By Collin C. Cougar
Mascot

My story is not unlike any other story of an overgrown bipedal cougar living the dream in suburbia.

I was born in the spring of 1985 to Louis and Pamela Cougar, wet behind the years with enough vim and vigor to suit the entire cougar population of McKinney, Texas for another three generations. I was the middle child with my oldest brother, Dmitry, born two minutes before me and my young sister, Dee Dee, born four minutes after me.

There was never a solitary moment between my siblings, mother and Papa coming in and out of the den going on hunts for capybara, mule deer, elk and small rodents. Eventually, those populations started to dwindle and we switched to a more human diet of Tab, Lunchables and fruit salads culled from the jungles of the Brookshires located just blocks away off Central Expressway.

It was a happy childhood. Mother stayed at home and looked after the den. Father worked hard, but never neglected his kittens. Many nights, he’d come home, jump into a pair of windbreaker pants and a sweatshirt as we jumped and batted at strings attached to the end of a stick, clawed at the bark of nearby trees and sniffed people’s fingers (yes, we have to do it unlike our tinier cousins, the house cat … don’t ask why we do it). Like people, the little things are what carried us through day in and day out.

Our interaction with humans was surprisingly rare. Yes, you’d think living in the middle of a burgeoning county and city would present various problems, but rarely did we have any incidents. Our den was actually suited perfectly. Our area was zoned “Residential – Multi Family” so we avoided unsightly businesses abutted our property or wild game hunters.

On the sudden and rare occasions we came upon humans (or they came upon us) it was generally punctuated with a lot of running, screaming and awkward shooing, which befuddled us to no end. As we considered the larger humans to be the leaders, the smaller humans, or children, tended to want to embrace and interact with us. Of course, once we made a move to playfully pounce, the larger humans rushed their children off and would contact animal control.

In all, we loved humans. Streets, schools, utilities, personal computers, TiVo, recycling, jazz, “The Office,” microwaves, Tupperware – none of these would be household amenities today if leopards or ocelots were running things (don’t get me started on leopards!).

Unfortunately, many cougars are afflicted with an unbearable and hellish scream, an abhorrence of technology and an undermining inferiority complex all of which cut the majority of brethren off from entering into the human world. These barriers have plagued the animal kingdom for eons and it is doubtful that attitudes and age-old prejudices will ever change on either side. Sad, really.

Like all beings, around the age of six, I was sent to kindergarten with three of my littermates. This was the early 1990s and McKinney was still a very small city and my school was simple: You knew everyone and everyone knew you.

The downside to being part of a litter is that you’re hardly ever singled out. The upside is that you’re hardly ever singled out. I undertook the burden of being a “wild animal” in an elementary school with my brother and sister. Split between the three of us, the weight was not so daunting.

The innocence of a child is good and pure. My classmates had not been tainted by the prejudices of adult humans and even those that were reticent to become friends were soon won over with tickle fights, watching me clean myself and my daily lunches of small rodents.

The truth is, my childhood was not unlike every other “normal” kid that attended my elementary or any elementary in this county, state or country. You went to school, attended classes, ate lunch, frolicked on the recess fields, came home, homework, dinner, play time and then sleep. The settings were different, but the movie was essentially the same.

I excelled at school. I tended to perform better at mathematics and science mostly because I enjoyed it more. Although I enjoyed reading, social studies, English and the other liberal arts, science and math had a concreteness to it that, even as a young cub, I could not ignore. Young cougars seek stability and resolution mainly because we do live in a rock den and generally pounce no matter where we go.

Amidst the madness, 2+2=4 was my rock of Gibraltar.

To be continued …