I: THE MAN
It’s a real sanctuary, the first I’ve discovered since fleeing my birth den and journeying miles and miles through the most alien, booby-trapped hellscape you can imagine.
Sure, there’s danger here, too. I’m hemmed in on all sides of this tiny wilderness by fast-moving rivers of metal. And my new dominion’s overrun with that loud, smelly species I avoid at all costs.
But the humans and cars mostly melt away at night, and there are ravines to hide in. And deer. So many deer.
I leap onto their backs from a stealth position low in the bushes, their flesh yielding under my claws, their necks snapping like dry branches. How I feast!
Before dawn, I drag their carcasses off the trails and cache them under soil and leaves, returning for three nights while the meat remains fresh.
By day, I lie up in remote canyons.
When the sun falls, I rise to feed or hunt again, to scent mark and explore the contours of my strange new world, sending out chirps and cries for others of my kind that get no replies.
Then comes the night that changes my world and yours.
It’s winter. Still newly arrived, I’m prowling a hillside trail, my excellent night vision and hearing alert for prey.
Snap, and something grabs my paw. I yank hard, but I’m trapped.
Humans approach.
A loud pop. A sting. My head droops. My limbs buckle. I hit the ground and spin into the void.
Do big cats dream?
Do we twitch with nightmares of alpha predators that even we cannot vanquish?
Six times in my
