A quiet morning here in the Sonoran Desert. Temperature will reach 100, pretty normal for June. I'm enjoying a cup of coffee and looking out at the desert. A hummingbird is feasting on a cactus flower.
And above my head, right now, two baby bobcats are snoozing the day away.
If you picture a desert as devoid of life, think again: living in the Sonoran Desert is like living in a wildlife sanctuary. I watch a never-ending nature show through my window; cardinals on the backyard fence, hawks circling overhead, coyotes howling in the night. But our most frequent visitor, and the one that sets the hair on the back of my neck to upright, are bobcats. Beautiful elegant wild bobcats, they leap over my fence and stroll through my yard with such nonchalant ease that I think of Fred Astaire. Not as big as mountain lions, for the most part they ignore humans and we see them often, each visit the same few-minute thrill; solitary bobcat leaps the backyard fence effortlessly, wanders through our yard, departs.
Yesterday was different. Our neighbor reported he'd seen a bobcat sleeping on our roof, so when one appeared and then left our backyard yesterday afternoon we decided to look around our property. The bobcat was indeed on our roof, nestled in a shady spot.
This bobcat is a she. With her were two babies. And as they say around here, 'mi casa, su casa' - mom and babies have made our house their house. They've moved in.
For over an hour we watched an unforgettable montage unfold on our roof: mother nursing, babies wrestling, babies scampering, one baby playing with mom's twitching tail, mom giving one a bath while the other nuzzled for a little loving too. Then at sunset, to our astonishment and slight dismay, mom and babies turned in for the night, right into the attic of our house.
I was born and raised in New York City. A neighborhood wildlife encounter was a backyard bird feeder. This isn't a complaint, I LOVE it here, I'm kid-like in my delight. But I'm also way out of my element. A phone call with a wildlife expert told us more: the family will stay about four more weeks before departing for a life in the wild, once they leave they will not return. Then we can clean out the attic, repair the roof and our own episode of Wild Kingdom will be behind us.
But until then, I am loving this. Of course I'm mindful that these aren't tabbies we're hosting; they're wild animals, and I'll give her and the babies all the room and respect they need and deserve. I'll take photos from a distance, keep the noise to a minimum, and if she looks at me sideways I'll cede my front yard and give them privacy.
And I'll smile and smile and smile some more at the wonder of it all.
And above my head, right now, two baby bobcats are snoozing the day away.
If you picture a desert as devoid of life, think again: living in the Sonoran Desert is like living in a wildlife sanctuary. I watch a never-ending nature show through my window; cardinals on the backyard fence, hawks circling overhead, coyotes howling in the night. But our most frequent visitor, and the one that sets the hair on the back of my neck to upright, are bobcats. Beautiful elegant wild bobcats, they leap over my fence and stroll through my yard with such nonchalant ease that I think of Fred Astaire. Not as big as mountain lions, for the most part they ignore humans and we see them often, each visit the same few-minute thrill; solitary bobcat leaps the backyard fence effortlessly, wanders through our yard, departs.
Yesterday was different. Our neighbor reported he'd seen a bobcat sleeping on our roof, so when one appeared and then left our backyard yesterday afternoon we decided to look around our property. The bobcat was indeed on our roof, nestled in a shady spot.
This bobcat is a she. With her were two babies. And as they say around here, 'mi casa, su casa' - mom and babies have made our house their house. They've moved in.
For over an hour we watched an unforgettable montage unfold on our roof: mother nursing, babies wrestling, babies scampering, one baby playing with mom's twitching tail, mom giving one a bath while the other nuzzled for a little loving too. Then at sunset, to our astonishment and slight dismay, mom and babies turned in for the night, right into the attic of our house.
I was born and raised in New York City. A neighborhood wildlife encounter was a backyard bird feeder. This isn't a complaint, I LOVE it here, I'm kid-like in my delight. But I'm also way out of my element. A phone call with a wildlife expert told us more: the family will stay about four more weeks before departing for a life in the wild, once they leave they will not return. Then we can clean out the attic, repair the roof and our own episode of Wild Kingdom will be behind us.
But until then, I am loving this. Of course I'm mindful that these aren't tabbies we're hosting; they're wild animals, and I'll give her and the babies all the room and respect they need and deserve. I'll take photos from a distance, keep the noise to a minimum, and if she looks at me sideways I'll cede my front yard and give them privacy.
And I'll smile and smile and smile some more at the wonder of it all.
1 comment:
Name them before they leave. Also either make a sketching or take some close-up photos of their markings. You never know if sometime in the future they'll end up visiting the house again, and you'll want to be able to identify them.
Post a Comment