch on Eucalyptus Avenue in Vista, my eyes instinctively scanned the floor for the familiar, comforting sight of varnished oak cabinets and brass pull-handles. Nothing . No card catalog. No little wooden drawers. No rows of index cards typed by someone who presumably had beautiful penmanship and a pension. I walked up to the front desk, looked the librarian dead in the eye, and asked with complete earnestness: "Where’s the card catalog?" She didn’t laugh, though she had every right to. Instead, she offered a warm, dry smile: "We magically had the computer digest it." And just like that, I was enrolled. Not the Rodney Dangerfield kind of back-to-school. No diving board, no loud blazer, no campus party, and thankfully, no need to convince anyone I belonged there. Just an overdue reminder that while I was busy with ...

Beyond Facts-The Deep Dive

✨ In this episode, Beyond Facts: Reimagining School–in the Age of AI . . .   This week's podcast is a bit different; it's another example of how Artificial Intelligence (AI) can offer tools to creatively enhance your analytical presentation of information. We took this week's blog and copied it into Gemini with the question, “If a story is to work, it must, on some level, create an illusion of escape and also achieve a goal simultaneously. Does this apply to my blog post that follows?” What's created is not just an analysis of the writing, but an AI-generated discussion produced “On the Fly” - Enjoy! Did you know that the word "school" comes from the ancient Greek word scholē , which originally meant "leisure"? Not a rigid schedule or droning lectures filled with "facts," but free time for thinking and conversation. To the Greeks, learning happened best when life slowed down—when you had room to reflect, to ask questions, and to wrestle ...

Doc Welch - The Country Doctor

In this episode, Doc Welch . . . Many authors have characterized life in rural Illinois over the years. Among the more notables are Edgar Lee Masters, who wrote Spoon River Anthology, Carl Sandburg for his poetry and biography of Abraham Lincoln, and little known to me until recently, my first doctor, whom everyone in town always called Doc Welch - James K. Welch, M.D.  (Feb. 7, 1915, to May 5, 1998) While exploring the microfilm of the Cuba Journal (published from 1884 to 1992), I consistently kept running across articles entitled The Country Doctor. This intrigued me. Doc Welch was a third-generation practicing Country Doctor in Cuba for over 40 years. His father, James William Welch, M.D., practiced medicine in Cuba for more than five decades. His grandfather, James Knox Welch, M.D., settled in Cuba after the Civil War. Cuba, Illinois, is a small, rural farming community in west-central Illinois, where I grew up. Like many small towns, it boasts a central square with a ban...

The Rhythm of the Woodpecker

The morning in Vista often begins under a heavy, gray marine layer that rolls in from the coast, pressing a damp, muffled stillness over the neighborhood. At 4:30 a.m., the driveways are still full. The local commuters are either blissfully unconscious or stumbling blindly toward their showers, clinging desperately to their last shred of peace before the nine-to-five grind claims them for the day. I, on the other hand, am voluntarily wide awake in the dark. When your agenda consists of absolutely nothing, it is critical to get an early start. Inside the house, the quiet is profound, broken only by the sharp, mechanical click of the kettle as it reaches a rolling boil. I stand at the counter, watching the dark ground coffee bloom as hot water hits the French press's stainless steel. The smell is sudden and heavy—a deep, roasted-earth aroma that cuts through the morning fog. I push against the plunger’s gritty resistance, pouring a cup that radiates dark, stinging heat against my pal...