Jack and Jill went to bed. They sired a cat named Motorhead.
Last week I shared the tales of Jack the travelling cat. What I didn’t tell you is that Jack eventually settled down and married a cute young Siamese named Jill. They had one litter before Jack got fixed or Jill got spayed. This happened so long ago that neither my wife nor I can remember which. What we do remember is that the coolest cat in the litter was eventually tagged with the name Motorhead. Even as a small kitten, that cat had such a loud purr you would have swore a lion was roaring.
His mother, Jill, was exactly the opposite. Although she had a moderate purr, when it came time to meow, she would simply mouth the word. No sound whatsoever, so we eventually changed her name to Silent Meow.
Motorhead had many siblings. There was Mervin, the dumbest cat of all time, whose favorite sleeping spot was in the middle of the gravel road by our farmhouse. He quickly used up his nine lives. Cunning and Filet seemed like Siamese twins because they always hung out together. When we gave them away, the new owners knew they came as a couple. White Toe was named after his white toe, of course. Black Cat was the darkest of the lot.
However, none of them came close to matching the style and class of Motorhead. We eventually got rid of the rest of the litter, taking only Motorhead along with us to Texas. By this time Jack had become a deadbeat dad and Jill ran off with some cool cat down the road.
Unknown to us at the time, Motorhead inherited more than just a cocky attitude from his father. Like Jack, he also hated being cooped up in hot vehicles. By the time we approached Waco, Texas, he decided to have no more of this.
Remember, this was in the early 70s and many vehicles weren’t equipped with air conditioning, at least not the ones I owned. We drove with the windows down trying to circulate the 105 degree air that accompanied us. Right smack dab in the heart of Waco, driving 75 miles per hour down I-35, Motorhead made his move.
Without warning, he leapt from my wife’s lap and hit the pavement running. Amazingly, he dodged traffic and ran up the side of the hill. He disappeared somewhere along the service road. We took the next exit and began our search. It didn’t take long to find him. He was lying in the shade of a mesquite bush literally licking his wounds. Except for a big chunk of fur that was missing on his front leg, he appeared none for the worse.
We really couldn’t blame the cat for wanting out of the car. We wanted out, too. However, we had several hundred miles before we would reach the border town of McAllen, Texas, and our jobs at the Hilton Inn. After a brief rest, we continued south.
Motorhead just didn’t seem like a proper name for a cat with as much pizzazz as he had. We crowned him “The Waco Kid.” The name stuck and his tale was told many times over. The legend of the leaping feline followed him for his lifetime.
We didn’t see much of the Waco Kid that winter. He was definitely a night owl. The strangest thing, however, was that we would never see him eat. He stuck his nose up at the cat food we offered although his bowl was always full.
Just prior to heading north for the summer, our 90-year-old neighbor lady saw us packing the car.
“I’m sure going to miss your cat. He just loves that fresh shrimp I feed him every night.”