This morning, we awoke to the alarming news that a cougar had been sited yesterday in a nearby suburb. Later in the day, it was cornered by police in an alley on Chicago's North Side, and when it started to attack, it was shot.
Cougars haven't been seen roaming Chicago in 150 years. I've seen possum skunk, coyote, fox and rabbit in our neighborhood (I initially typed "rabbi." Of course, most of them are domesticated). If I saw a cat this big -- five feet long, weighing about 150 pounds -- I'd want bars separating us. (Note: this isn't a photo of the cougar found here, just the closest thing I could find.)
No one is sure where the big cat came from. Cougars moved west in the 1800s, when development destroyed their habitat; perhaps they're moving back to the Rust Belt now that the West is overrun? Or was this someone's pet, kept illegally and let go when it became too big and too dangerous?
I remember (and my sister or my dad will remember more clearly) that an animal got loose from a traveling circus when we were growing up. Wasn't it an elephant? Or did my imagination enlarge it -- was it "just" a horse? Didn't it come lumbering down 50th street? Wasn't there a kind of Keystone Cops escapade where they tried to corral the poor thing?
Growing up in a city gives you this hothouse perspective on wildlife. You go to the zoo and see the caged animals, and you feel a mixture of awe and pity -- perhaps even a little condescension. You don't realize that you're actually the one in the hothouse. Come upon a truly wild animal, in its element -- which is to say, outdoors -- and you realize how frail and helpless the human animal is, with nothing but its wits and its inventions to protect it, it's bulbous cranium cranking out theories, inventions, intrigues. And weapons.
I remember standing by the glass of the Ape House at Lincoln Park Zoo one summer day about 25 years ago. The Alpha male silverback was in fine form that day, glowering at people and rushing against the thick glass, with a roar. He resented his lack of privacy and his confinement and he clearly hated us. But it's possible he also saw it as a game and was willing to play along. Anyone who stood in a particular spot would get their turn trying to stare this animal down. He'd fix you with his tiny eyes; this look of loathing would come over his face; he'd rush at the glass, teeth bared, roaring. The glass would thunder, and he'd saunter away. The next person would stand in the same spot, and it would happen again.
The unspoken rule amongst those of us who wound up playing this game was that you tried not to flinch when he rushed you. Impossible. He weighed about 500 pounds, and he was quick as lightning.
The worst part, though, was the look. The look that told you that you were prey. That you were about to be killed. That he was going to kill you. The look that has made us build cities and enclose ourselves in glass and steel and never look back.
--T.A.
Oh man, that is so cool and also so sad that it was shot.
Cougars are a dwindling species. We have completely taken over their territory. It is possible to live in peace with them, though. It just requires respect and, obviously, not cornering them.
This is one of those moments where the state of the world we live in is really just almost too sad to bear.
Posted by: D | April 15, 2008 at 01:47 PM