Cat In A Leopard Spot

It so much reminded her of Leonora Van Burkleo’s surgically altered features that Temple would never be able to look at another big cat without thinking of that strange woman.

The leopard was contentedly gnawing a piece of raw meat, which Temple chose to regard as a vague blur of some unknown species.

“He was hungry,” Kirby Grange commented. “Those damn people didn’t feed him properly.”

Max nodded, staring at the leopard as he had stared at the panther.

It finally rose, stretched, and came toward the fencing to view its three visitors.

No cages at the Animal Oasis, but outdoor areas set up for each animal.

Max put his hand to the fence. The leopard came over. Max unfolded his fingers, as if producing an invisible illusion. The leopard nudged its huge blunt nose into his palm.

Temple winced.

“He’s been trained,” Max said.

Grange shrugged and folded hairy forearms over his formidable beer belly. “A lot of the big cats that damned ranch gets are ex-roadside attractions, ex—circus animals, ex-zoo exhibitions, ex-pets. I knew what they were up to, but I didn’t figure on ’em abusing the animals before they sent them out to be killed.”

“Would hungry animals show more spirit during the hunt?” Temple wondered.

Grange’s sharp look softened with pity for her amazing ignorance as he considered her question. “They don’t need the animals to show what you call ‘spirit.’ The poor-spirited trophy collectors who come out to shoot them don’t need any illusions. Just herd ’em out there where they can’t hurt the shooter, but close enough to take a few bullets or arrows in the body and die sooner or later. More often later. Then hand the proud hunters the head and hide in a salt-packed box and ship ’em to wherever for immortality on the home or office wall. If every person in America who saw a mounted animal head in someone’s place said, “Oh, are you one of those yellow-bellied canned hunters?” it might take the fun out of it and they wouldn’t come back for more and drop their ten or thirty grand for one less of an endangered species. ’Course, I don’t hold with shooting unendangered species like that either.”

“There are,” Max said contemplatively, still engaged in his odd eye contact with the leopard, “legitimate hunters.”

“No, Max, there are not.” Granger’s voice was as firm as three-day-old concrete. “There are hunters who get licenses and hunt in season and who follow strict codes of ethics, like not endangering other hunters and fair chase and all that. And I still have no time for them. Nature’s hard enough on wildlife as it is, why does humanity have to persecute it with all our high technology, especially now when we don’t need that to survive?”

“Bow hunters aren’t high tech,” Max pointed out.

“No. And they’re the worst of all, because they can maul and wound worse than any rifleman. Caveman mentality.” He spat into the dust five feet away, startling a dirt-colored lizard into running to escape the acid rain.

“So,” said Temple, “if you know about the ranch and what goes on there, why can’t it be stopped?”

“Proof. Pull. Nobody wanting to stir up controversy.”

“At least we got this guy out,” she said, nodding at the leopard.

“At least he laid a claw on that Van Burkleo guy, but I don’t believe he did more than paw at the body. I doubt I could keep myself from stopping there, and I’m a civilized human.” Granger laughed bitterly. “As long as he’s kept secure here, and they can’t blame him directly for the death, they can’t order him killed.”

“They’d execute a leopard?”

“Yes, Miss Barr. When a wild animal we higher beings have under lock and key acts like it’s supposed to, we kill it because we say it’s become ‘unreliable.’ Even if it’s just suspected of harming a human.”

“Some people will never change their spots, Kirby,” Max said wryly. “You know anything about those protesters that were out on the ranch land before Van Burkleo died?”

Granger shifted from booted foot to foot. “Might,” he said.

“They were after more than disrupting a hunt or two, weren’t they? Photos?”

“Yeah, maybe. But Van Burkleo had a big enough security force to keep anyone too far away to get evidence. You’d think the place was Area Fifty-one.”

“You could have asked me,” Max said. “I would have been able to get some photographic evidence.”

“You’re a magician, Max. Or were. When are you going to amaze the town again, anyway?”

Max waved his hands, dismissing the question of his future.

The leopard’s muzzle and ears lifted at the gesture. It stalked over to the fence edge to confront Max again.

Temple was startled to hear the sound of a faint but large lawn-mower.

The leopard was purring. He liked Max.

Midnight Louie he was not.

But then again, Max wasn’t sleeping in the leopard’s bed.

Max stroked the huge head as it rubbed by.

Granger opened his mouth in warning, but said nothing.

“I can get photos,” Max said. “Just let me know when a hunt’s planned.”