“Bobby G is the OG. The original cat. The archetypal cat. The cat with a capital C. He introduced our Becker-Lincoln family to cat-hood, and he’ll always be number one.” These words came from my daughter Ann, Bobby’s biggest fan. This is the story of how one extraordinary cat changed our family forever.
When my grandson Sam graduated from college, the last thing anyone expected was that he would adopt a tiny kitten. Sam had grown up with dogs. His twin sister and father were allergic to cats, so cats had never been part of his childhood. Now an adult, Sam was living with his brother Noah, their friend Jake, and Jake’s two cats, when he decided it might be nice to have a cat of his own. Sam admits, “I imagined having a cat would be simple: feed the cat, clean the litter box, say goodbye in the morning and hello at night.” He wanted a cat named Bob.
Sam’s co-worker mentioned a litter of kittens needing homes, and Bob arrived six weeks old and twenty dollars later. Bobby G, short for Baba Ganoush, was energetic, fearless, social, and “never grew out of it.” Unlike Jake’s shy cats, Bobby greeted visitors, loved adventure, and especially enjoyed traveling with Sam to Grandma and Grandpa’s house.
The look on Bobby's face tells it all.
Curious and growing.
Soon after Bobby arrived, Sam met Sydney. She also had grown up with dogs and was allergic to cats. When Sam’s lease ended, he temporarily moved back home with his parents, and Bobby. During that year, Ann, Brett, and Rachel, a student who was home for short visits, all fell in love with Bobby. Despite initial worries about allergies, Brett discovered he wasn’t allergic to Bobby and Rachel tolerated him. Everyone quickly became attached.
Ann especially adored him, and they spent hours playing. Their favorite game was Flat Ears: Bobby would crouch low on the bed, and Ann would crouch lower on the floor by the side of the bed and slowly peek up over the edge of the bed (just barely) to eye Bobby, who would crouch lower and lower and absolutely flatten his ears, as though he were stalking prey on the African savanna. They were hunting each other. The key was to avoid becoming the prey. Bobby usually won.
Flat ears with Ann
Handsome Bob
Ridiculous Bob
Everything was on Bobby’s terms. He was not a lap cat; you couldn’t just pick him up (well, you could if you didn’t mind getting scratched). If Bob wanted affection, he came to you, usually at night, up into your armpit as you were laying in bed, then making biscuits in your armpit and purring furiously. Sometimes he’d crawl up on Ann’s stomach and purr and let her love on him.
Rachel fell in love with Bob. And he fell in love with her hair. Bobby was “a very big fan of hair,” according to Sam. Bob thoroughly enjoyed perching on the bathtub’s edge so he could play with Rachel’s curls while she was in the tub. And he wanted to open any closed bag... especially if it contained snacks.
Bobby loved bags.
By the end of that year, Sam and Sydney had located an apartment and faced a difficult decision: take Bobby with them, or leave him with Ann, where he was thriving. They wanted a pet, and Bobby was Sam’s cat. The decision to take Bobby with them wasn’t easy, nor pain free for anyone. Sydney recalled, “Retrieving Bobby was wrenching. Bobby cried the entire way home. Ann cried. We cried. And within 24 hours we felt acute remorse. We did the wrong thing. What did we do? We worried we could never love him the way Mom did.”
Ann, wise and loving mother that she is, knew Bobby belonged to Sam; Bob was Sam’s first and only pet as an adult; Bob was never Ann’s cat. So Bobby, now a huge,17-pound, panther-like cat, moved into Sam and Sydney’s new home.
Soon after, Sydney told Sam, “I’m getting a kitten. You can choose which one, but I’m getting one.” At the Humane Society, they intended to adopt an orange cat and name it Sherbert. Instead, Sydney spotted a tiny tuxedo kitten whose mother died giving birth. He was the sole survivor of the litter. Sydney instantly bonded with him, and they named him Gerbert. Gerbert, in turn, “attached himself to Bob immediately,” Sydney said. “Bobby gave one weak hiss then settled into the role of mother.” Everywhere Bobby went, Gerbert followed. Bob’s astonishing patience with Gerbert (he let Gerbie suckle on him!) earned him the nickname “Mama Bob.”
What just happened?
Inseparable companions: Mama Bob & Little Gerbert
Mama Bob and his baby.
Two months later, Sydney found Stanley under a workplace dumpster, in the Arizona summer heat. “I told Sam, we’re getting another kitten.” Sam attempted to serve up some “reason,” but Sydney’s reasoning frankly was more compelling: she wasn’t going to leave a kitten under a dumpster in the middle of summer. She launched a gentle campaign: feeding Stanley four times a day, inviting Sam to “visit,” taking Stanley to the vet for testing — and ultimately bringing him home. Sam’s memorable line to friends: “Sydney wants another cat. Sam doesn’t want another cat, so we compromised and got a cat.”
The vet assessed Stanley at roughly a month older than Gerbert. Protocols were stricter with Stanley, following advice from Aunt Karen: “Get this cat tested for everything.” Stanley had severe ringworm, requiring a month-long quarantine in their bathroom and daily antifungal baths. “We were washing him in the sink every day... he loved every minute of it. Everyone but Sydney got ringworm.”
The household’s diligent containment clashed with Bobby’s number one rule: “No closed doors.” Bobby, who had learned to open lever-handled doors and persist against locked ones, cried at the door of the bathroom that contained Stanley. It opened outward, foiling his method. He simply sat there and cried.
Mama Bob, Stanley and Gerbert
Sydney recalled a vet’s reaction to Bobby when all three cats were brought in: “Oh my gosh, he’s built like a jaguar!” He was long, athletic, obsessed with hair, loved blanket “Bob Caves,” kneaded regularly, sprinted beneath raised knees to burrow under blankets, and brought joy and happiness to their home.
Sam and his beloved Baba Ganoush.
Then, at only four years old, Bobby suddenly became ill. One morning Sydney found him open-mouth breathing and crying in pain. Sam remembered Aunt Karen’s standing rule: “Any open-mouth breathing in cats means emergency hospital.”
After bloodwork and x-rays, vets initially suspected gastrointestinal issues, but the episodes continued: crying, panting, drooling, odd pupil dilation, and eventually seizures. Costs mounted while answers remained elusive. Finally, Sam captured a seizure on video and sent it immediately to Karen. “That’s neurological. Get him to the vet right away."
At midnight they drove to the emergency hospital, where specialists suspected a devastating and extremely rare condition: hippocampal necrosis, progressive destruction of part of the brain. The cause is idiopathic, meaning no identifiable explanation could be found.
With expenses nearing $5,000 and little hope that advanced imaging would change the outcome, Sam and Sydney chose medical management instead. Bobby came home on anti-seizure and anti-nausea medications. For a brief time he rallied. Then he stopped eating. Medications became difficult. His strength faded quickly. Ann came to give him one last big, long, love hug. Karen advised them it was time.
The following day Karen came to their home. Bobby fought hard, something Karen had seen many times in beloved animals struggling to stay alive. Then he was gone. He was only four years old.
Sam and Sydney allowed Gerbert, Stanley, and their dog Sparrow, whom they had recently adopted, to say goodbye to Bobby G. Sparrow had become especially gentle with Bobby during his illness, lying quietly beside him, just watching him. Animals intuitively know when something is wrong. Stanley and Gerbert kept their distance during the seizures, visibly unsettled. After Bobby’s death, Stanley grieved deeply, hiding in the bedroom for nearly a month. Sam and Sydney grieved, getting matching Bobby tattoos in honor of their precious cat.
Eventually, George entered the family. Found as a stray, George is fearless, clumsy and chaotic, “about as unintelligent as Bobby was intelligent.” He launches himself off six-foot shelves without attempting to land properly and delights Sparrow, who loves chasing him after every crash landing. Over time, George has helped to rebalance the household. Sparrow gained a playmate, Stanley slowly recovered emotionally and life moved forward, as it always does.
Bobby G lived only four years, but his legacy continues to ripple through our family. Because of him, six more cats eventually found homes with people who once believed they were “dog people.” More importantly, Bobby reminded us that love often arrives where we least expect it. This kind of bond is not out of reach for any of us. Sometimes all it takes is one remarkable animal to open hearts that never imagined they needed opening.
A favorite picture...
Thank you Sam, Syndey and Ann for sharing your story.
With Love,
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