Tuesday, March 13, 2012
We've had a bobcat as a sometime visitor to our yard--though he may be passing through more often than we realize. This past weekend, some friends stayed over and saw him sitting in the back yard in the middle of the night, under the bright moon. The next day, he was taking a nap by the water dish in mid-afternoon--after a nice big rabbit lunch, no doubt.
Waking up is hard to do. Bill was napping himself, and when he got up for a snack, the bobcat was there, and stayed there while he took these photos through the dining room window. I missed the whole thing, being down in Palm Springs for a weekly poetry workshop.
Bill said that a roadrunner wanted to come over for a drink but wouldn't while the bobcat was there. No doubt many bunnies thought better of it as well. The water dish has been a busy place lately--our weather has been way too dry. We need rain.
As the bobcat walked away up the hill, Bill said that a bunny ran right into its path. The bobcat wasn't interested--probably still full from that lunch.
Sorry I missed this sighting. I do have a bobcat poem, though, about an encounter that took place during a meeting of my book club in Joshua Tree a couple of months back.
Rock outcrops mark the edge of the wild
where the last house offers its water dish.
Predator and prey, they all show up
sooner or later. Today it’s the bobcat
minus her kittens, tall as a cheetah,
twenty feet from the picture window
where a group of women look out.
The mother looks back, each twitch
of her ears tracking the rise and fall
of conversation—patient, fearless,
her eyes nearly close while she waits.
On either side of the glass unfolds
a strange and magnificent movie,
replete with mysterious creatures
doing unfathomable things.
A quarter-hour passes this way,
one species regarding another,
before a silent signal breaks
the spell. The bobcat lopes off
on the route that belongs to her,
still thirsty, but patient.
She will be back.