CHAPTER FIVE
It was early morning in Joe Sartor’s bedroom, only a few days after he had given his talk at Encino High, when the phone rang before the alarm. After the fourth ring, Joe’s wife Barbara called out, “Joe, you going to get that?” Barbara usually woke first to the middle-of-the-night calls that Joe often got from his work, as Joe was a heavy sleeper. He groggily picked up the phone expecting a message telling him one of his snares caught a lion, but instead it was Ralph Pena, a Santa Monica City-based conservation officer he’d known over ten years.
Joe rubbed his eyes as he listened, and then let out a loud said, “WHAT?”
Ralph repeated himself, “You heard me. There’s a mountain lion cornered in downtown Santa Monica. I just got a call from the city cops.”
Joe sat up. “Are you sure it’s a cougar?”
“Haven’t seen it yet personally,” Ralph replied, “but the cops told me it’s in a glass-enclosed courtyard in an office building on Second Street and that it’s mighty pissed off. I’m driving there right now.”
“Holy shit!” Joe said as he jumped out of bed, “You got your tranquilizer gun, right? …Be there as soon as I can.”
“Yep! I’ll call you when I get there, 1227 Second Street. Hurry.”
****
The young mountain lion cowered and shivered on the cold concrete as more and more of the two-legs arrived. His ears were pinned back with the loud wailing of the huge red beasts and his nostrils stung with the smoke of the black and white beasts. He moved as far back in the courtyard as he could, hiding under a large potted plant. It wasn’t sagebrush, but at least it gave him some green cover.
Three two-legs started slowly approaching him with their short firesticks aimed at him. The lion panicked and tried to run down a path in the back, but he ran right into a glass wall and stumbled backward, confused. He tried again, but still couldn’t pass through it. It was as hard as stone. He pawed at it furiously, but the path would not open. The two-legs moved in closer, yelping loudly, and this time they were carrying long firesticks.
“POP! YOW! POP! YOW!” Fiery stings hit the lion’s neck first, and then his back. His eyes burned. He tried to shake off the pain. Then he screeched at the attackers and ran to the other corner of the courtyard. They moved back. The lion crouched again. His tongue hung out panting for air. His heart beat in a frenzy.
****
As soon as Joe got off the phone, his first thought and worry was that it could be P12, the lion that meant so much to his study and to the small population’s survival. Was he chased out of the mountains by big P1?
Joe told Barbara they had a mountain lion cornered downtown Santa Monica and he had to hurry.
Joe sped down the Pacific Coast Highway toward Santa Monica, which was still 20 minutes away, the whole time dreading the scene he might find. There were so few lions left in the mountains, and since he knew P12 was exploring the territory, there was a good chance it was him. There was also a good chance the lion would be killed before he got there.
About this time, Ralph Pena pulled his truck up to the police tape on Second Street. The police captain waved him over. “Hey, Ralph, glad you’re here. The lion is getting pretty aggressive—I had my men shoot it with pepper balls.”
Ralph shook his head as the captain lifted the tape to let him through and shouted to his men, “Here’s Ralph, hold on he’s got his tranquilizer gun.”
Ralph found the big cat partially hidden and peering around a corner with no good target for a dart. As Ralph moved closer, the cat jumped to its right.
‘POP! Whoosh!” The dart missed. The cat jumped to its left.
“Dammit!” Ralph yelled. “Stay still!”
‘POP! Whoosh!”
“Got ‘em!” Ralph yelled as he saw the dart stick deep into the cat’s mid-section.
The cat howled and twisted his body. He bit at the dart as if it was an enemy lion attacking him.
“Alright! Good shot!” the cops yelled out.
“Just hold on, guys,” Ralph said, “The dart will need at least ten minutes to take effect. “Don’t agitate him, the drug can initially make these cats even more aggressive. We have to wait it out.” Ralph picked up his cell and dialed Joe.
“Where are you?” Ralph said into his phone.
“I’ll be off the PCH in about ten minutes. How’s the cat?”
“I just finally got a dart into him, but he’s still pretty upset— they shot him with pepper balls.”
“Dammit! What the hell?”
“They were worried he might escape. There’s a daycare nearby and lots of people are showing up to watch.”
“Shit!” Joe said, “Be there as soon as I can.”
****
The lion was now confused on top of being afraid, and there was nowhere to run. He snarled and lunged at the two-legs, hoping to scare them off. The two-legs turned around and yelled at some more two-legs behind them, carrying a large snake-like branch with a shiny head. One of the two-legs raised then lowered his hand.
“SWISHHH!” A powerful jet of water hit the lion in the shoulder, knocking him over. He slid along the surface until slamming into a wall. He stood up in a daze, shook himself dry, but then he heard it again. “SWISHHH!” The water threw him, but he quickly caught his balance and charged at the attackers. They pulled back. Feeling he may have the two-legs on the run, he knew he had to fight. He snarled and showed his fangs. He lunged forward. This time the two-legs with their short firesticks did not retreat.
“He’s going to escape,” one of the cops shouted.
“POP! POP! POP!” The lion dropped.
“Fuck!” Ralph shouted.
“Had to!” one cop yelled back.
The crowd took a collective breath, and a mixture of cheers and moans broke out.
Then silence.
Ralph watched the lion take its last breath and bleed out on the concrete.
As the cops muttered amongst themselves, Ralph turned to the crowd and saw Joe running toward him with his gear.
When their eyes met, Joe already knew the end of the tale and shouted, “No! No, tell me I’m not too late!”
“Sorry Joe,” Ralph muttered. “I got here late and had a hard time getting a dart into him. He came out fighting and… the cops shot him.”
Shaking his head in disgust and failure, Joe asked, “Was he wearing a tracking collar?
“Not that I could see,” Ralph said, “but let’s take a look.”
Ralph introduced Joe and his credentials to the police captain and his men and they moved closer to the dead body.
“Why would he come into the city?” the captain asked.
Joe shrugged his shoulders and knelt next to the cat. It was a male about the size of P12, but no collar. P12 could have lost his, but as soon as Joe checked his ear and saw there wasn’t a tag, or a sign of a lost tag, he knew it wasn’t P12.
“Thank God,” Joe said to himself. A huge relief descended down Joe’s spine as he continued examining the limp body. It was a healthy looking male about three years old, Joe told the cops. “Probably a new juvenile coming down from the Santa Ana mountains, trying to establish new territory.”
“But why downtown Santa Monica?” one cop asked.
Joe, still kneeling at the body, looked down at the cat’s now vacant eyes and then looked up at the cop and said, “He was probably just lost.”
After Joe called his team to come and pick up the lion for DNA analysis and burying, Joe thanked Ralph for doing the best he could. With a heavy-heart, Joe walked through the crowd carrying his gear and gun.
“How could they shoot the poor defenseless animal?” a woman in the crowd asked.
A guy joined in, thinking Joe was the shooter, “Shame on you—you shot it with pepper balls and hoses, what did you expect it to do?”
“Couldn’t you have waited for the drug to take effect? It was cornered!” someone else yelled.
On the other side, a mom holding a small child asked the yeller, “What if it was your child at the pre-school next door?”
Joe shook his head, checked his watch, and called Barbara.
“No, I’m fine,” he said, “Another dead lion, but it wasn’t P12.”