This is part three of a tribute to our Bubba, who left us suddenly a little over a month ago.  Part one told about his adoption and part two described more of Bubba's personality.  Again, thanks for allowing me to share these more personal memories from our family with you, it's been meaningful for me to write them out ...

Bubba was as close to the perfect cat as I could imagine.  He had his occasional vice (who doesn’t), but even those only ingratiated him to us more at the end of the day. 

As mentioned earlier, he imposed himself on the ladies every once in a blue moon (apparently some hormones remain latent in even fixed cats), when a flurry of his own aggravated grunting would sometimes accompany the put-out hissing.  He also loved water, especially fresh water.  ‘Craved’ might be a better word for it.  He stuck his head under running faucets, at the bottom of sinks and into many an unwatched glass, but hardly his own water bowl that I could tell.  He’d watch dinner glasses compulsively, just waiting for his chance to get a slurp of heaven’s moisture when we turned our eyes for a second.  Even if they were nearly empty, he’d reach his paw carefully as far down as he could go to see if he could pull back a drop or two.  

Bubba also developed a tendency to wait by our apartment door and bolt out when anyone took their time coming in or going out.  We had to chase him down the hallway more than a few times, often after first setting down our bags or saying goodbye to guests.  It became a sort of running joke, though sometimes we reprimanded him and told him he was supposed to ask our permission first.  Some nights he came to wait by the door and grunt expectantly, and, far less times than I wish I had, I would acquiesce and take him out for an evening stroll, all the way down to the end of the hall and back.  It was usually late at night, when most of the other residents were in for the night, and we rarely ran into anyone.  But Bubba would take off with a gusto and stop at most doors, scratching their welcome pads and, it seemed, half-expecting to be greeted and let in for a neighborly visit. 

In between the doors he’d often stop and wait for me to catch up and scratch his head.  Sometimes I wondered if he was waiting for permission to continue; but we both knew he’d keep on regardless (he never did respond to ‘Stop’).  I honestly think he just enjoyed the company, and wanted me to share in his meandering.  He’d often flop down indefinitely in the middle of the hallway, fully stretched out so I could rub him down.  I grew a bit impatient with this game many nights, especially when I was tired or had work to get back to (sometimes not one sparrow work no less), and I would try to keep him moving along with a gentle but persistent foot-nudge.  But he loved every minute of each short walk, and I truly regret not taking him out more often, especially the last months.

Before I post one last entry on the end of Bubba’s time with us, I have to share one more trait Bubba possessed.  It was one which endeared him almost as much as any other to me, and one which isn't all that easy to find in other adult cats. 

The Fall after we brought Bubba home we ended up adopting a tiny gray kitten from a friend’s family farm in Indiana.  We weren’t intending to keep the orphaned and surprisingly self-contained ‘Bitsy’ we brought home, which I couldn’t help but call her because of her tiny gray frame and pencil legs (it started with ‘Itty Bitty,’ and Cheryl still calls her ‘Itty’).  We just hoped we could keep her from being outside during a cold Midwestern winter, and find someone to adopt her.  But we ended up not even thinking of giving her up, between our motherly instinct kicking in and the amazing personality transformation which she underwent after a couple of months in her new environs.  It wasn’t just our home that brought her out of herself, but her adopted brother Bubba as much as anything else. 

Their first couple of months together I was afraid Bubba might accidentally smother her tiny body or snap her neck in two in one of his more aggressive moments of interest.  We even took to locking Bitsy away in the office during the day while we were gone, just in case he got a little carried away.  But it didn’t take long, and I can hardly remember it being otherwise, before Bubba and Bitsy were virtually inseparable. 

She hounded him relentlessly to wrestle with her, throwing herself tenaciously into him despite being a third his size.  And Bubba graciously played along, tolerating her little leg kicks and prodding, even when his somewhat more mature outlook on life lost interest in so much physical activity.  Then he’d usually only move away a foot or two until she went at him again, her tail flapping back and forth as she anticipated the ambush.  Sometimes he'd pin her to the ground with his mouth and hold her there like a professional wrestler, as if hoping she'd stay down and leave him alone for a while!  Or, if he was too lazy, he’d lean back his head and extend his paw out to hold her at distance (much like you see in funny scenes with a larger person keeping a smaller one at bay).  And when even Bitsy wore herself out, she’d snuggle up next to his big belly or back, and they’d snooze together until she woke up and started going after him again.

Bubba couldn’t have been more patient with her; I can only remember one time when he actually got angry with her.  I could’ve sworn he took it upon himself to be the comfort a lonely kitten needed: a constant companion and source of warmth, stability, play and dare I say, love.  And Bitsy loved him back, as only a little sister can love her big brother.  As Bitsy grew into an adult, albeit still a petite one, she naturally became less feisty and relentlessly playful, even a good deal more independent as most cats do, even more so females.  But we’d regularly still catch them rolling around like two wound up kids at an impromptu dorm wrestling match, Bubba still looking to collar her neck and Bitsy occasionally stretching herself out submissively so Bubba could pounce on her one more time.  And once in a while I’d even see them snuggled up to each other like old times, and I knew they’d always have a special bond.

(one final post to come (make that two) ...; the second photo features our niece Ava)