Wild Cat
It would have been easy to blame Copper, but he hadn’t been outside yet yesterday morning when we noticed the cat up in the tree. Not just any cat — a large, wild-looking one with a raccoon-striped tail. And not just any tree — one of the tall oaks.
From what I could figure he was 30 or 40 feet up. The temperature was in the 20s, with a stiff breeze that moved the trunk from side to side.
The cat had found a perch of sorts, and at times looked content, as if sunning itself. But the longer it remained, the more agitated it seemed, shifting position, making half-hearted attempts to claw its way down.
Finally, there was real movement, a quick scamper, an impossible leap and — after a few heart-stopping seconds when it seemed as if the animal almost certainly hadn’t survived the fall — a glimpse of that same striped tail moving side to side.
Within seconds, the cat had scampered out of the brush, under the fence and into the woods.
Destination unclear, motivation unknown. It may not have been a wildcat … but it was a wild cat.
