Feline Stranger

My parents have had a lot of cats over the three plus decades they've lived in their country home. Currently, one of the herd of felines frolicking their property unfettered is a mysterious sidewinder, a gray and white thing with the mannerisms of "Bill the Cat" of cartoon popularity.
He looks and acts demented, but this crazy cat's name is less than ferocious. He goes by the name, "Baby." But don't underestimate Baby's bullying power. Our cat, Max, wanders over from next door and routinely gets a thrashing from Baby. Now, I could see the point if Max were a brute. But Max is the nicest, kindest, most lovey-dovey cat in the world. Cozies up to everybody. Purrs and brushes up against the sliding glass doors behind our house as if he's getting a buzz from the glass. Loves you when you aren't even paying attention. He won't leave his post on the doorstep. I kick him out of the way, but he comes back for more. Doesn't mind mistreatment. Never a complaint.
Anyway, this Baby character, he waylays poor Max every time Max wanders down the road to my parents' house. Max comes home with a quarter sized, then a silver dollar sized hole in the back of his neck; a gross, gaping, red, furless patch of pain. It scabs, gets ripped open again, scabs, a disgusting cycle.
Because of this, I sometimes imagine that if these cats were in a cat western, produced, directed by, and starring cats instead of humans, the script would go something like this:

EXTERIOR SALOON WITH PAW PRINTS ON SWINGING DOORS
Tumbleweed blows by. A dog dressed in fringe vest and cowboy hat barks, chasing a pretty kitty dressed to the hilt. They run off camera.

CUT TO INTERIOR OF SALOON

Fat cat bartender talking to row of cats sipping tall, cold milks along row of bar stools. Medium shot of bartender looking up from his conversation, his smile fading as he stares at the stranger coming in.

STRANGER

I'm looking for the one they call... Baby.

All eyes from the bar rest on the stranger as no one dares say a word.

The stranger, a lean Tiger cat, narrows his eyes and lights a cigarette, blowing smoke in the direction of the nearest cat at the bar.

STRANGER

Talk to me, big boy. Where is this 'Baby'?

Cat #1

N-never heard of him. (Nervously slurps foaming mug of milk.)

STRANGER

(Sneering at Cat #1). I'll bet.

BARTENDER

(Trying to lighten situation) So, ah, stranger, what name do you go by?

STRANGER glares at him, steely eyed.

Ah, look here, I don't want no trouble in my bar, understand? What can I get you to drink?

STRANGER

Gimme a pint of your homogenized.

* * * * *

And so on. You get the point. An ominous, mysterious stranger seeking the deadliest, most ferocious feline felon. That's what we need 'round these parts. Someone to put Baby in his place.

I thought about taking matters in my own hands. But it seems poetic to have another cat do the doing.

We need a strong, silent sleek male cat to come and wallop this Baby character. A good kitty tangle where Baby is the one walking away, licking his wounds with the telltale fur missing from the back of his twisted neck.

But in this misguided land of cats, no such hero is to be found. Consider this blog a casting call for the hero, an open appeal for a cat so tough no cat will ever enter into his domain. Not even Baby.