Bubba
Bubba was the second cat I ever had in my life. I got him in 1976, along
with his brother, Horace, who belonged to my roomate. They were from the
same mutt litter, but were different as night and day. Horace was
long-haired, pretty, but stupid. Bubba was short-haired, with coloring
that made him almost a male calico (which are rare). Bubba was
the smart one, and was always the leader when trying anything new. I
couldn't bear to leave Bubba when I moved form Michigan to California in
1977, so while I drove 3 days straight, he flew to San Jose. Always
loyal and affectionate, Bubba was a great cat.
I got Brewer when I was about 15 years old, and he was the first animal
I'd ever had. Being an only child, I really treasured his companionship.
Brewer was a typical black/gray striped tabby, even though he was, excuse
the expression, a bit of an odd bird.
We lived outside the city limits in an unincorporated area, with lots of
empty land. Of course, there were tons of birds, squirrels, rabbits, and
mice to be had. Thus, Brewer became a very enthusiastic hunter. Enthusiastic,
but while the spirit was willing, the flesh was weak. He couldn't seem to
get the hang of it. His hunting and pouncing skills were excellent, and
he ate what he caught. However, he always swallowed things whole, whereupon
he'd collapse into a stuporific sleep, and upon awakening, would bring the
whole thing back up again. He stayed with my parents when I moved out, and
led a long, neurotic life.