The Other Cat
The lion has left.
For weeks I sensed it, like an elusive shadow. I sensed it before I began dreaming of a beast prowling upon me, before I began to hear the deep growls in the night, before neighbors began to spot it, and before the video confirmed it. I had walked these dirt roads dozens of times, but something told me to start carrying a sharp rock and large stick on my walks. The forest was ever so slightly quieter. The brush seemed slightly more alive. And there was a sharp density to the air, tannic and electric. I’ve learned to pay attention to these sensations, even when there is no reasonable explanation for them. And yet…
I began having reoccurring dreams of being watched by something wild. Being studied. Being smelled. Tasting the air around me. There has always been a strong feline energy in these forests. This felt acutely different. It was powerfully, dangerously feline. I thought perhaps the shadow work I have been doing had started to slip into my dreams, metaphor and dream symbol mingled with waking reality. That’s been happening a lot lately.
Then I began to hear it. Low growls and purrs that would lift me from the depths of sleep. I pulled out my audio recorder just in time for it to stop. And as I would slip back into sleep I would hear it again, never quite lucid enough to pinpoint where or what it was. Some nights I would lay awake with the window open to feel if the sounds were outside or within me. In that liminal space between sleep and wake. At times it seemed like both.
When morning came I’d watch hours of YouTube videos of domestic cats, bobcats, and mountain lions to learn the differences in intonation. They’re similar, but distinctly different. I became certain what I heard was the growl, hiss, and yowl of a mountain lion. I would tell neighbors, friends, and locals who brushed it off as imagination or an exaggerated interpretation. Mountain lions do not come this close to humans, they said. This is not the first time my intuition has been brushed aside by others for lack of evidence. But this feeling demanded I hear it. This was palpable. Something was very much present.
A few neighborhood animals began to go missing. A few chickens at first, which could have plausibly been raccoons or coyotes or a bobcat. Maybe it was. But the forest got quieter than usual. A few neighborhood cats went missing. I felt inexplicably edgy and mortal.
And then last Saturday a neighbor shared their surveillance video footage. A large, lean mountain lion prowled around their house, close enough to the windows one could have reached out and touched it. This had now become real for everyone else.
Some panicked. Some became angry. Some ignored the signs. Some revered the wildness at our doorsteps. Someone reported the lion to the local police, who recommended to shoot it with a rifle if it was spotted again. Someone suggested it needed to be removed for everyone’s safety. Some insisted I arm myself with a rifle, or a handgun, or at least a hunting knife. Or blinding it with bear spray. Or wear bells on my ankles or a high-pitched whistle in my mouth. Or hide until it was gone, to avoid it. Someone recommended getting a dog. Or a man.
I wanted none of this. I came here to mindfully live amongst nature, to bring myself back to life by coexisting with wilderness. To amplify my senses and natural intuition and identify where intellect was suppressing it. To unravel the notion that intelligence must come from the mind, or from a human for that matter. To unlearn defensive weaponization and harmful colonization. I came here to extract myself from environments that distanced me from the natural balance of my own life and the life around me. The lion is part of that. I feel vulnerable because I am vulnerable. I feel like prey because I am prey. This isn’t a wish to be eaten, but it is an acknowledgment of truth. I am an animal just as the lion is an animal. Just because I have an iPhone and free 2-day shipping with Amazon Prime and am caught up on The Handmaid’s Tale doesn’t make that any less so.
And so, I ask myself how I might coexist with this lion. The lion — not an it, but a her. Not to fear her, avoid her, harm her, move her, or threaten her. Even the suggestions for an active defense seemed to invite an aggression. Instead, I wish to be in relationship with this powerful and beautiful creature, her fragile role in our delicate ecosystem more important than ever. To understand what she needs and to give her the space she needs. Perhaps she holds an important role to the humane psyche too.
And just like that, she was gone. I don’t know for certain. But in the same way I felt her arrive, I felt her leave. She scared me, but she also made me feel more alive. I’ve heard this to be true with wolves as well, that they bring a vividness to the environment around them. Her existence a firm reminder of fierce grace and prowess. She is wild and powerful and deserves to remain that way.
I wish to protect her now more than ever. I wish to give her space that we have encroached upon. To help empower others with information so we can understand the needs of the natural world around us. We live on her land now. We have a responsibility not just to coexist, but to help her thrive.
This magnificent creature goes by the names mountain lion, cougar, puma, and panther. These solitary and elusive creatures are the largest wildcats in North America. Their territories span between 30 and 250 square miles, and in the last two weeks Forestville became an active part of one.
From Audubon Canyon Ranch:
Mountain lions in the North Bay live a fragile existence. In California, mountain lions are at the top of the food chain and play critical roles in the maintenance and functioning of our natural ecosystems. Yet mountain lions themselves live a fragile existence as more of us choose to live and play in wild places.
Audubon Canyon Ranch is studying our region’s mountain lions to identify priority habitats and key wildlife corridors and to promote ecosystem conservation throughout our region.
To learn more about the Living with Lions project and learning to be a steward of healthy wildlife coexistence, visit www.egret.org/living-with-lions.
