Skip to main content

Juniors Tribute

This morning, there is something missing from my life. There's an empty space on the back of our sofa where my companion Tony Junior (Jr.) usually sleeps or watches the world go by through the window, perched on his soft, red, fuzzy blanket. There, he waits for me to join him in a nap so he can climb onto my chest, settle in, and purr as I gently scratch his chin and behind his left ear.

You see, last night, October 10, 2023, Jr. quietly passed at about 11:30 p.m. Needless to say, I’m heartbroken. As I write this, tears are streaming down my cheeks. You see, Jr. was my special friend like no other. He never complained; he was always there to greet me every morning, at night, returning from a mountain trip, or just from a daily walk around the neighborhood. Junior, our indoor cat, had a routine of following me around the house. He never wanted to venture outside - he considered our home “his castle.” I could set my watch to his predictable daily routines. And he knew mine. See What the Cat Heard. He would jump onto my lap whenever I was seated and start purring softly. With his motor running, he would roll over, stretch out, and allow me to vigorously rub his tummy - and he loved it. (Caution don't try this with just any cat - you will get the Sh*t scratched out of you.) Junior was more than just a pet to me; he was my special buddy, and I cherished his companionship.

You see, in the past few weeks, Jr. began to show signs of his age; now over 15 years old, he was unable to keep food down, and refused to eat. We took him to his Vet, and interestedly, all of his vitals were fine. They did blood work, and no signs of any issues. Somewhat dehydrated, he was given fluids, and when we got home, he went directly to his bowl to eat something, which was very encouraging. Then, within a few days, he was again unwilling to eat. The doctor prescribed some medication that helped for a while. He would eat very small portions, but he was losing a lot of weight, strength, coordination, and vigor.

He never complained, never showed any signs of pain, sat stoically, and made sure I was following my routines. Then he would sleep. He became weaker, and yesterday, when we returned home from work there, he sat, quietly, stoically - yet on the floor a few feet from his litter box was a very large pool of blood. We took him to the animal hospital and urgent care. After a thorough diagnosis of a large lump in his abdomen, his temperature dropping, and anemic blood levels, he was undoubtedly checking out of our world. We will miss you deeply, dear friend - God’s speed.

Unfortunately, my dear friends, I'm afraid it won't be possible to record a podcast this week without experiencing a breakdown. So, as a tribute to Junior’s memory, I’ve attached to this blog the post - Juniors Jungle Gym so you can experience Junior at his best and we can relive the wonderful memories of a day in my companion Junior's long, loving life.

I’m Patrick Ball. Thanks for your prayers and well wishes. I’ll see you in the next episode.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

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...

Boy on a Beam

In this special bonus episode, Boy on a Beam. In a world long ago, when the days moved quite slow, Before buzzes and beeps and the fast things we know, A boy sat quite still on a very fine day, Just staring at nothing . . . and thinking away. No tablets! No gadgets! No screens shining bright! No earbuds stuck in from morning till night. No lists, no charts, and no chores to be done. He just sat there thinking—that's quiet-time fun! His name was Young Albert. He sat in his chair, Thinking of things that weren’t really there. “Suppose,” said Young Albert, with eyes open wide, “I ran super fast with my arms by my side! Suppose I ran faster than anyone knew, And caught up to sunshine that zoomed past me—too! If I hopped on its back for a light-speedy ride, What secrets would I find tucked away deep inside?” “Would stars look like sprinkles, all shiny and small? Would UP feel like sideways? Would BIG feel like Tall?” He giggled and wondered and thought, and he dreamed, Till his head fel...

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–Taking Flight

In this special 500th episode,  On the Fly  is moving to a new home. Here’s why—and what’s staying the same. For a very long time (since April 2012),  On the Fly  has lived on  Blogger . Blogger has been a reliable host—dependable, quiet, and never complaining when I arrived late with another half-baked idea, a guitar riff, or a story that needed a little air. It faithfully archived my thoughts, my music, and more than a decade of curiosity. But the internet has changed. It’s louder now. Flashier. More insistent. Every thought is nudged to perform. Every sentence wants to be optimized, monetized, or interrupted by something that really wants your attention right this second. I’ve been craving the opposite. So today, On the Fly is moving to Substack . If you’ve been with me for a while, you know my quiet obsession: the A rt of Seeing . I’m interested in the moments we rush past—the Aversion Trap, the discipline hidden inside a guitarist’s daily practice, t...