I was about 15 or 16 years old when Dad found Blue. It was in 1961 or 62 in the spring.

I was sitting on the front porch as Dad's pickup truck pulled up. He wasn't wearing his shirt, but was carrying something wrapped in it, as he got out and told me to come see what he had. We stepped in the house after him as Mom also came up. Setting the shirt in this lap he partly unwrapped it to reveal a little gray head that immediately hissed and spat. A terrified kitten, ready to do battle with a world too large for it, struggled against the wrapping's of Dad's shirt. Mom found a cardboard box and Dad gently shook him free of his shirt into the box. He was grayish with black spots and a hint of blue to him and only a stub for a tail; a baby Bobcat! It backed into a corner of it's prison and faced us with the courage of the doomed. It might be about to die but it would go out fighting. Mom put a saucer of cream in front of him and we covered the box with a cloth so he would feel less threatened and left him alone a bit. We named him Blue for that faint hint of blue in his coat.

Dad sometimes brought baby animals in and tried to raise them. Most died in a few days anyway, but a raccoon had lived to become Dad's special pet. In the wild a baby animal, separated from his mother, will live only a few days at the most. They either starve or get eaten by other predators. Dad had been in the brush working with the cattle when he came across this little guy. I was given, (wanted) the task of taming him.

The back porch was completely enclosed with screen so that became his home until he would accept us. Every day, after school, I would pick him and overdose the poor little fellow with cuddling and stroking. After a few days he quit fighting and soon enjoyed the affection. I didn't know bobcat growth rates but he seemed to be about the same as a five week old cat-kitten, just bigger, and would accept tidbits of meat.

Blue was twice lucky. Not only had Dad found him, but Sue (introduced in earlier stories) had kittens that she had begun to hunt rats for. She was an extremely efficient huntress and would bring in two or three dead rats for each kitten. Since the rats were as big as her kittens, we had quite a bit of leftover natural "kitten food", as well as some fat kittens. Sue might be persuaded to adopt him and teach him to hunt.

I introduced Blue to the kittens. After a little bit of hissing and such they were chasing and pouncing on each other with that full acceptance that the very young give to each other. Soon they wore themselves out and making a kitten ball, they slept. Good. Now the scents were intermingled and my scent was on all of them as I had played with each. I took the comatose Blue back to his box. Sue would be aware of the strange scent on her kittens and hopefully accept it.

After a few days of this (And a fun time for me.) I didn't take Blue back to his box, but instead waited for Sue. She soon returned with the first serving of dinner for her brood. She gave a hint of a growl as she stepped into her kitten box and I started stoking her and talking to her. Gently I dug a groggy Blue from the bottom of a complaining fur pile. Sue was a gentle cat, (Although I am sure the rats in the barn would use different words to describe her.) and after a few sniffs began to groom her new son.

During the summer Blue grew as any other kitten, only much larger, well fed by Sue's largess. He was quite loving and would do all of the things a house cat would do, including meow at the door to be let in and sit in my lap as I watched TV, or play chase-the-string. Rowdy's wagging tail was a favorite victim of his pounce and my long-suffering dog would get up, move, lie down again and the stalk would begin anew. I trained him to leap into my arms when I called. Well, OK, one doesn't "train" cats, and that goes double for bobcats. I guess we trained each other.

By autumn Blue was fully grown at about 30-35 lbs (15kg) and had a problem. He was too big to hunt rats in the barns. While he could manage an occasional catch, he just didn't fit in the places the gang went into to hunt. He began to hunt his natural prey: rabbits. Since there was miles of brush, fields and meadows about us there was no shortage of rabbits. Blue was in no danger of starvation, although he did supplement his diet from Rowdy's food bowl while he was learning to hunt rabbits instead of rats. He could have lived entirely fed by us, but cats have "hunting hunger" as well as "food hunger". He had to hunt.

Predators know instinctively not to overhunt an area. Too much hunting pressure can deplete the prey below quick replacement level, so predators shift their hunting around within their territory. Blue began to roam. He had three advantages over his wild kin. He had a totally safe den, a guaranteed food supply if needed, and because of never having been short of food while growing, he was b-i-g, even for a bobcat. He began to sometimes come in bearing the marks of fights. He was carving out his territory.

His forays became longer, lasting for days, until in the spring of the next year he didn't come back. A few months later, while hunting in the late evening, almost sundown, I was walking along a fence line separating brush from meadow looking for rabbits, when I saw a bobcat step into the meadow about a hundred feet (30m) ahead of me. I froze in midstep. I would not have shot him in any case as by this time I had learned proper hunting ethics. Even if it wasn't Blue, I wanted to watch. But I was sure it would be him. Bobcats, like all wild animals, will stop at the edge of a meadow and look around before they venture out into it. With his keen hearing and natural caution he had to know I was there and a wild bobcat wouldn't step out. So it had to be him. He turned to me and came as I called him. I called "Kitty, kitty" just like any other cat and knowing the call he bounded up to me and leaped into my arms. It was him!

We visited there as the sun set. Now I had to leave. It would soon be night and I wanted to be back on the road before the light began to fail. I needed light to watch for rattlesnakes. A wrong step in the dark could be fatal. I picked up Blue to carry him to the house but he jumped free. I took a few steps and called but he wouldn't come. I understood. He had his own home and I was in his parlor. Maybe there was a Mrs. Blue somewhere. I didn't know (and still don't) if bobcats were completely solitary or formed mated teams. I stepped back to him, gave him a good-bye stroke on the head and left.

I never saw Blue again. I felt saddened, yet also proud and happy as I walked the road home. It was like "the wild" had accepted me.

Not long after that "Born Free", by Joy Adamson, was published in paperback. It was a moving true story of how she and her husband George had raised a lion cub, Elsa, and then had taught it to hunt and returned it to the wild. I would have been touched by her book in any case, but because it paralleled my experience with Blue I feel like I know how she felt.

Copyright © Wayne D. Cowey
July 20, 1998