Page 3 of Wrong Number, Right Cougar

Man changing the environment and chasing out or eliminating animals’ habitats was disturbing but not unusual.

“My life doesn’t allow me to run a resort from afar, so I think it’s better if I sell.”

He agreed to send me the paperwork and gave me the name of a real estate agent who could sell the place.

I got off the phone, thinking about those cougars who’d inhabited the area around the lake and had been hunted or forced to look for somewhere new to live.

And those eyes from my dream appeared in my imagination.

2

WILDER

I downed the last of my morning coffee and set my mug on the stoop beside me. It was a beautiful day. The sun was already halfway in the sky, the cool weather tickled my skin with the promise of warmth that was to come, and the woods around me were waking up. This right here was why I’d never leave this place.

At one time, this entire region had been filled with other cougar shifters like me, but that time had come and gone, though the place kept its name. I didn’t mind being one of the only cougars left or that the town didn’t have many other shifters. One of the reasons I enjoyed living out here was because I sort of preferred it. But I’d be lying if I said there weren’t times when I longed for others to run with, to hunt with, to catch a patch of sun with, as very un-cougar of me as that was.

I stood up and shucked my joggers, leaving them on the steps for when I came back. I didn’t mind being outside naked, not in this nice weather, but my stoop was splinter central, and that I minded.

“It’s time for a hunt.” I stretched and then took my fur, landing on all fours and scenting the air deeply.

Most prey didn’t come too close to my house. They sensed the predator that I was and acted accordingly. But you never knew when some creature would wander through chasing after foliage or smaller animals, or in some cases, bugs.

To my surprise, there was the scent of a house cat in the air, and I made note to be careful. Usually they weren’t out this far, but sometimes they wandered down while on a hunt or were out exploring while their owners visited the resort. Old man Blaze, who owned the rustic retreat, had a habit of letting people bring their pets with them. Odd, given most of his visitors were shifters and owning an animal when you had one inside you wasn’t as common as humans having pets. But come to think of it, I heard someone at the grocery mentioning that they were opening late this season, so that probably wasn’t the case today.

In the past, it had been a year-round resort, but as Old Man Blaze aged, so did their schedule. When he was full-time, I worked for him year-round, but now I was on and off again. I didn’t blame him for slowing down. It was a lot to keep up with, especially as age and then illness started to take root.

I really needed to go down there and just chat with him one day soon. It had been a while. I’d checked on him to see if he needed anything, but actually hanging out with him? Not recently. He didn’t like me seeing him sick, and I tried to respect that.

We’d never been what you called friends, but also, I was more than a handyman. Our relationship was a tad complicated in that way.

One big cat stretch later and I eased my way into my hunt just like I eased my way into my days. I’d never been one to get up a half-hour before I left—give me a couple of hours to enjoy my coffee and the nature around me first.

As I meandered through the woods, I scented the air, rubbed against trees to let other shifters that might wander by know this land was already occupied, and even marked a couple of bushes. My cougar was protective of our land, and it was a good thing. His precautions limited my run-ins with wandering city shifters who weren’t smart enough to be afraid of my beast.

In the distance, I heard one crackle followed by another. It was the telltale sound of a rabbit bouncing through the undergrowth. My cougar insisted the little furball become our breakfast. I was on board with that plan. Rabbit was one of our favorites in both forms, although human me cooked it.

The hunt was far less of a hunt and more of a grab-and-go. The rabbit had been woefully unaware of his surroundings and pretty much didn’t know to be afraid until the last few seconds, which was the extent of our actual hunting.

We dined on our furry friend, enjoying the fresh meat just as much as if we’d had to work for it and then found a patch of sun to lie in and take a nap. As fierce as my beast was, at the end of the day, he was a cat, and naps were the epitome of life in that form. It was warm and snug lying there with the warmth of the morning rays beating down on us, and we quickly fell asleep.

I was surprised to learn how much time had passed when we got back to the cabin. I brought my mug back inside, took a quick shower, and threw on some clothes. For some reason I couldn’t get Old Man Blaze and the resort out of my mind. Something told me I needed to visit there.

Today wasn’t a workday, but I did have a few things around the cabin that needed fixing. They could wait. I scratched the rest of the day’s plan and hiked the short distance over to the resort. We were pretty close as far as rural closeness went, and I was shocked to see Sheriff Stan red-tagging the window.

“Hey, what’s up?” I called to the town sheriff, giving him a half wave.

I wasn’t sure how he was somehow deemed the person to do all of red-tagging, even though he had nothing to do with housing codes or habitability, but apparently he was.

“Wilder, what brings you here?” One thing about small towns, everyone knew everyone. “I thought with everything that…”

“I got this feeling that I needed to come. You’re red-tagging this place?”

“Yeah. With Old Man Blaze passing, no one called to transfer the utilities, so the company shut them all. Just a formality.”

“He died?” Why hadn’t anyone told me? “When?”

“About a week ago. His illness.” He whispered the last part. He was such an old fuddy-duddy like that.

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