The Red-Headed Strangers - Part 2

Every evening, Waylon and Willie would scratch on the kitchen door to go out. This evening was like all others and The Red Headed Strangers were off, into the darkness.

Thirty minutes had passed when the familiar scratching at the door resumed. It was time to come back in. Willie stepped into the kitchen.

Within seconds, another scratch at the door – it was Willie, again, apparently wanting to go back outside. This in/out scratching game went on for about 10 minutes when I finally saw Waylon.

He was weakly struggling to climb the stairs outside my kitchen door, I could hear his loud, raspy breathing and he was covered in blood.

My heart raced. I picked him up and wrapped him in a towel. "Oh my God – How do you facilitate a cat’s airway?" I recall. I held him upright as he was bleeding from his mouth and throat. Panicked, I ran downstairs and pounded on my neighbor's door. I didn’t have to say a word - we were on our way the Emergency Animal Clinic.

The clinic was open between 6pm and 8am for emergency veterinary care and they were incredible. I no sooner stepped inside of the clinic when a vet tech snatched Waylon from me and ran off. No questions asked.

We waited for word in the austere clinic lobby. A sweet cat that looked like it had been through hell was very comforting to me as I waited for Waylon’s ‘verdict’was curled up on a chair beside me. Most of its fur was gone, one eye appeared surgically altered and its skin was evidently grafted. I later learned that it had been doused with gasoline and set on fire and was now the ‘Resident Cat’ of the clinic.

If you believe, as I do that every soul has a purpose - maybe this cat’s purpose was to comfort and give pause for thought. Red-Headed Strangers: Part 3

The Red-Headed Strangers

When a friend found four abandoned flea-ridden, hungry and thirsty kittens 'mewing' in the dumpster of her apartment complex, she called and asked if I would consider adopting a couple of them.

At the time, I shared an old duplex on Lower Greenville Avenue in Dallas with a roommate and nursing colleague, Susan.

Convincing her of adding furry friends to the household would normally have been problematic except, I recalled witnessing a petrified, ashen-faced Susan standing on a kitchen chair, screaming bloody murder at the sight of a mouse recently.

This would be a done deal.

Cats are easy. I’ve always liked them and knew that they wouldn’t cramp my style (much). There’s a well-known attitude that differentiates dogs from cats…

Dog: “My people feed me, love me, provide me with a nice warm, dry house, pet me, and take good care of me... They must be Gods!”
Cat:  “My people feed me, love me, provide me with a nice warm, dry house, pet me, and take good care of me... I must be a God.”

Our new kittens “Waylon” and “Willie” were aptly named during my ‘Country Music” phase. It was 1984 and boot scootin’ (aka C&W dancing) was all the rage. Weekend evenings were spent in cowboy boots and Gloria Vanderbilt designer jeans, with big Texas hair, dancing at “Cowboys”, “Diamond Jim’s” and/or “No Whar But Texas”.

I had always thought that Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson had dubbed themselves “The Red Headed Strangers” but recently learned that they actually were "The Honky-Tonk Cowboys" - whatever. "The Red Headed Strangers" were a nice fit for our boys.

It didn’t take long before both Susan and I fell in love with Waylon and Willie. Their personalities were soon clearly defined. Willie was gentler, cuddlier and sweeter than the more aloof, curious and ‘in-your-face’ Waylon. Characteristics that probably got Waylon into trouble in the first place...Red-Headed Strangers: Part 2