The story takes place on a street in Laredo, Texas, in the late, hot, summer of 1998. When the train slowed down, on the edge of town, I leaped off and began looking for signs of other cats, which would lead me to left out food and water, along the way.
BEGIN HERE: A Street in Laredo: A Ballad of the 8th Texian Tuxedo
A kindly old woman, you know the stereotype, stepped out of an alley, not far from the tracks, gesturing to me with a handful of kibble and a gentle, “here, kitty, kitty…”
I was hungry and tired, letting my guard down and, before I knew it, trapped in a carrier and taken to a nearby, ramshackle, old clapboard house across from a warehouse in a rundown neighborhood. The inside of the house had a beautifully kept living room, but with furnishings straight out of the 1950’s, the same for the kitchen.
The two bedrooms, however, were a disaster, but not in the way of the stereotypical “cat lady’ and it didn’t take me long to realize that half the 20 cats in each room were as crazy as the old woman; the other , more recent, resident felines were just frightened out of 6 of their 9 lives.
Each cat, and the variety of ages and breeds was astounding, had a small cage of its own and there was a huge communal litter box as well as a handful of ‘nip bananas strewn about the very dirty floor.
We were let out only once a day, as a group (each room at a different time), to eat dry kibble, drink water, use the litter box and interact with each other and the toys...for all of 2 hours, never at the same time of day.
The old woman didn’t interact with the cats, other than what was required to let us in and out of our cages, provide food and water and to clean the litter box once a week…and twice on Sunday.
After two weeks in her “tender loving care” I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever escape!
On the morning of the 15th day, the old woman took a broom and began sweeping cat poop and litter off the floor and out the back door into a yard (an apparent twice a month activity she performed on a schedule), leaving the door to my room open as she did so. I only had seconds having, earlier in the day, surreptitiously kept my body pressed close to the cage door, to keep it from being locked.
I opened the cage and, giving a loud howl, I made a dash for freedom!
As the old woman gave chase I heard a voice meowing from some nearby bushes, “over here! Quickly!
Without a second thought I followed the voice and the old woman stopped chasing me. When I finally stopped to catch my breath and get my bearings I found myself face to face with the most magnificent specimen of male Tuxedo felinity I ever met.
He looked a decade older than me but wore his age supremely well, behaving with the confidence of a cat with the knowledge and experience to take care of him; telling me to follow him, we crossed the street and went to some boxes behind the warehouse.
It very quickly dawned on me that I was in the presence of the Texian Tuxedo, a cat I’d only heard about, but never actually seen. The exploits of this cat were legend, shared among strays around food bowls, shared bird or rodent meals, or in boxcars and shelters, anyplace cats might gather. Of course, many of these tales were also of earlier Texian Tuxedos, passed down through the decades, told so many times that what was fact and what was fiction could sometimes be hard to decide.
After sharing a meal of squirrel with me he told me he’d been watching the woman for 3 months and pissed her off a few times by coming in her yard and looking in the windows. He was planning to do something about her and wanted me to help.
I was so there!
NEXT: A LIFE ON THE RAILS: Houston Hairy and the Death of the 8th Texian Tuxedo - Finale
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