Clyde flies

Clyde flies.

Wild 

exuberant 

serious

humorous 

hilarious 

Clyde!

How Little Clyde Texaco loved the car! How Little Clyde Texaco hated the car!

Little Clyde Texaco loved the car!

He loved to walk upon it, to leave his little footprints spread about the hood.

When the sun was warm, he loved to crawl inside - there to sleep, and dream the dreams
a cat dreams.

Once, on a fine summer day, I drove off to visit my friend, a good person who had done something bad and was now locked up in the state penitentiary. I thought I was alone, but I had not been driving long when I heard a great, yowling “Meeeeoooow.”

I was not alone.

Clyde had fallen asleep in a still car, but now he was awake in a rolling car. Clyde did not like to be in a rolling car - only a still car.

I stopped in Palmer to get a pizza for my friend, then tore off a piece of ham and gave it to Clyde, hoping to calm him. Clyde declined my offer. He would not touch the ham. He yowled loud, just as lady climbed out of a car parked next to us, a car with a dog inside. The lady smiled. Her dog went nuts.

I turned the key, then drove on to the prison.

I left Clyde and the torn piece of ham in the car while I took the pizza in to my friend. Both Clyde and ham were there when I returned. It took 45 minutes to drive home. All the while, Clyde howled and yowled, and scurried all about the mini-van.

He even scurried onto my shoulders and clambered atop my head.

He almost made me crash, four times.

Once home, I opened the door. Clyde hopped out.

He saw that all was calm.

The car was parked.

The sun was warm.

Quickly, he hopped back into the car, snatched up the ham in his sharp little teeth, devoured it, crawled into the back seat, and there fell fast asleep.

Clyde loved the car - as long as it remained still.

Perhaps Clyde’s fear

of cars

was well founded.

This photo

was taken

just as Clyde was growing

into a young stud.

He was forced

to go for a ride.

Despite Nabysko’s attempts

to comfort him,

he did not enjoy 

the voyage.

He was dropped off

in a strange place

and left 

with frigtening strangers,

who put a needle into him,

causing him to fall unconscious

and then one

took a knife to him.

When finally he came to,

Clyde found he had awoken to a world

in which his dreams of studhood

had all been lost.

He did not let go of the dream easily.

Despite what the vet said,

he still marked territory

and sometimes peed

where 

no one 

wanted him 

to...

pee.

Serious matters at the vet office

Little Clyde Texaco gazes with wonder upon the world outside the mini-van as Nabysko snuggles him on his way to the vet. Can you guess why Clyde is headed to the vet?

Wrong! But if you had guessed that for poor Thunder Paws, you would have been correct. Except that Thunder Paws is already at the vet. He has been through the procedure and is in recovery. 

Clyde is just going to get a check-up, and some shots. We will bring both home together.

And do you wonder about the scratches on the window? Toast Ed did that. He tipped the mini-van over and the window got scratched. So did the body. A few of us were able to push the mini-van back over onto his wheels. It drove fine.

The vet checks Clyde's face.

The vet checks Clyde's rear. He is in good shape. I wonder what she would have thought if he had gassed her right then?

Tyrskuit and Nabysko grimmace as the vet ready's a shot.

Clyde's ordeal is over. Now everybody waits for Thunder Paws to come out. It is a little nerve-wracking.

Now Thunder Paws comes out in the vet's arms and she hands him to Nabysko. Thunder is very groggy.

"What happened? What happened?" Clyde seems to query.

Tryskuit carries Clyde, Nabysko Thunder and Sunflower follows as we head back to the mini-van.

The drive home. Thunder Paws has lost the potential to become a Dad cat. Clyde still possesses it, but this will soon change.

Buddies Thunder and Clyde turn into party animals

Thunder Paws and Little Clyde Texaco quickly became good buddies. They romped and played.

But they always took time out to practice good hygiene.

They loved to party! How those two kittens could party!

Yet, I hate to say it, but both would soon undergo a procedure that would make certain that they're future partying did not take a certain turn that partying sometimes does. 

As you will see.

And you can see this picture bigger. Just click on it. It works for the others, too.

Origins of the Kracker Cats: Little Clyde Texaco gases up Wasilla

Clyde in a tree.

Thunder Paws had been with us for a little over one month. I was down south, in Maine. It was June 26, 1992 - Rye’s birthday. I called home, to wish him a happy one.

“Dad,” he announced. “Guess what I got for my birthday?”

I made a few ridiculous guesses, all of which were wrong.

“A cat!” he said.

“C’mon, Rye, what did you get?”

“A cat. Well, a kitten.”

“Rye! Please! Do not tease me! We already have two cats. Your mother would not get you another cat. C’mon. What is it, some kind of cat T-shirt? A cat on a cup? What is it?”

“It’s a cat, a real, live, purring cat. Mom didn’t give it to me. Courtney did. Mom likes it. She says it’s cute.”

“You really got a cat?”

“Yes. Are you mad?”

“Yes. Happy birthday.”

I could not wait to get home, and when I did, I found that Rye’s birthday present still did not have a name. The kids were referring to him as “the gas station.” I had not been around the kitten long before the pungent aroma surrounding him told me why. In those early days, he gassed often, and with great potency. So we started to call him “Exxon,” but this made us think too much about oiled otters and seabirds.

We changed the name to Texaco. “I think he looks like a ‘Clyde,’ “ Rye observed one day. Thus, the kitten took on the name “Little Clyde Texaco.” This was a lot to say, so we usually settled for Clyde.

He didn’t give a damn what we called him, just so long as we put out food, which he consumed in copious quantities, this Little Clyde Texaco, our gas station.

The ballad of Little Clyde Texaco and Rye

A fearsome duo these two:

Little Clyde Texaco and Rye.

When they swagger down the street,

the eyes of big, tough, men grow wide.

Out of respect

and fear,

these hard guys step aside.

Good mothers run and hide,

and shout to their daughters:

"Get inside!"

When they see these two coming,

young children are set to running.

The children run! run! run!

Run straight to Rye.

"Hey, big kid," they plead, with pleading eyes.

"Can we pet your kitty?

Please, oh, please!

Let us pet your kitty!"

"Yea, sure," obliges Rye. "Why not?

Just don't pull his tail.

Clyde don't like no one

to pull his tail."

Clyde is coming!

Folks, I had planned to introduce Clyde tonight. Little Clyde Texaco! And what a wonderful cat he was. Nabysko will tear up with both sorrow and a warm joy when she reads these few words and sees the mere mention of his name.

Little Clyde Texaco. The bad cat. The baddest cat that ever there was. But, oh, so good! Was there ever a gooder cat?

Hard to imagine.

But it is late and I am tired. I have been so, so, so busy and there is no let up in sight. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will introduce Little Clyde Texaco, for certain - as certain as certain can be.