Hello there. Allow me to extend a paw and properly introduce myself. I am “The Cougar.” By “The Cougar” I mean, of course, the wild and vicious beast that’s been frequenting your news and papers, sighted in several areas but denied by local officials because they’re worried about inducing panic. Well, really it’s because I’ve cut them a deal, but more about that later.

I roam all around the County but I particularly like the small city of Broken Springs. There, I can live peacefully and type up my memoirs, without so much of a second glance from residents who can’t tell a cougar from a pussy cat. But I cannot belittle their ignorant naivety because that’s the only reason I haven’t been netted by Animal Control yet.

Since I’m sure it’s brooding in everyone’s mind, the horse in Watervliet totally had it coming. Yes, he and I got into a scuffle, but I had no intention of killing him. He got snippy when I started eating his food, then he said the most awful things about my mother. Well, I don’t have to tell you that it’s not decent to insult a man eating beast’s mother. Especially if you’re a species that kowtows to the most monstrous of all species, humans. My mother, bless her tail, was a good cougar. She raised six wonderful children, and donated annually to Red Cross. So when that ignorant horse made the comments he did, I had to protect my mother’s honor.

I had planned on giving him a couple bites to teach him a lesion … er, I mean lesson. But he squirmed too much in my forceful grip and I accidentally bit down on his jugular. Blood began spraying everywhere! So I ran off. What was I supposed to do? Phone the cops and wait there for thirty minutes? I couldn’t exactly drive the poor equine to the emergency room, could I? Well, I felt awful, but I knew that the proper authorities would find the horse before it bled to death. Is it my fault that they decided to gas him the next morning? I didn’t even know he was Jewish! I may be a cruel flesh eating beast, but I’m no killer. Yet, the media gives me only bad press.

It wasn’t until recently that I befriended a friendly editor willing to let me tell my side of the story. Granted, this blog isn’t exactly the Times, and according to its archives, it seems to be a bit too focused on local police procedure. But I suppose, as an official Broken Springs resident, the affairs of the police department affect me too. My editor’s name is Shallow Throat. I purr when I hear that name, just like when I get my belly rubbed. Who can’t love a name like Shallow Throat?

The first thing we discussed was a pseudonym because, according to Throat, it’s not safe to use your real name in Broken Springs. She wanted me to go by ‘Big Pussy’ but I decided on T.C. instead, which she says stands for “The Cougar” but I say it stands for “Thunder Cock.” She said if I went by the latter, I might be mistaken for a rooster. I said I‘d take my chances. But she said she wouldn‘t publish someone called Thunder Cock, even if it was a rooster because that could be considered obscene. Editors… can’t live with them, can’t kill ‘em. I hung my tail between my legs and said “T.C. will be just fine.”

The truth is, I have Shallow Throat wrapped around my little paw. If she makes a change to something I write, I simply growl and she changes it back. She’s also agreed to pay me with a lifetime supply of Purina Cat Chow. It’s a bit dry, but it beats the hell out of catching fish in the polluted St. Joe river.

Well, I’m over my word limit. Plus, my paws are getting tired. I haven’t typed this much since I was back in college writing my thesis on the dietary benefits of being a carnivore. Oh, one last thing. I’m a big fan of Lucy from the Jouralistic Error, and love her closing line. I’ve decided that my closing line will be:

Remember, if you see a large cat with a long tail in your backyard, whatever you do, don’t go, “Here, kitty kitty.”


TC can be reached at berriencougar@hotmail.com