“Cat-ing”
Bobcat
I had been watching his tracks for weeks. And another’s, smaller more delicate, his beloved. From our window, after sunset he walked across in front of us—a silhouette against the darkening snow.
Each morning I had been reconstructing a story of the night before. Moving in search of food, love and shelter. Motivated by hunger, hormones and fear. The tracks criss-crossed and left proof of a world seldom seen; elusive, and not caring to participate in ours.
On the road I once surprised three kittens at play. Like barn cats with no worry. Not yet! Then later, in the balsams, I found torn and clawed bark. Had one been stretching and strengthening, practicing and maturing? I remember last summer, the unsettling calls in the night down near the pond. Words to his family I presume.
A space shared with another family— a large doe, a big buck, last year's fawns and adolescents still browsing on Alders. Tracks seen, broken branches from cedar trees and foraging grasses still showing green. Both families continuing to live while loosing weight but surviving without pandemic or politics. Bobcat $550