In which Tyratae rocks my world and makes my day

The astute reader may have observed that I went to DC the weekend before last. There, at the National Zoo, I realised that the thing my life was missing (aside from inner peace, a recurring role on CSI and a European sports car) is a panda bear.
Now I has one!!! Thanks to the delightful Tyratae, for whom I have insufficient adjectives. She turned up at my door today on the pretence of coming over for crumpets and a cuppa, armed with a bag of early Christmassy gifty love in the shape of a fuzzy soft panda.
But now he needs a name. I was going to name him after my glorious giftgiver, until I came to the conclusion that he is in fact a boy.
To me all bears are boys, just like all cats are girls (sorry Piddy. And Puku. And Felix. And Sprocket. And George. And Matty...... Hell's bells. You're cats! You can't read! Go back to licking your bottoms) I have no idea where this gendered concept of animal identification came from, but hey. Whatevs.

So help me, you last three people who continue to tune in.
Name my panda, and, well, that's it. No prize, except for my approval (just ask my students, that's a rare commodity there!)

Name the bear!
Suggestions in the box please.