(From before...)
"Please don't go biking or running up the road you usually go on. The neighbors have seen a mountain lion."
With a request like that from my hostess, I could hardly ignore it. Even though one of the best things to do on a getaway at Clear Lake is to ride my mountain bike on the dirt road with the lake view.
It is so dry in late September around the lake. The California horsechestnut trees (Aesculus californica) are dried up and brown and miserable looking remnants of trees. The poison oak is coated in thick dust. The dessicated landscape looks primed for a seasonal scorching by wildfire. I thought perhaps the mountain lion had run from the forest fire further away, and had moved into a populated area by necessity. I very much wanted to see the big cat. But a warning unheeded would make me a damn fool if the big cat thought I looked like a lovely meal and pounced from the hillside.
I did have use of a big-tired pickup truck. So, in the evening, when the moon was full enough to light up the dark night, I went searching on the back road for a glint of mountain lion fur pale and silvery in the moonlight. The back road was desolate with nary a light in sight. It bordered Borax Lake, a seemingly lifeless body of water a hill away from the beautiful blue of Clear Lake.
As I drove up the road, I watched for movement in the woods. The headlight beams would scare away most creatures. Somehow I felt this mountain lion would not be spooked by headlights. The dust from the road spread up and out and diffused the lights--and then I saw something moving into the lit dust cloud from the side of the road. Some small, pale unidentifiable creature was moving directly in front of my big-tired truck.
Quick stop in the middle of the road. Crunching of stone and dirt. I jumped out of the truck. The apparition was gone. Then I heard a tiny cry from underneath the truck. Down on my knees, I saw the mystery creature-- a kitten crying with fear.
Just then a car came up the road. It was moving fast--probably to avoid the gangs known to have harassed drivers on the lonely road. To the nervous astonishment of the passengers, I flagged it down and asked the driver to use caution. Down on my knees again. The kitten was gone from under the truck. More crying. This tiny little thing was by the dead lake, standing in the weeds with head up, ears back, bony shoulders pressed together, crying most piteously with a mixture of fear and hope. I picked it up and brought it to the headlights to see who would walk in front of my truck. Little cat looked at me with just one eye. The socket where the other beautiful eye should have been was empty.
In the cosmology of our ancestors, the Norse God Odin traded his eye for wisdom. Little cat had gained the wisdom to live alone in the forest and to escape being eaten by the mountain lion. I named him Odin. Calling his name is pleasure. Odin is an uncommonly loving companion. I've watched him grow from emaciated kitten to muscular cat. For a time, he had double canines as his baby teeth were being replaced. He's less enthusiastic now about sucking on fingertips. Odin is maturing, and that is delightful to watch.
How he lost his eye is somewhat of a mystery. He could have had an infection that literally destroyed his eye. The other explanation can hardly be spoken. He had been abandoned in the wastelands. Whether he thought the headlights of the truck were those of his former family, or whether he was oblivious from hunger and exhaustion, I don't know.
Now he is Winky, the Joy Boy, happy in the morning and passionate about play and breakfast and the source of much irritation to my sedate little old lady cats. He loves to run. He loves to run and jump up where the L.O.L.C.'s are lounging and start a tussle. Consternation follows. Sometimes, as he makes a mad dash and a right turn, he will run smack into a corner or my leg or whatever he can't see in front of him. After a moment to recover, off he goes.
He is a masterful hunter of the moths that came in with the bag of birdseed. He must have eaten a lot of insects in the woods. Protein...the crunchy kind.
This is a story with a happy result. Having a little guy
cat
around is wonderful. And no, I never did see the mountain lion. Perhaps
next year...
Copyright 1997, 1998 Elena Haskins. Reproduction in part or whole strictly prohibited without advance written permission. All Rights Reserved.
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