It was a dark and almost stormy morning. The wind was howling and the rain was intermittent, and if I stayed
the course I should be arriving at my appointed destination with plenty of time to spare. I had an important
meeting to attend, but I would as soon have remained at Willow Oak – especially this morning.
Willow Oak sits about a half mile south of the Tennessee-Mississippi border, just past the city limits of
Corinth, in rural Alcorn County, Mississippi. Situated in the extreme northeast corner of the state, Corinth
is 12 miles south of Selmer, Tennessee, which was the venue of the now world-famous Buford Pusser of
Walking Tall fame.
I was born in Corinth, but I did not grow up there. I live there now on my 16 acre "animal farm," which I call
"Willow Oak." Willow Oak is currently home to 12 formerly abandoned or otherwise homeless dogs and 13
cats of the same disposition. I have not always been a hoarder of vagabond, stray animals. I came about
what I do quite progressively, very reluctantly at first, much more enthusiastically later on. Whereas I go
out of my way to deliver a stray animal to our local animal shelter, I do occasionally find myself in a position
to adopt one instead. Usually I wind up with a dog or cat, which the shelter might deem to be unadoptable;
otherwise any animal I rescue usually gets delivered to the shelter.
I had always been a perfectly contented, regular pickup-truck kinda guy, more inclined to be aloof and
non-committal than responsible and caring. Oh, I would express pity at the sight of any vorlorn and
neglected dog or cat I might see along the road, but never would I bother to stop and offer assistance to
any that I might deem to be in need. But that is all different now. Today if I happen upon what I deem to be
a homeless, neglected, or otherwise uncared-for dog or cat, I go out of my way to offer assistance if I can.
Sometimes I am successful in this, and sometimes not.
So it was one early morning a few years back. I was on my way to an important meeting with a client in
Tupelo. It was still dark and just before the sun broke the horizon, when in the middle of the road ahead I
saw what appeared to be a small flock of birds. I could barely see them in what little light was being cast by
the truck headlights. They were few in number, and I fully expected them to fly off as I got near. Instead, I
was nearly on top of them before I realized that they were not going to fly off. As a matter of fact, even
though they appeared to be birds, they were scurrying around in the middle of the road not at all in a way
that one would expect of birds. I managed to stop my truck just before I mashed whatever they were.
I was on my way to a very important meeting. I was scheduled to demonstrate some software on which I had
been working, and whereas I usually dress in the usual ratty jeans and T-shirt, typical of a computer
programmer, on that particular morning I was dressed a bit more professionally, complete with dress slacks,
dress shirt and a tie. I did need to hurry on so as not to be late, but there I was stopped in the middle of the
road, staring into the near distance at what I perceived to be a small flock of birds, and wondering why they
did not just fly off. I exited my truck and walked to the front. The little tykes, whatever they were began a
speedy jaunt in my direction, and as I was trying to classify this species of bird, three little kittens began to
crawl up my pants leg.
I managed to extricate them from my clothing, and having deposited them into the cab of my truck I
returned to the road to see if there were others. I looked around a bit, and satisfied that there were no
more I returned to my truck. Before driving off I noticed a large box just to the side of the road. So that's it,
I said to myself. Someone has just dumped these kittens into the middle of the road.
As I re-seated myself into my truck the three kittens seated themselves also, two of them, one on each
thigh, and the other on my shoulder. Then the purring commenced and the kittens seemed satisfied that
everything for them was now okay. As they settled in and continued their din, I sat there contemplating my
next move. In the meantime the purring was positively deafening, and as the seconds ticked away and I
grew increasingly anxious, I realized that there was only one course of action that I could take. I turned the
truck around and headed for home. The kittens purred contentedly all the way to my house, and not until I
had found a safe place to secure the outcast trio inside my bathroom did I return to my morning errand,
driving just a little bit faster and very much hopeful that there would be no more inconvenient detours.
The meeting went rather well, I thought. I hold such demonstrations rarely, and whereas most folks make a
concerted effort to appear enthusiastic about learning some new software, the group to whom I spoke that
morning were especially attentive. I noticed throughout my speech that nearly everyone there kept there
gaze steadily on me, and I was impressed that I was doing a thorough and very effective job. I finished the
demonstration and shook the hand of each attendee as he or she exited the room. The last person out was
a very nice and thoughtful lady, and as she shook my hand she asked, "How are your cats?"
I answered in the affirmative and asked how she know that I had cats. "Oh, just a lucky guess," she
responded. Then she nodded and walked out.
Before leaving the building to return home I made a stop at the men's room to freshen up. I don't sell the
software; I develop it. And since I don't normally deal with the client I normally don't bother to pay attention
to how I look. As I washed my hands in front of the large mirror, it was then that I discovered the reason
behind all the attentiveness of those in attendance, and the secret behind the lady's ability to surmise my
situation. As I stared into the mirror I could see very plainly the front of my trousers and the shoulder of my
shirt. Right there for all the world to see were definite and unmistakable paw prints -- left there as a sign of
gratitude from a flea-bitten, vagabond group of kittens.
Please take a moment to read or leave a comment in my Guestbook, or read more about daily life at Willow
Oak in my journal, or email me one of your own stories.
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