Simba is my big boy. He's not a huge cat, but at twelve pounds he's a pretty good size. He wasn't much into eating as a kitten, but at some point that really turned around and he's often the first in line for chow nowadays.

Simba's middle name is trouble. Whenever there's trouble, Simba is almost sure to be behind it, whether it's dragging the paper towels around the house, jumping on the island as I get his dinner ready, or finding new, odd places in the house to explore.

Simba doesn't play as hard as Gizmo. He doesn't like to get in Gizmo's way, although you can see he's interested, because he'll come and watch Gizmo — from a distance.

Simba never laid on our laps, with very few exceptions, until he was about ten months old. All of the sudden he came into the office one day, jumped into my lap, and settled down for a snooze. Ever since then he's laid on my lap, but like Gizmo, only when he feels like it.

Simba loves to get high. He likes the top of the refrigerator, the tops of the kitchen cabinets, even the top of our eight foot window.

He's pretty fearless, and very stubborn; not always a good combination. We named him Simba because he reminded us of a lion (obviously), and he's continued to live up to his name. Where Gizmo trots, Simba lopes. He can jump pretty good too, but doesn't treat us to demonstrations nearly as often as Gizmo.

He's very affectionate, and friendly to anyone who walks into the house. When I take him to the vet, he's happy as a clam walking around the office, exploring. He even got on top of the x-ray machine one time, a first, the vet said. He is decidedly not happy about the car ride, though.

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