My 2nd wife rescued Louie's mom while we were living behind the women's recovery house of a homeless outreach ministry of questionable authenticity in Oceano, California in 2008.  We were living in an old trailer, a relic from the atomic age with a clunky, faded Jetson's aesthetic, and my wife returned with a small yellow cat she said she'd found eating Doritos with some homeless people.  The outreach ministry was oppressive, so we moved to San Francisco in our Ford Taurus with our 3 cats.  It was a harsh, unrelenting season.  You can read about in the article The First-Ever Church of Doomsday Life, if you're interested.  Suffice it to say, Twinkleton grew up in a car, and was a road kitty from day one.

She even learned to drive, which made things much easier on me.  After a long day of juggling circumstantial lunacy, it's nice to relax while your cat takes the wheel and guides you safely to your next destination.

I met Bill Houston on the Sunset Blvd. bus in Los Angeles in 2001.  I'd just played a show, and was headed back to my hotel in Hollywood, when this guy behind me said out of nowhere, "I liked your set."  I looked back with guarded suspicion, ready to destroy; who is this weird guy sparking up a conversation with me on the bus?  All kinds of horrendipitous contingencies occurred to me, but by the end of the ride, it was clear there was no cause for concern.  By the time the bus had reached my stop, we were great friends.

Van Nuys 2003. Photo by Tom Harrell

I was living with Bill in the commercial space adjacent to Sound City in Van Nuys when he invited his friend Tom to take pictures for the weird, homeless musician detoxing from heroin and sleeping under a table in his office space.  I took my guitar to the railroad tracks and hiked over to the 405 overpass to practice; the reflection of sound from the concrete chamber under the freeway proved to be a great vocal booth, and the noise from the traffic drowned out any self-consciousness you might experience from singing loudly in public, which was always a problem for me.  Tom the photographer came over and I took the opportunity to document the stupidity that suited me at the time.  Which was, unbelievably, a one-man Christian heroin cult with a songwriting habit I just couldn't kick.  The shirt said "Junkies For Jesus," plural, but the "s" was covered up in the picture and in fact I was the only one on board with that delusion anyway.  No other Christians would visit the needle exchange before church, and no one at the needle exchange ever thanked God for the dope they just copped from "Hector," the underage Mexican Mafia kid who drove a shiny, beat-up Honda in a state of inebriation all over the east side like a plate of drunken spaghetti.

I was the only one.

It's Bill walking with me through the East Village in New York in the 1:07-1:13 mark in the video above; he'd found the ad on Craigslist, posted by the Korean Broadcast System looking for people to interview about dissent in America after 9/11.  I answered the ad, and they accepted.  They even used my song "George Bush What's Your Problem?" as the bumper music.

Street Robe Eddie & Bill The Amputee, Austin 2025

It was Bill's brother's house in Boston we left, enroute to his other brother's house in Austin, the front yard of which was occupied by a shotgun shack, a ratty old house used to store empty beercans and moldy wood.  The first day we moved in, we took out 10 jumbo-sized garbage bags of beercans alone, not counting actual garbage.  We lived there for months, during which time Bill helped pay for the recording of the American Infidel album.  I was recording at these guys' house, and every time they got uptight about things, Bill would drop some money on them.  If it wasn't for Bill, American Infidel would never have been made.

This is us driving down Congress Avenue in Austin yesterday, on the way to somewhere.

Last weekend, I received an urgent message from the Lord to leave my current location immediately.  While shopping for deals on my Motel 6 app this past Monday, I accidentally booked a room for that night, 300+ miles away.  A short, light day by my own previous standards, but Louie The Road Cat doesn't like to sit in the van longer than 5 hours while it's moving, and these days, 400 miles is our absolute daily maximum.  Under ideal conditions and emergencies only, we will drive 400 miles a day to save our own lives.  We used to do 900 miles at the drop of a hat, a hat made of road noise and neverending bricks, and our record is 1,200 miles with nothing but gas and restroom breaks.  But time has taken its toll.  These days, we max out at less than 350 miles a day, or less.

"I guess we're leaving today," I said without surprise.  Louie said something incomprehensible to the English-speaking mind.  I packed our things into the Van of Life, our small, transient apartment in the trees, and we hit the road.

As it turns out, Louie has a dental problem.  His mouth has been clacking for a couple weeks, but during our journey this week, his appetite noticeably decreased.  He has been riding in my lap happily since we first left Austin (his hometown) for Oregon in 2011, all through Mexico, and the cross-border odyssey back into the United States this year.  Among many other trips.

He has been everywhere with me.

Oregon 2011

Oaxaca 2021

Me and Bill took Louie to the vet yesterday, and received some antibiotics and anti-nausea medication that has brought his appetite back.  He's eating normally again, but may have an infected tooth, or teeth.  He has a dental appointment on Tuesday.

I believe God led me and Louie back to Austin to save Louie's life.  Bill has offered to pay for the procedure with some of the money his brother sent him for his birthday, which is next week.  That's the kind of friend he is.  But the cost is outrageous, and I can't sit idly by and watch him go out-of-pocket like that without making an effort to reimburse him.  Eventually, God willing, I will.  To the point of going out-of-pocket myself, happily, to help him whenever necessary.  It would be a privilege.  But at the moment, I am asking for your help.

For Bill's sake.

Bill's birthday is next Tuesday.  He will be 62.  While both the GoFundMe and this article are titled "Saving Louie The Road Cat," it would be more accurate to call it "Reimbursing Bill The Amputee For Saving Louie The Road Cat."  Thank God (and also Bill), Louie is going to be alright.  We have many more miles ahead of us, God willing.  But please donate to Bill's birthday "Save The Louie" fund.  I've known the guy for almost 25 years, and have been all over the country with him.  Almost as many places as I've been with Louie.  And of course the original road kitty, who went home in 2022.  She is waiting for us.  God willing (the Rapture notwithstanding), we won't meet her anytime soon.

Thank you in advance for your compassion and generosity.

N