A Parched Hunting Season

By Marylyn Cork

The other evening I glanced out my bedroom window just in time to see my coal-black cat running for his life from a mountain lion hot on his tail. The lion probably would have won the race had Blackie not known there was a hole just his size at ground level in the chain link fence. The cat reached it in the nick of time and shot through the gap. I didn’t see him again for two days. Duchess, my lady cat, had watched Blackie’s narrow escape from the side of the house. She hid, too, for a while.

The cougar sat in the county road looking disgruntled until I approached the fence to get a good look at him. He was the largest mountain lion I’ve ever seen, a full-grown cat with feet alone that looked almost the size of dinner plates.

Three mountain lions have come into my yard or very near it in the sixty-five years I’ve lived here, outside Priest River. Every time I’ve been alone, but I’ve never felt fear—just a healthy respect, and a certain amount of caution.

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Published by Marylyn Cork

Marylyn Cork has lived in Priest River more than fifty years and in Bonner County more than sixty years. Writing since she was nine years old, she retired as editor of the Priest River Times in 2001. She enjoys reading, gardening, hiking, camping, and traveling.