The Prey

She knew nothing of bathroom scales, or diets, or why they might exist. It wouldn't have mattered if she did. In her world, knowledge of that kind had no value. Neither did the words "maybe or might be". Things either were…or were not. She was either, hungry, or not, thirsty, or not--alive or not. Being large for her kind would help her stay alive, the knowledge of being large…would not.

She sat in the sun, on the highest outcrop she could find, her eyes roaming the landscape; she was the undisputed ruler of all she surveyed. Even the largest of the forest dwellers dared not question her authority. The spring sun warmed her, the breeze caressed her. She was hungry and…there was a family to feed.

A mile away, below and to her left, her eyes picked out a movement--and froze. Yes, there it was again, but what was it? She watched. She didn't recognize it, but if it was moving--it was probably food. At the speed it was traveling it would be in her territory for long enough. She had no more concept of time, than of weight-loss clinics, but she instinctively knew there was enough.

With a last look at the surrounding area, near--and far, she rose. Moving easily, off the ledge and into the pine forest, she began the hunt. She, like all her kind, was an opportunistic hunter. She might not normally pursue something that far away. She was curious. What was it? And…there was a family to feed.

She moved easily through the forest, with absolute silence. Alert – always alert-- those who weren't--became un-alive.

She saw the world in colors, but they had no names. She had a voice, but knew no words. If she did, she might have told you where the small-brown-ones-with-bushy-tails hunted pinion nuts. Or, the large-black-dangerous-one, hunted for grubs, and berries. She knew every detail in her domain. Those who did not…became un-alive.

The large-black-dangerous-one, was large enough to be harmful to her, but only if it caught her off guard--she was never off guard. The small-fuzzy-tails were of no interest, too small to be of any threat, to fast to be food. The food-one was what she wanted. One without the dry bones on it's head was easier. They, sometimes, even left their spotted young alone – an easy meal. Failing that a long-eared one perhaps. Or, maybe, the unknown thing she was stalking.

Constantly on the alert for danger, or food, she traveled faster than would seem possible with the easy gait she chose. Her eyes and ears, were constantly on the move, searching out every sight, every sound, in the forest. She came to a familiar stream; an easy leap of fifteen feet landed her dry on the other side. The leap caused her no thought. She could leap eighteen feet up a tree, or cross a stream twenty-five feet wide without wetting her feet. She could run faster than a food-one, climb better than any but the bushy-tailed ones, and face down the large-black-dangerous-one at need.

She was a killing machine.

Nothing of interest delayed her in the forest; a short side trip here and there only. She avoided a fanged-one-with-the-noisy-tail. She had never seen one this high. She would remember, those who forgot became careless, those who became careless became – un-alive. Another detour or two, to see if there might be a food-one in one of the many meadows, and arrived at her destination ahead of her intended prey.

She knew where she would wait. The top of a flat rock fifteen feet from the game trail, and ten feet above, it was one of her favorites. The light breeze was in her face, there was no need to go further up the trail to the place she liked on the other side. The muscles rippled under her skin. Her every sense was alive and vibrant. Her eyes, nose, ears - even her hair, picked up subtle signals from the world around her. She laid down to wait, crouching quietly, sure of herself and her skills.

She was a killing machine. In her prime - and hungry. She weighed almost one hundred pounds; she was seven feet long from nose to tail; the largest female puma to walk this part of the Rockies in well over a century… She was a killing machine… One of natures most perfect. And…there was a family to feed.

It came from her left, downhill, two hundred yards. She crouched, muscles bunched, and watched. It moved toward her - slowly, clumsily. She had never seen so many colors, nor heard a creature make so much noise. If she hadn't been able to see it, its breathing alone would have foretold its coming. The colors and shapes were unsettling to her. The colors belonged on no animal she was familiar with. Bright colors, in odd shapes, with sharp points and straight lines.

It was a large creature, twice her body weight. She sometimes killed creatures that large. It was a predator, it's eyes faced forward. Any predator could be dangerous; a predator twice her body weight, very dangerous. She had a family to feed. She watched, partly from hunger, partly from an in-born need to stalk.

I was a four-leg, but walked on only two. The other two swung at its sides, seemingly useless. By the time it was within twenty yards she could smell it. It smelled of wood smoke, dried meat, it's own body odor, and, other things… unknown things. It stank.

Her favorite killing method was to throttle her prey. Holding it down gripping it's neck until it ceased its struggle. This creature had little or no neck. How was she to hold it? Walking upright as it did presented no back; nothing to pounce on to bear the beast to the ground. Its narrow shoulders might do, but that was an attack unfamiliar to her.

Directly below her now – she crouched, tensed, then relaxed as it moved out of range. The risk was too great. She wasn't hungry enough to attack an unknown predator that stank. Perhaps another time, but not today.

It stayed within her vision for a short time, she watched. As it moved from her sight a quarter mile away, she briefly considered following it to the edge of her territory. Suddenly on her right, breaking from the brush--a food-one. In the brush, and upwind, she had neither smelled, nor heard it. The food-one was frightened. It had smelled the strange-one; and even though the breeze was keeping her scent high and faint it could smell the cat. In a quick dash, the food-one quartered across the trail and downward.

The big cat's heart had beaten but five times, since the appearance of the food-one, when she became airborne. She leaped, not at the food-one, but at where it would be. Her aim was true. She landed on its back, just behind the shoulders. Following the angle of the hill downward, it had been a tremendous leap, even for her. Thirty-two feet outward and seven down. The yearling buck, that would have been a proud addition to the forest in the summer, would not live to see full spring.

The buck's right foreleg broke under the impact, and crumpled. Her weight carried it off its feet; they rolled. By the end of the roll powerful jaws had already closed on the buck, crushing its windpipe and the big artery in its neck. Without air in its lungs, or blood to its brain, death came quickly. The food-one was still.

Dragging the carcass to a safer place, as was her custom, she fed there. She needed the rich meat to make milk for her kittens. When she had finished, she covered the remainder. If the cache were undiscovered by other predators, she would not need to hunt again for another week. She moved uphill through the forest…There was a family to feed.