The Straw Catamount: An Appalachian Folktale Part 2
What would you do for the creatures you love? Fight for them? Go to war for them? What about fighting a Catamount? What happens when they fight back?
*TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains depiction of animal death, gun use, and animal harm including but not limited to depictions of dead or dying farm creatures and wild animals.*
The wind was howling as I checked around my chicken coop one last time for any weaknesses. A part of me wished my Ma and Paw were there, but they had stayed the night in town to see the doctor about Ma’s pregnancy. It would just be me tonight. I glanced into the coops and saw my poor chickens cuddled together on their perch rail. They knew something was coming and stayed all the closer for it. I only had six hens left, plus their mighty protector, Rooster, who was strutting back and forth ready, like me, for a coming fight.
“Cornflower, Butterfly, Fringe, Aster, Yellow Grass, Sunflower. We’ll get those catamounts. You don't have to worry about anything,” I promised again. I turned away and looked toward the storm cloud coming at a threatening speed. I smelled the rain in the air and felt the wind as it gusted against my face. I stood all the taller, grabbed my shotgun, and turned to the house. If I was going to fight, I would do it from my front porch. But on the porch, even slight gusts felt like a shove toward the door. With this type of wind, those same shoves felt like a tornado blast, heaving you back and making you wonder if you’ll end up breaking something. I ignored the fear; instead I pressed myself against one of the pillars supporting the porch roof, grabbed hard onto my gun, and waited.
Before long I heard the attackers. One by one the screams of the catamount echoed through the trees. One. Two. Three. I heard each of the three cats cry out as they got closer to the hunt. The chickens cried when hearing the danger approach, but I was ready to fight. They wouldn't win today. Then I heard them again, right beyond the trees, and I knew they were finally here. I raised my gun and started scanning around the coop. And right when I heard the loud plops of the first fat drops of rain, those catamounts came striding, one right after another, into the clearing by the coop.
I’ve said this before but I’ll remind you, I’m a fantastic shot. If you practice enough, you don't see where the bullet goes anymore, but you do feel it. It feels like a piece of you, it becomes a part of it, flying through the air, and thump, landing, right where you need it to. I had practiced every day for years to get that good. I won every shooting contest. I’d never missed a shot. It is so important not to let anything suffer. It was against the laws of the mountains. If you could help it, nothing at your hands should die in pain, and I heeded those laws.
But the wind blew hard and it felt like something was pulling the tip of my gun. I tried, harder than ever before, to have a clean shot. I aimed at the first catamount, squinted my eyes against the sting of the wind, steadied myself the best I could, and took the shot and then another. My aim was true, but the catamount was faster. I cussed and reloaded my shotgun, all the while glancing up at the cats who ignored the blast and were now pawing at the door to the coop. I moved all the faster, and it was that speed mixed with the wind that made me drop the two bullets I was reloading into my gun.
I looked up in desperation, fishing another bullet out of my pocket, when all of a sudden, and to much shock, Rooster ripped through the coop door and started fighting the three catamounts. I’d never seen a rooster, before or after, decide to fight such terrible odds. It was almost like that bird was giving me time to reload. He struck out with a scream and attacked the first cat near him. Those three cats must have been shocked too, because that first strike was a sucker punch to a stunned predator, his spurs digging deep into one of those feline’s eyebrows. The creature screamed out in pain and fury, then all three cats growled and struck back, right when I was done reloading my gun.
I raised the gun back into sight and again fought the rage of the wind and storm. Now the rain was pouring down and all three of the catamounts had their sights set up killing the rooster. That bird was putting up a fight for his life, somehow keeping all three at bay. But he wouldn’t win for long, and was already starting to slow his feet strikes. I steadied my breath, this time aiming at the third catamount, the one I knew would be easiest to shoot, I took a breath and slowed my pulse then breathed out and took a shot.
I shot the exact moment those cats dove in on Rooster all at once. I felt the bullet leave the barrel fly like a hawk down the yard, past the first catamount, fly past Rooster, and hit the second directly between the eyes. He fell almost gracefully against the wind. His friends noticed almost immediately and with a final scream turned and raced for the woods, disappearing almost as fast as my bullet.
“ROOSTER!” I heard myself scream more than I actually remembered speaking the words. What would give him the idea to do such a thing? I ran against the wind, pushing and fighting its wrath, dropped my gun and fell to my knees in front of my brave, stupid, bird. I expected him dead, and to be honest I thought for a moment he was. But the little Rooster lifted his head in a flat-out refusal to die. I looked at his wounds. His wing was torn to bits and there was a defiant wound across his chest. He was in rough shape. I glanced at the open door at the chickens hiding inside. They were afraid and shaking, but they were alive. Carefully I scooped the rooster up, slow as to not touch his wounds, closed the coop door, and went inside the house.
The next day broke with not a cloud in the sky. I had wrapped Rooster's arm and chest and kept him fed and hydrated as much as he’d take. He was bad, but he’d make it. Thank God for that. I walked outside and slowly crept up to the catamount dead on the ground. I knew he wasn't going to move again, but part of me was still scared. Not many would ever get this close to a wild cat and I wanted to be careful for fear I was wrong about the fatal wound. I took a sigh of relief when the creature was very dead. I even kicked it a little to be sure.
I sighed, put my hands on my hips, and looked around at the mess. The air was clear from the storm the night before but multiple branches scattered around our house clearing. They were in desperate need of attention. The coop door surprisingly didn't have much damage, plus then I glanced back at the dead cat. It’d have to do something with it soon. I thought of the grief those catamounts caused. I was certain that I didn't want its friends to think they could come back without me killing them too. Then I had an awful idea. Decidedly, I took the corpse and drug it to our nearby barn to skin it.
I never knew catamounts were easy to prepare. It was like the skin and the muscle weren't even really attached, but stayed together out of pure choice of the cat. I stood back, puzzled, but only for a moment. Then I took the skin to the side of the barn where we kept the hay and started stuffing it. I may have over stuffed the creature, because after I was done it must have been heavier then before I started. The end product wasn't perfect but it had the desired effect. The creature stood like it was about to take a step, its long leg stepping out and its tail in the midst of a twitch. Its mouth was a little open to reveal a bit of hay sticking out. I didn't have any glass eyes to use so some of the hay was sticking out of its eyes too. It was almost frightening. I smiled, almost evilly, to myself.
I took the mocking creature out to the coop and then ran inside to get a ladder, some nails, and a hammer. Once everything was gathered together I set the ladder against the coop and pulled the catamount to the top of the chicken coop. I got to work, agonizingly nailing the creature, one paw at a time, into the roof. Once every nail had been placed I climbed down and looked at my work. It almost looked like the catamount was about to leap off the coop and start attacking. If it wasn't for the straw sticking out of its mouth and eyes, surely anyone who saw it would think the same thing.
“Will, what did you do?” I startled, and turned to face my Paw calling out as he returned home.
“Those catamounts will never hurt the chickens again. If they come, they’ll see their friend and remember what I did. They’ll know what will become of them if they show their faces again. This is a warning and a promise.” I pointed to the catamount nailed to the coop. “This is a threat.”
“Killing the beast wasn't wrong, but this is. You can't disrespect life this way. There are worse things than a catamount,” he said, and I realized he spoke in pity.
I shook my head, too angry at the loss of my chickens to make sense of his words. Either way, it was all over now and I was sure that nothing else would harm my chickens. Rooster and I made sure of it. Dad watched me walk away, and never spoke of it again.
For a time, all went back to the way things were. Rooster recovered and even though he had a bad scar along his chest and wing, he was none the wiser. In fact, I think the other chickens were in awe of him and somehow loved him more for his fearsome actions. They were nicer to him, and always let him pick at the good seeds. The lucky bastard must think he was a hero and in many ways he was.
I left a few eggs in the coop for the season and pretty soon we had seven little chicks running around the coop, causing trouble to the grown hens. It was all going so well. But every now and again I’d glance up at that catamount hanging on the roof. Every so often I was sure it was staring at me, watching me in fury of being caught. I had to tell myself it was all in my head, yet those straw eyes still seemed to watch and hate. “Do your job,” I’d say to the thing on the coop roof. “Warn the others not to come back,” then I’d walk away from it like it didn't scare me. Even though it did. I shook my head, it was dead, it couldn't hurt anybody. It was dead. Even so, I felt a new storm coming.