In Memory

Bubba Tanner
2005-2008

Bubba joined our family in September of 2005 when Tim took him from his mother and brought him to our home, riding on the dash of the pickup, crying the whole way. I remember thinking that the rest of his family must have been exceptionally cute, because despite being the last of the litter he was completely adorable. He was joined a week later by Tigger and Fred. Tigger disappeared shortly after, so Bubba and Fred were left to grow together as brothers.

Bubba, despite his preppy appearance, was an adventurer. He was always the last one in at night (if he came in at all) and was impatient to leave the house shortly after waking from his nap. Never one to cuddle much in the summer, in the winter he was eager for any warm lap he could find. Aloof and yet appreciative of affection, his personality made him Tim's favorite and the two of them shared a special bond.



We last saw Bubba on Thursday afternoon when I let him out after he had his supper. At bedtime I called for the cats like I always do. Fred came running, but no Bubba, which wasn't unusual but I was a little concerned since there was a thunderstorm on the way. The next morning he didn't show up when I called him for breakfast. Usually he shows up right around the time I leave the house. He still wasn't home when I got off work, and another night went by with no sign of him.

Saturday afternoon Tim went for a ride in the field behind our house to try out his new dirt bike. I was putting away dishes in the kitchen when he came into the house. He rested his hand on my shoulder, took a deep breath and said, "Bubba is dead." We rode together back out to the field, and I picked up our first pet and carried him back to the yard. I laid him in the grass while Tim found a shovel. Fred was by the house so I brought him over to where Bubba lay so he could say goodbye. He sniffed the body for a minute, then sat down beside it and just waited.

We buried Bubba by the garden shed in our back yard. Tim dug a hole, laid the body in, and said goodbye. I watered the grass with my tears. We filled in the hole together and put cement blocks on it so it wouldn't be disturbed.

The thing I will miss the most about Bubba is his voice. People who haven't been around cats much might not understand, but each one has its own distinct voice and way of communicating. Bubba's voice was pert, with a definite sassy tone which he brought out when we refused to let him outside. He was generally pretty laid back, but he had a wild streak sometimes. He'd put on what we called his “crazy eyes” with wide pupils, and would gallop around the house, or sometimes just follow around on our heels meowing incessantly wanting to be petted—but not held. Good times.

I am grateful for the time we had with him, happy to remember every time I gave him an extra scratch on the head just to show him I loved him. We have little to regret, I think. He was much loved and well fed, and the only way we could have saved him was to restrict his freedom, which none of us would have wanted. We miss him.