Buddy Cat was hanging around in our driveway, crying to beat the band. I said, "here, kitty," thinking he would probably run away. Much to my surprise, he came right to me, talking the whole time.

Of course I felt bad for him, so I took some kitty food WAY out from the house and put it under a tree, thinking he might eat and go on. Surely such a friendly boy had a family somewhere.

He never left.

We placed an ad in the paper, but no one was looking for a yellow-eyed, beige kitty. He had been neutered, so was obviously someone's pet. He knew all the soft places to curl up, once we let him in the house. Thumper Kitty wasn't so sure about it at first, but they got along fine.

The landlady liked Buddy so well, she offered to pay half of his vet expenses. We had joint custody, I guess you could say.

He stayed out most of the time. Now, before anyone gets upset that I let a cat run wild in the neighbors' yards, understand that I live on a couple of acres, which at that time had woods all around, and Buddy never wandered far. Just in the backyard alone, he had his own private Buddy Cat Paradise. We brought him in at night, and when it was cold out, he stayed in more. We also got him a collar with a bell.

He was a sweet, sweet pet, but a ruthless hunter. He raided a bunny nest, killing one, and leaving three others. The mama was nowhere to be found, so we took the babies in. The local wildlife rescuer wouldn't help me, so I took matters in my own hands. I came home every day at lunch to bottle-feed the babies. One more died, but two lived, and grew strong and feisty. A few weeks later, we took them back to the woods.

There were more bunnies, and birds, and mice. Buddy ate the mice, and left the little green gall-bladder thingy behind. One time I caught him eating a mouse, and I was amazed that his little kitty jaws could break mousie bones.

One evening he came up to the door with an odd little animal in his mouth. Paul and I made him drop it. It was a flying squirrel. I had never seen one before - we figured that it was probably sick and had fallen out of a tree. Once we made Buddy drop his quarry, Mister tried to get him away from the squirrel, which was still alive. But Buddy was too fast. In a blink he grabbed the squirrel by the neck, killing it. We didn't really want him eating it, so Paul wrestled it away from him, and buried it.

After a few years, Buddy wasn't so active anymore. The squirmy kitty that didn't want to be held or carried much, didn't fuss about it as often. One afternoon we came home to find him panting under the truck. Two days later, he had a kitty stroke. The vet said it was because of a heart condition fairly common in cats. If he lived, he would be paralyzed in the back legs.

So we made the only choice we could make. We said goodbye to Buddy Cat, the Fearless Hunter, who enjoyed the pennywhistle. The landlady buried him in the back yard.

And the very next day, we had birds in the yard again.