Therian Vent|| My Life As A Cougar

Content warning. Some readers may find the following disturbing. Mentions of death, guns, and violence. Themes of dehumanisation and reincarnation. Proceed at your own risk.

I have always been different. I don’t mind. Ever since I was little, I had an obsession with animals. I believed that I was an animal, I thought that they could understand me. Wolves, mountain lions, and cats were my favourite. When I was younger, I would run around on all fours. It just…felt right to me. It seemed more natural, and I felt safer. I would run up the stairs on all fours and skitter down the hallway to jump up onto my bed. I never really realised that acting like an animal was ‘a sign of mental illness.’ I’d like to confirm, no, I do not have ‘clinical lycanthropy.’

 As I grew, I became protective of my things, not liking to have my space invaded or crowded. Now that I am older, I realise that that was a manifestation of one of the three ‘spirits’ that live within me. The first spirit to manifest was of my first life, when I was a mountain lion. Yes. I believe in reincarnation, and that I not only had a past life…I had three. I was a mountain lion, fierce, noble, and alert. I believe that I lived sometime in the 1950’s. But yes, I was a female mountain lion. I still remember how my body felt. I had large paws with lighter undersides and retractable claws. I had a narrower muzzle, and when I looked into a pool of water once, I saw that my nose had two freckles. My eyes were a greyish-golden colour, and I could see very well in the dark. My fur was thick, built to keep out the chilly drafts of the icy wind, and a solid, two-tone brown grey. I don’t really remember all that much about my kitten-hood, or when I left my mother. It’s all a blur of wind and cold stones. I remember, though, the first major event in my short life. I remember the first tom who approached me. I let him, for the sake of procreation. I became a mother. I remember when my kittens were born, but it’s hazy. I had two in my litter, a son and a daughter. My son had a large head, and big paws. He was lively at birth! My daughter was smaller and didn’t seem to be healthy. Her brother grew quickly, but she did so slowly. Our first winter together came…and I returned to my den to find her dead. She’d starved. I grieved for a while, but then left her on the rocks so her spirit could be released. My son learned all he could from me, and then he left. I never saw him again. Ever. But such is the life of a cougar. We prefer our solitude.

But then…my life changed forever one day. It was a day like any other. I got up and scent-marked my den and went out to see if I could hunt. I was padding along a rocky slope when a loud bang rented the air. I felt a piercing agony in my chest, and I gave a strangled yowl. I went down, and rolled onto my side, gasping for air as blood bubbled in my nostrils. I heard their voices, and in my dreams I still do. Humans. Humans had shot me. And for what? Because I was a trophy. Because my pelt was valuable. Because I was in their way, and they wanted me gone. Because I was ‘dangerous.’ Because I was wild.

As I laid there, my lungs shot through, in agony, they didn’t give me a mercy bullet. No. Those hunters celebrated their kill. I remember what they said, because I hear it over and over again. “We got ‘er! Good job, men! Hah! Nice one, Tony!” And then they approach me, my vision goes blurry and dark, and their voices whine in my ears. “She’ll fetch a pretty penny, won’t she?” That was the last thing I ever heard in that body. That I was just something to be sold. I often have nightmares where the hunters shoot me over and over again, and then stand around me, taunting me. As my blood stained the snow red, I was reborn...