a biologist's nightmare ... here, kitty, kitty, kitty

 
Last night Bear, upstairs reading, called down to me: "Are the chickens put up for the night?"

"Yes. At five o'clock."

And then I added, 'cause this was unusual of Bear, "Thanks for double-checking."

(pause)

"I wondered 'cause I'm hearing some dog noises outside." The window upstairs was open a crack.

Oh, great. Now my biologist/chicken-protector brain was off and running.

Dog noises.

Around here that could mean:

• dogs
• coyotes
• bears

All of which I imagined trying to get into the coop, in the dark, and kill my hens.


Anyhow, assuring myself the coop was secure, I returned to my book.


An hour later, lying in bed in the dark, waiting for sleep, I heard a single, sort of tortured coyote cry. (To hear something close, go here and click on the #11 clip, coyote barks and whines.)

Then, silence.

Like my brain needed ANY more encouragement to explore the carnivore threat possibilities "out there in the dark."*


I did, however, eventually fall asleep, and this dream unfolded:


I was wandering around the back part of our property, pre-dawn, in the dark.

Don't remember why.

Might have been barefoot, definitely unarmed, no flashlight.

Feeling vulnerable and painfully aware of my less-than-powerful build.

Then, I see this:

(photo by Bardrock)

A black jaguar.

She was just on the other side of our the flimsy barbed-wire fence that backs our property, and had three offspring with her.

Of course, my biologist brain translated this to: mother with babies = Especially Dangerous Animal.

She did not look happy with me.


I backed away.

She walked toward me.

While backing away I tried to shout for help. And, of course, nothing above a tiny squeak escaped my lips. An old nightmare standard.

It's a classic for a reason.


However, she only followed me for a short while, so I did eventually get out of there, unharmed. My lucky day.

But, wait, there's more!


Next, while moving eastward, I was crouching low among the shrubs, I looked to my right to see this, mostly just its huge face:

(photo from http://mousely.com/encyclopedia/Bengal_Tiger/)

Of course, my heart stopped. And my lovely biologist brain KNOWS Bengals eat people. Great.

Fortunately(?), it didn't seemed particularly disturbed by my appearance. I was terrified.

Again, I back slowly away.

Eventually, turning back toward the house, I prayed my back (an "Attack Me Now" sign for many predators) would not suddenly sport a huge-Bengal-tiger-as-toothy-backpack.


Home free, now?

Oh, no, not yet, silly.


Biologists have unusually long lists of potentially lethal creatures they can quite easily conjure up for a dream.

A factually accurate Scary Dream Speed Dial.

No problem.


So, picking my way carefully back to my house, I look to my right, and under the thick, low hanging canopy of a huge oak I see this animal, lying comfortably, watching me:

(photo by US Department of Agriculture)

Yes, a mountain lion. This species is an actual resident of our neighborhood (vs. Bengal tigers and black jaguars).

I stopped.

I stared, frozen.


It gazed mildly, almost benevolently, at me in a way that said:

"I've been watching you this whole time, and you had no idea I was here. What are you doing out here?"

Like Maria Callas in a recording studio when an untalented rank amateur stumbles in and wants to sing along.


Clearly, I was WAY out of my league.

Per usual, at this point, trying not to panic, I again retreated carefully. But, this time, with the house coming into clear view, my self control weakened, and I soon broke into a trot.

This was probably unwise.

However, this time my brain, and its understanding of predator attack triggers (like, say RUNNING AWAY), apparently decided to cut me some slack.


I got safely back to the house which, of course, was not my house and had extra rooms and people, but they all were sleeping, safe, totally unaffected by the crazy danger I'd just been in. Nice. So very helpful.


Anyhow, a hallmark of my scary-dream-encounters-with-predators is silence.

During my entire foray out into the dark, through all of those frightening face-offs, not one cat made a single sound. There is no soundtrack.


Cats are good at that, being silent. It's important to their success.

I thought about this recently when I saw documentary footage of a tiger attacking an ever-so-briefly unaware monkey.

In 4 seconds, the tiger sprang silently from its hiding place, galloped across the space between them, and took that monkey's head INTO HIS MOUTH.

Done.


Holy crap.

That freaked me out.


Four seconds. I counted. Y'all know I'm a compulsive counter.

So, I thought about that.


That monkey was unaware of that tiger and had 4 seconds of NO SOUND as a warning that the jaws of death were racing toward him.


Yeah.

So, that may have helped "inspire" that dream, along with the coyote visit.

Yeesh.


Kinda extra glad to wake up and get some coffee, this morning.

And stare outside.

And wonder.

One of those cat species DOES live on our property. We get reports from neighbors seeing them in our neighborhood every year. Just got one 2 months ago.


How much you wanna bet this little monkey's been watched and had no clue?


"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty."


Kitty here?


bb


*Sunset Boulevard quote from Norma Desmond.