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Bouncing Off the Walls... - Oh the Moments we Treasure, Pt 6
19 years ago
General
Excerpt from “Shasta’s Time” - Dissertation for Doctor of Philosophy in Counseling, 1996
This is just a little glimpse of some of the antics that can be had by turning a 200-lb cougar loose into your life (and house). Enjoy!
I guess it would be fairly obvious to say that a house, no matter how large, is many magnitudes smaller than a cougar’s “territory” in the wild would be. Male cougars have territories that can range to fifty square miles. In a few cases, even twice that or more. And they cover that entire area several times a day. Now while Shasta was not wild, he was still extremely fit and muscular. That coupled with his very protein-rich diet, he had a lot of energy to spare. Just because he didn’t have much room to roam around in was probably a big factor. The size of his “territory” was, of course, out of my hands. So I did my best to give him energy releases as often as was necessary. Most of the time, it was fairly obvious when those “necessary” times were.
Have you ever heard the phrase “bouncing off the walls”? Let it just suffice as to say, Shasta was living proof that the phrase could be taken literally. In fact, one of the warning signs of Shasta’s need for energy release was exactly that.
As I said, Shasta tended to be in constant motion. He would pace the house constantly, covering every inch of his small domain probably a hundred times a day. Maybe more. I only watched him when I was there. Now maybe he really did do some lazy-time during my absence, but the perpetual-motion thing started from the moment I got there!
It didn’t really matter what I was doing. Usually it was non-eventful times during the evening, like during a movie, or while I was reading or something.
Shasta would make his rounds of the house every five to ten minutes or so. During these routines, he usually maintained a temperate, docile state. After every “round” he would always seek me out, make eye contact as if “checking in”. Usually he would harass me until I acknowledged him with a pat on the shoulder or scratch behind an ear. Then his attention craving would’ve been met for the moment, and he could start another round. But sometimes he would go into attention withdrawals, and he would have to take a break from his guard duties.
Shasta needed attention. It was one of those fundamental things. He simply couldn’t do without it for very long. And he was actually pretty forward about getting it. I began to call it his “attention fix”. It was pretty apt.
I would usually be on the couch or something, and Shasta would come over and jump up into it with me. If I were laying down, maybe reading a book, then he would pretty much walk over me, and plop down right on top of me. If I were sitting up, maybe watching a movie, then he would slink over next to me, and lay down with his front paws and head in my lap. Usually, I would have no choice but to give him whatever attention he wanted, until he got as much as he wanted.
I talk like Shasta was a pretty big pain in the butt. Sometimes he really was. But most of the time, Shasta only needed a few minutes of undivided attention. Maybe ten at most. Then he would simply leave me alone, and resume his rounds of the house. But there were times when I didn’t give him that undivided attention. The sometimes lack of cooperation on my part had it’s consequences.
If for whatever reason I chose to ignore him, like I was reading and really getting into it, or was watching a movie and the really good part was on, his “hints” would get more and more obvious.
If I was reading, Shasta would usually have laid down on my legs, and would rest his head on my hip or stomach. He would purr, and I would reach down to pet him. In the case I was ignoring him, he would first try purring louder.
I think it’s safe to assume that almost everyone has heard a cat purr. Probably even held a cat, and had it purring. They kind of rumble and vibrate, right? Shasta was no different, short of one very significant factor: he was just a couple sizes bigger!
He’d start out purring at a quiet level. This was his “contented” purr. He was good sized, so one could hear it, even from quite a distance. When he was laying on you, the vibration of it was rather soothing. He’d put me to sleep with it a few times.
The next level was his “I want your attention” purr. It was loud! And the vibration was more obnoxious than anything else. It was just the opposite in effect too. It was anything but soothing!
If I was still persistent in my ignorance, he would slowly start working his way up my body, maybe six inches to a foot at a time. Mind you, he was still purring his obnoxious roar the whole time.
By the time he was mid chest level, of course it was getting hard to breath, and therefore harder to concentrate. Plus, he would still be loudly purring. Then, if I was still persistently ignoring him, he would start batting at my book with a paw. For you die-hard readers out there, just try to keep reading with something like that going on!
Usually by then, I would have broken down and simply started petting him. After all, the sooner I petted him, the sooner he got his fix, and the sooner I could get back to my book.
Like people, Shasta had varying degrees of patience, dependant on his moods, which tended to vary a lot. Sometimes he would actually get to the “book-batting” stage. Most of the time he wouldn’t. I don’t know whether that was because I gave in too soon, or what. Maybe it was.
The couch I used the most, sat towards the center of the large living room, more or less partitioning off part of the room as the entertainment area - stereo, TV, VCR, etc - versus the fireplace area, which had another identicle couch, a matching love seat, and a couple chairs and coffee tables. Both back-to-back couches were against the wall on one end, and while the fireplace couch had the love seat, my favorite couch was open to what was left of the room.
If Shasta lost patience rapidly, he would stop purring abruptly, and “Mrow!” at me. But only once. I came to realize that this was a warning. He was saying that if I didn’t pay attention to him right now, he was gonna lose it and spaz.
Here’s the problem: “right now” is a relative thing. “Right now” for you or me might be, ”I’m going to put my book down and then focus on you.” It takes maybe a couple seconds to mark your place and drop the book, right? Well, with Shasta, sometimes his patience would falter long before that two seconds was up. And if it did, it got pretty dramatic.
Shasta would leap up, and then jump. Sometimes he would go straight up. Sometimes, he would go sideways, either to the floor, or onto the “fireplace” couch. Other times, most of the time, he would jump right over me and into the room. But no matter which direction he chose, seemingly at random, his next actions were the always the same: he would start tearing around the house at high speed.
This was truly a sight to behold. He seemed to avoid furniture. I think that was because of the recliner. Also, he couldn’t really ricochet off very many items of furniture. They tended to move - like across the room - and that threw off his timing. So, picture this, a mountain lion, bouncing from this wall to that, down the hall to his/my room, off the waterbed - he popped it once - back out into the hall, across it, into the next room, off that bed, back into the wall, into the den, onto the piano - Beethoven rolls over in his grave - into the hall again, back down the hall as per the “greeting” routine, bounce out of the corner and into the living room, and back onto the couch. Now here was the real problem. If you remember back to where this all started, you remember that I happen to be on said couch.
Now I don’t think even for a second Shasta really intended to hurt me. Ever. Well, once, but that doesn’t count. In his neurotic, bounce-off-the-walls, high-speed, jet-propelled revolutions of the house, he very often landed directly on me during his finale. Two hundred pounds is one thing. Having it leap into the air, and land on you is very much a different thing. But oh well. Once again, one simply cannot expect to spend time with a mountain lion and not get a few dings and thumps. Like I said, it goes with the territory.
Being pounced on by a cougar is definitely something I’ll remember vividly forever. I think anyone would!
This is just a little glimpse of some of the antics that can be had by turning a 200-lb cougar loose into your life (and house). Enjoy!
I guess it would be fairly obvious to say that a house, no matter how large, is many magnitudes smaller than a cougar’s “territory” in the wild would be. Male cougars have territories that can range to fifty square miles. In a few cases, even twice that or more. And they cover that entire area several times a day. Now while Shasta was not wild, he was still extremely fit and muscular. That coupled with his very protein-rich diet, he had a lot of energy to spare. Just because he didn’t have much room to roam around in was probably a big factor. The size of his “territory” was, of course, out of my hands. So I did my best to give him energy releases as often as was necessary. Most of the time, it was fairly obvious when those “necessary” times were.
Have you ever heard the phrase “bouncing off the walls”? Let it just suffice as to say, Shasta was living proof that the phrase could be taken literally. In fact, one of the warning signs of Shasta’s need for energy release was exactly that.
As I said, Shasta tended to be in constant motion. He would pace the house constantly, covering every inch of his small domain probably a hundred times a day. Maybe more. I only watched him when I was there. Now maybe he really did do some lazy-time during my absence, but the perpetual-motion thing started from the moment I got there!
It didn’t really matter what I was doing. Usually it was non-eventful times during the evening, like during a movie, or while I was reading or something.
Shasta would make his rounds of the house every five to ten minutes or so. During these routines, he usually maintained a temperate, docile state. After every “round” he would always seek me out, make eye contact as if “checking in”. Usually he would harass me until I acknowledged him with a pat on the shoulder or scratch behind an ear. Then his attention craving would’ve been met for the moment, and he could start another round. But sometimes he would go into attention withdrawals, and he would have to take a break from his guard duties.
Shasta needed attention. It was one of those fundamental things. He simply couldn’t do without it for very long. And he was actually pretty forward about getting it. I began to call it his “attention fix”. It was pretty apt.
I would usually be on the couch or something, and Shasta would come over and jump up into it with me. If I were laying down, maybe reading a book, then he would pretty much walk over me, and plop down right on top of me. If I were sitting up, maybe watching a movie, then he would slink over next to me, and lay down with his front paws and head in my lap. Usually, I would have no choice but to give him whatever attention he wanted, until he got as much as he wanted.
I talk like Shasta was a pretty big pain in the butt. Sometimes he really was. But most of the time, Shasta only needed a few minutes of undivided attention. Maybe ten at most. Then he would simply leave me alone, and resume his rounds of the house. But there were times when I didn’t give him that undivided attention. The sometimes lack of cooperation on my part had it’s consequences.
If for whatever reason I chose to ignore him, like I was reading and really getting into it, or was watching a movie and the really good part was on, his “hints” would get more and more obvious.
If I was reading, Shasta would usually have laid down on my legs, and would rest his head on my hip or stomach. He would purr, and I would reach down to pet him. In the case I was ignoring him, he would first try purring louder.
I think it’s safe to assume that almost everyone has heard a cat purr. Probably even held a cat, and had it purring. They kind of rumble and vibrate, right? Shasta was no different, short of one very significant factor: he was just a couple sizes bigger!
He’d start out purring at a quiet level. This was his “contented” purr. He was good sized, so one could hear it, even from quite a distance. When he was laying on you, the vibration of it was rather soothing. He’d put me to sleep with it a few times.
The next level was his “I want your attention” purr. It was loud! And the vibration was more obnoxious than anything else. It was just the opposite in effect too. It was anything but soothing!
If I was still persistent in my ignorance, he would slowly start working his way up my body, maybe six inches to a foot at a time. Mind you, he was still purring his obnoxious roar the whole time.
By the time he was mid chest level, of course it was getting hard to breath, and therefore harder to concentrate. Plus, he would still be loudly purring. Then, if I was still persistently ignoring him, he would start batting at my book with a paw. For you die-hard readers out there, just try to keep reading with something like that going on!
Usually by then, I would have broken down and simply started petting him. After all, the sooner I petted him, the sooner he got his fix, and the sooner I could get back to my book.
Like people, Shasta had varying degrees of patience, dependant on his moods, which tended to vary a lot. Sometimes he would actually get to the “book-batting” stage. Most of the time he wouldn’t. I don’t know whether that was because I gave in too soon, or what. Maybe it was.
The couch I used the most, sat towards the center of the large living room, more or less partitioning off part of the room as the entertainment area - stereo, TV, VCR, etc - versus the fireplace area, which had another identicle couch, a matching love seat, and a couple chairs and coffee tables. Both back-to-back couches were against the wall on one end, and while the fireplace couch had the love seat, my favorite couch was open to what was left of the room.
If Shasta lost patience rapidly, he would stop purring abruptly, and “Mrow!” at me. But only once. I came to realize that this was a warning. He was saying that if I didn’t pay attention to him right now, he was gonna lose it and spaz.
Here’s the problem: “right now” is a relative thing. “Right now” for you or me might be, ”I’m going to put my book down and then focus on you.” It takes maybe a couple seconds to mark your place and drop the book, right? Well, with Shasta, sometimes his patience would falter long before that two seconds was up. And if it did, it got pretty dramatic.
Shasta would leap up, and then jump. Sometimes he would go straight up. Sometimes, he would go sideways, either to the floor, or onto the “fireplace” couch. Other times, most of the time, he would jump right over me and into the room. But no matter which direction he chose, seemingly at random, his next actions were the always the same: he would start tearing around the house at high speed.
This was truly a sight to behold. He seemed to avoid furniture. I think that was because of the recliner. Also, he couldn’t really ricochet off very many items of furniture. They tended to move - like across the room - and that threw off his timing. So, picture this, a mountain lion, bouncing from this wall to that, down the hall to his/my room, off the waterbed - he popped it once - back out into the hall, across it, into the next room, off that bed, back into the wall, into the den, onto the piano - Beethoven rolls over in his grave - into the hall again, back down the hall as per the “greeting” routine, bounce out of the corner and into the living room, and back onto the couch. Now here was the real problem. If you remember back to where this all started, you remember that I happen to be on said couch.
Now I don’t think even for a second Shasta really intended to hurt me. Ever. Well, once, but that doesn’t count. In his neurotic, bounce-off-the-walls, high-speed, jet-propelled revolutions of the house, he very often landed directly on me during his finale. Two hundred pounds is one thing. Having it leap into the air, and land on you is very much a different thing. But oh well. Once again, one simply cannot expect to spend time with a mountain lion and not get a few dings and thumps. Like I said, it goes with the territory.
Being pounced on by a cougar is definitely something I’ll remember vividly forever. I think anyone would!
You did get it on tape did you not?
I definitely got a few dings here and there - the scars are still visible from a few of them - but your're very right; I wouldn't trade those moments for all the riches of the universe!
yes please tell us that you have this on tape!!!
It's odd that we call them "animals" and yet, it is most certainly arguable, that all the "animals" of the planet are far more "civilized" than any race of humans. But perhaps that's just foolish opinion on my part.
Unfortunately, no. I never caught Shasta, or his hysterically amusing antics, on tape. I have but my one, physical picture (that's buried in the gallery somewhere) and a head full of memories to mark the entire experience. :(
Thank you sincerely for sharing! The stories of your own four-pawed companions is very warming to my soul. It makes me reflect back on all my own moments with such joy. :)
it's a shame for the rest of us that you don't have him on tape, but where it really counts is that you have him & his antics in your heart.
i think i might have his pic (i'll have to check).
i haven't even told you about J.P. (tj & little bits son) if you have seen "The Rock" it shouldn't be hard to figuer out who he's named after. it's a funny story realy how he got his name.
hell his eyes wasn't even open all the way yet & he was already exploring. we had set up a box w/ some bedding for little bit to have her pups in that had a lip high enough to keep the pups in, but low enough to let her out. well 1 night when the pups were a couple of weeks old i was watching tv & i noticed that a pup kept popping its head up over the edge of the lower part of the box & looking aroud. after 3 or 4 times of this he finale decided to make a break for it & popped over the ledge & went tumbling to the floor outside. i started to get up to check on him when he just shook his head, blinked his eyes & happily started to explore. i let do this for a couple of minutes, then put him back in the box. needless to say this didn't make him very happy! so he promptly popped out of the box again!! ever since we haven't be able to keep our little escape artist contained, unless he's inside, he has even been able to escape from being chained w/ a harness (he got out of the harness its self [twice!!!]). we somewhat have him trained to stay in the yard. most of the time!
Isn't is amazing how quickly they can infest our very souls, right to the core? Animals, I think, are easily the most enciching entities in our lives, but I might be totally biased. :)