Binks arrived at Bates, a "gentlemen's hatter," not a mere hat shop, as a stray kitten in 1921. He soon became a favorite of the shop's patrons, his rust and cream marbled fur a good match with the autumn palette of gentlemen's hats.
Binks enjoyed the freedom of the shop near Piccadilly Circus for five years before succumbing to an unknown ailment. The shop's owner had him stuffed and mounted in a glass case. There he sits to this day, a miniature top hat cocked over one ear, a slim cheroot in his mouth.
Cloth caps are stacked on either side, and antique hat boxes that might have been new when he was a kitten line the shelves above. Binks continues to exude the debonair air of a cat about town.
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