Cougars

I grew up in Rose Canyon, Utah, a cozy little community just south of the Kennecott Copper Mines. That was before the big housing explosion and there were virtually no houses where the bulk of Herriman now sits today. Not much has changed at my parents’ house, luckily. It is just as secluded as it was 15 years ago. Every winter we had to be aware of the wildlife coming down the mountain, foraging for food. The most dangerous animal we had to worry about was the cougar, or mountain lion.
Last week three young cougars were sighted near the University of Utah campus. I watched the surveillance video from the parking complex where they were playing. They looked like three teenagers who had just skipped school just to waste time. You could almost hear one of them as he perused the facility: “Hey, bros! I just totally found a sweet drop-off into a snow pile like ten feet down. Who’s coming with me?” And then one-by-one they leapt from view off a ledge to the snow below. The young cougars looked like they were having the time of their lives. Their moms had no idea they had skipped out on “How to Attack Humans From Behind 101.”
When cougars were sighted around Rose Canyon, my parents would always remind us children, “Cougars prefer little humans, so stay close to the house or you’ll probably get eaten.” Cougars quickly replaced the Boogie Man in bedtime stories. Interestingly enough, I found out later in life that the Boogie Man is purely fictitious, while cougars really do prefer child to adult.
I remember waking up one morning when I was 13 or 14 and hearing my little sister cry as she ran in the house, “Bows is dead! Bows is dead!” Bows was our cottontail rabbit we kept in a chicken-wire cage just outside the house. We had a couple of rabbits, Bows and Thumper (original, I know). When I walked outside to take a gander, I noticed big paw prints in the snow outside the cage. The wood that formed the bottom of the cage was splintered and pieces of wood were strewn about in the snow. The tracks matched those of a cougar. That was the first day I saw physical evidence of a cougar, and judging by the paw size, I knew cougars were not cute little woodland creatures that simply waited around for princesses to sing to them. They were killers. A cougar had killed Bows. Well, actually Bows died of fright, I’m sure, but the cougar had technically instilled that fright.
Bows may not have died if he had not panicked. Apparently, big cats can sense emotions much better than men (women are pretty good at that game), and panicking is like throwing up a red flag for cougars. Riles ‘em up. If cougars know they are supremely dominant, they make sure they prove it by destroying their opponent. Don’t play the dominance game with cougars. If you look them in the eye, they take that as a challenge, much like poker games in the wild, wild West: Carlos looks Old Man Crandall in the eyes and squints, then moves his gaze over to Bruce, who stares right back, and suddenly guns are appearing from nowhere and everybody else in the bar is trying to figure out what happened, because those poker players had been so quiet for so long. Don’t stare a cougar down, and don’t try to win at the quick-draw. Cougars don’t carry guns, but they do carry some pretty wicked claws, and they’re fast too.
If you happen to find yourself near a cougar, try to remember a few things: Don’t panic like Bows; Avoid eye contact; Don’t run or turn your back to them; Walk slowly backward as you raise your arms to appear bigger and yell. I would suggest imagining that the cougar is an annoying co-worker or neighbor. Then you can use the same insults that you may have used on that person and it might help relieve some stress on your part. If the cougar takes offense, though, and decides to attack, fight back. You may not have claws, but you may be able to knock it out with a good uppercut or blow to the neck. If you’re lucky, you’ll encounter one of those school-skipping cougars and they won’t know how to fight very well anyway.