All news of cougars circles back to us. One killed down in the valley. Another killed in the tree while her two kittens looked on. Last night a particularly disturbing account from the foot of Miner’s Mountain. Around Christmas last month, a lady saw her out of town neighbor’s door to his airstream trailer open. She hopped over and shut it and went on her way. When he came back in town he found a dead cougar in there. Dead from rat poison. The woman hadn’t looked in, did not know she was locking a lion to its death. We run into the trapper coming back from Miner’s Mountain. He was called for a cougar, but all he could track were two kittens, their mother’s tracks obscured. He had not the heart or mind to go off killing kittens that were troubling no one, just passing through.
The local guys are out shooting for sport. I find nothing sporting of treeing a mother with her young and shooting her. Perhaps if they were facing these beasts with knives and their wits I could condone such a confrontation. Lion blood is spilling all around us. We have escaped further losses so far, but the guard dog barks and circles most of the night, every night. We are being watched.