I believe this cat to be called Bailey purely from an overheard conversation in the post office quite a few years ago. He's not telling. But he looks like a Bailey's, doesn't he? He often lounges around in the garden, and occasionally plonks himself on my back doorstep: it's brick and faces south, so it's a nice warm snuggly spot for a cat to snooze; especially a confidently controlling one. When I turn up from the car, Bailey thinks about it then decides physical contact is not appropriate, so he slopes off a couple of yards away, sits down and challenges me with his eyes. He's the rule-maker.
Bailey is huge. When I first saw him from the bedroom window, I thought a white panther had escaped from a local zoo, until I realised that there aren't any local zoos around here. But that's not conclusive. Here near the centre of Reading, there have been sightings of deer, pheasants, parakeets, red kites and grey wagtails and, once (admittedly a few miles up the road) a wallaby.* Life is wild around here!
* Sorry, can't resist an old SIHAC definition: 'Wannabe: someone aspiring to be a kangaroo.'