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Please don’t bait the panther


We’ve been keeping little Freya-kitten out on the front porch at night, since she seems to like it out there. But an inhuman scream awoke darling wife the other night from a sound sleep. She ran out to the front porch, where she discovered little Freya huddled under a table, eyes wide with fear. The floor was wet, and the air was heavy with a musky scent.

It was a scent darling wife knew well, from her years in the mountains. It was the scent of a mountain lion. In the jungle, we call them panthers.

Darling wife scanned the yard but could see nothing in the darkness. She could hear something large moving in the bushes across the yard though, so she quickly gathered up Freya and brought her inside, where Freya spent the rest of the night.

In the morning, darling wife went out to the front porch again. The floor was still wet, and a large spot with drips was clearly outlined on the mosquito netting that makes up the walls of the porch.

Panther urine. The spot on the screen was a meter off the ground, far too high for a domestic cat or even a bobcat, but exactly the height of a panther’s rump.

Darling wife cleaned up the mess. Now she keeps Freya inside at night. No point in baiting the panther.

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