This is Bubba. He joined the fuzzball crew here in our home, in early 2001. He was in local rescue, and I couldn’t resist his talking. They were calling him “Ebony” in his rescue facility, but the name was just too graceful for him. He’s a vocal, in-your-face sort, who is sure to let you know if his dinner is one minute late, or if he would prefer that you sit elsewhere so he can have that seat. When he walks, he looks a little like a bowlegged prizefighter, and he’s one heck of a mouser.

We had only been in our house for a couple of months when Bubba arrived. The weather had just started warming up. We came home one evening, and he greeted us with a little tuft of grey… something… hanging from his mouth. He put the something on the ground, and it started running away. Bubba slapped a paw on it, greeted us with his loud, raspy Meow! and went pack to his fun. We’ve been mouse-free ever since. Good Bubba!