Scrapbook Two Hundred Thirty Five…


November, 2019


Me and Bobby McGee

When I was a kid wandering around in the country side where Belton Lake is now, I found a little kitten. The poor thing was resting under a tree and looking lonesome, and forlorn. It had to be newborn because it was so small, and barely had its eyes open. I sat on a rock holding the animal for almost an hour, expecting its mother to come looking. She didn’t, and its loud meow told me it was hungry. So of course, there was no other option but to take it home. 

I’m not normally a cat type of person, at least not a small alley-cat type of person. But my sister June was, so she took over the motherly care duties. 

I named the cat Bobby McGee. 

As she grew, my father was the first to notice that this animal was different. Her back legs were longer than her front legs, which gave the appearance of walking downhill all the time. Her face was feral-cat like, but she had a bobbed tail. Her fur took on dark spots, and short stripes. And she stalked a lot, even when there was nothing around to stalk at. Bobby was half and half, bobcat and alley cat. Wow!

My respect for her magnified and suddenly I enjoyed hanging out with Bobby, and her, me. 

One moonless night, Bobby and I were in our front yard catching lightning bugs. A small porch light was the only movement that pushed some of the close darkness away. 

Then suddenly, there was a faint, far-away wail. Bobby froze in mid step. Me too, and I instinctively looked at her. Not a hair moved for the longest time. Then, again, distant and demanding, that same call…

Bobby McGee sprang, and her first step was at whirlwind speed. In a mega second she disappeared into the total blackness of night, and I knew she was gone. She had been summoned, and the totallness of her response said everything to me that I was eligible to know. That’s why I didn’t wait up. f