The Black Cat Strut

Several years ago a big black cat was spotted around my hometown of Albion, a place in Indiana that isn’t noted for exotic animals.

Well … actually it is, since several live at the Black Pine Animal Sanctuary near town, but they don’t tend to roam around outside the facility.

This started in Noble County with a series of sightings of what I like to call the “Big Honkin’ Cat”. We’re not talking too much Special Blend cat; we’re talking a “Call out the Japanese Army, this thing is a mutant” kind of a cat. There had already been a few sightings when, one morning, I got wind that it had been seen in a field almost at Albion town limits.

Naturally, I headed out there. When a man-eating feline is seen wandering free, isn’t a person’s first impulse to run outside and say, “Here, kitty kitty kitty …?”

I saw it twice. Once running so fast that no human could escape it, including people in fast mopeds or small cars; and once crossing a field, where I got a good look at it in profile. Ever since then, I have never spoken ill of a cat in public.

Like any good urban legend, no one got it on camera. Over time the number of sightings waned, and then it was no more. Maybe it died, maybe it got caught by its original owner, maybe it went off to Hollywood to star in a remake of “Tarzan”.  Based on witness accounts, including from an exotic animal expert, it was a black leopard. Contrary to popular belief, there’s no such thing as a black panther – not that I’d want to tell them that.

People still argue over whether the cat, which I named Sir, ever existed. (I figure if I ran into it again I’d say, “Hello, Sir”, and maybe it would go easy on me.) I’ll admit I was as doubtful as anyone, until I saw it stomping along like something out of a 50’s horror movie.

But we’re not talking Bigfoot here, people.

Granted, Black Leopards aren’t native to this area. It was brought here, and either escaped, or was released by an owner who couldn’t afford 8 tons of kibble a week to keep its purr furnace going. It wasn’t a UFO; it wasn’t the Loch Ness Monster (which I understand has been sighted near Churubusco); it wasn’t an honest politician; it wasn’t any of those things most serious people don’t believe in.

It was a cat. I mean, it was a cat in the same way King Kong was a monkey, but still – just a cat. I found it strange that people thought of it as some kind of Bermuda Triangle thing. I also found it annoying that I’d become one of those people who was forced into the position of defensive believer.

Several years later came more black cat sightings, this time dozens of miles away, on the other side of Fort Wayne. Witnesses got it twice on video, making it clear they were seeing a very large exotic animal, probably a black leopard. Not a fat house cat, not an alcohol induced eye spot, and not Bigfoot. The line to kiss my hand and beg forgiveness forms here. Clearly, that’s my black cat.

Or not. The cofounder of Black Pine Animal Sanctuary, who saw it at the same time I did, says these cats tend to set up a territory and stay in it. My cat (in no way is that a claim of ownership) most likely lived and died in Noble County.

So what does the Adams County case prove? Two things: First, if it happened then, there’s no reason to think it didn’t happen before; and second, there are some really nutcase exotic animal owners out there. Even if it wasn’t illegal to have those animals without a permit, how smart is it? Couldn’t they get a poodle? I mean, instead of the cat, not with it – owning both would end badly for the poodle.

If Godzilla showed up to smash Albion (that would take, what – three Godzilla-sized baby steps?), that would surprise me. If Dracula set up a mansion on the edge of town, I would be taken aback. If the federal government shrank, I’d have a heart attack and go to the Light. But a big cat? Cool (unless you’re being eaten), but not a reason to mobilize FEMA.