The Cat on the Flat

By Vance Horn

In rural Eastern Oregon near the breaks of the Minam wilderness area, I take my usual semi-daily trip down to the spring. The summer season had officially reached the ranch on the flat. My cows and horses were starting to shade up with the deer for the hot part of the day, as the temperature would rise with the sun and continue to bake the barley fields near my orchard. As I was making my way down the hill, I stopped to grab an apple from a tree and took a bite. Before discarding it, I felt a sharp tensing in my jaw right behind my molars and the side of my tongue, a sure sign that it was way too early for them. After this lesson, I chose not to pick any of the other fruit in my orchard for the time being.

The morning sun brought a faint breeze with it, carrying the scent of the morning dew on the grass and the presence of cows softly up the hill toward my camp. I could hear the cows calling their calves into the safety of the trees at a distance and the birds singing in the tree tops. Ol’ Joe, one of the horses, hurried across the meadow to greet me and follow me down to the trough. I made my way across the fence to the spring to fill my water bottle and heard some squirrels playing by a mound of rocks that used to be the foundation of a barn. It was starting to get warm out, so I turned back toward camp, and tried to coax Ol’ Joe into walking with me and carrying my water back. He was playing hard to get, so I just pushed on up the hill by myself.

Everything had started to quiet down except the bellowing of calves and birds from afar. I thought nothing of it as this is the norm during this time of day; I figured it to be around 9:00-9:15 a.m or so. The cool moist air was gone and I could feel the sting from the sun on my neck as I was walking back up the hill.

Just as I made it to the tree line, I suddenly noticed, beyond my labored breathing, everything was uncomfortably quiet. I continued walking and listening for something, but there was nothing, only the crunching of grass beneath my feet. About 25 yards from my camp where I met up with my horse, I noticed something that was not there before. I could not make out just what it was through the tall grass. So I took a drink and watched it for a second and continued on, thinking it was just the place I had stood earlier with the horse. I got within about 6 feet of it and I started to make out ears and a tail. Standing there dumb-struck, I realized it was an old cougar lying there on the other side of a tree I cut down the day before.

 It stayed there motionless for a moment, watching me through the tall dry field grass as I was backing away and emptying my water bottle onto the ground. I could see its tail start to twitch back and forth and slowly raise its head. In this instant I began banging my water bottle against my leg and other objects within my reach in order to make as much noise as possible. I was hollering and flailing my arms and jumping around to look as frightening as possible. I began throwing things, but taking care not to actually hit it to prevent provoking the beast. I remember lunging at it and trying to make myself as intimidating as I could. The cat gently stood up and walked away casually and silently, occasionally looking back as if to see if I was still there, looking like an escaped maniac from an asylum. As I watched it make its retreat, I noticed its color and figured this must have been an older animal due to its light sandy fur and noticeably rugged frame. I began to think that had I not been so wild in my response, I may have come out of this on the bottom end of the deal.