Man, there’s this ol’ con, here, who has an affinity to felines. I guess I can use his nickname since he no longer answers to it. Gonzo used to hate cats. I’m talkin’ the kind of wrathful acrimony that may have warranted a listing on PETA’s top ten people who should never be allowed within a mile of the nearest cat. I’m afraid he’s likely done some things to three or four of the poor creatures of which not even the hardest lifer could stomach hearing about. But that’s the past. Gonzo’s been in the clink a couple decades, most of which he’s done the hard way. Early on he mixed in with one of the Aryan cliques, and that alone liked to have put the man in an early grave. After a couple years in segregation for God knows what-some kind violence or riot or both-he officially renounced the gang to get out of 24hr a day lockup the violence didn’t leave his heart for some time after. Gonzo was a hustler and a bully who moved a lot of contraband and made time hard for the passive type of inmate.
No one really knows what changed the ol’ convict. Some say the death of his wife finally caught up with him and broke his spirit. Others believe the Holy Spirit got to him and shooed the devil away. Still others will tell you that he just got old. Gonzo, himself, might even agree with all three assessments, but me, nah, I say it was and still is the kitty’s that have softened that mean mean man. Apparently his wife loved cats and it was always a point of contention between him and his dearly beloved. Isn’t it a shame that when someone we love leaves us either by choice or by hearse, those irritants that seemed to grate at the relationship, like a piece of sand in an oyster, turn into a pearl and are cherished long after the loved one has departed. At this prison and at those other Texas joints within a couple hundred miles of here, Gonzo is now known as the catman. Over the past decade, he’s raised so many generations of cats that every bloodline in the panhandle is tainted with vittles snuck from the chowhall and in to his cell.
For items considered of value (fans, radios, tennis shoes, watches, etc.), state prisoners are required to have property papers, signed by an administrator, proving ownership. Its always been a running joke that Gonzo’s cats are official, papers and all, but I’m not sure if there isn’t some truth to the tale. Many Wardens have come and gone, and although personal animals are not allowed in the unit, no officer has ever given him any flak about his pets. Ive heard that a few have taken kittens home to their wives and kids kittens that were born right here on that ol’ cat hatin’ convict’s bunk.
The man is at the end of his long prison sentence. I don’t believe he’d ever harm another person unless that person was harming a cat. When his release date comes, I’m starting to wonder if he will be able to leave this place and his cats. Oh, I’m sure the man will let the captain shackle and cuff him and put him on that bluebird chain bus. And I know he will walk out of the releasing prison’s front gate on his own accord, but I’m also convinced that he will never completely leave the penitentiary or those furry little restorative emotional support animals. From a hate filled racist gang member to loving what he once hated, this man has changed. My prayer for Gonzo and the rest of us is that we will learn to embrace those irritants in those we love before they are gone from our lives. Had he done just that, imagine what his life would have looked like. End. Peace out bro. I hope your wife and your dog are well.
Ross Allen Hartwell 1893452
PO Box 660400
Dallas, TX 75266
Mongoose Distro 