I have looked for bobcats everywhere
Notre Dame Magazine. At some point I learned, as anyone does who studies animals long, a certain humility in the presence of wild things -- the bobcat, or owl or pronghorn antelope. They are so fast, their senses so keen, their genius so remarkable that humans, turned loose upon the land, seem clumsy and dumb in comparison. To say nothing of their beauty and grace. Their power. Their rightness. Their capacity to slip into the landscape and to live there unencumbered. I envy them their intimacy with the earth. I have looked for bobcats everywhere.
My husband Dennis saw one of these wood ghosts while driving home from work the other night. When he walked into the kitchen, it was the first thing he said to me, "I saw a bobcat tonight." His eyes were wide and full of excitement. I swear his face was even a little flushed. It was the first one he'd seen in years. Having been out here a lot longer than I, he's seen bear, mountain lion, elk, deer, and coyote, all on our little ranch. Although less these days, with some new houses being built, he likes to gripe. Occasionally it's a mantra.
I wonder if this wood ghost is responsible for the disappearance of some of my cats over the years? I've never seen a bobcat myself, unless you count that poor caged thing at the Rio Grande Zoo. I wanted to know how big he was. Dennis says about 1 1/2 times the size of one of the heeler puppies. I wanted to know exactly where he was. Just standing by the side of the road. What did he look like? I was anxious for any piece of information. Will I get to see him too, I wondered?
Yesterday afternoon, I watched in fascination as one of Charlotte gray's little kittens practically skipped down from the top of the bales of hay like an eager child to join in the heeler pups' game in the barn. But the young and inexperienced baby was met with a big surprise, and my delight quickly turned to horror as Lila leapt upon the diminutive kitten like she was a rat, followed by Red Dog, both of whom seemed intent upon tearing her to pieces. I jumped on them both with all the fury and wrath of a mama cat. Because Charlotte Gray was clinging in terror to the rafters above, eyes as big as saucers.
The kitten dashed to a hidey hole beneath all the hay bales, and I can only take some comfort in how quickly she moved. Perhaps she isn't too hurt. I swept those heeler dogs out of the barn into the thrashing hooves of the now upset horses, who'd only moments ago been watching with as much interest as I.
That's the difference between the wild things and the tame things.
A dog will kill for fun. I don't think a Bobcat would ever do that.
While he lives in the shadows of my very own backyard--maybe even on a first name basis with my five horses, whose once wide open plains have also been replaced by subdivisions, and strip malls, and superhighways, and parking lots, or watching me from behind a stand of pinon as I lug hay to their feeder--I live in a world a million miles removed from the bobcat.
I'm a ghost in his world. Not even a memory. Maybe a bad dream.
This morning I'll go looking for that kitten.
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