What's That In the Meadow??

In my living room are a large plate glass window and a sliding glass door. Both look out onto the best view on the place, which is a diverse and overgrown meadow. It's like a gallery of wildlife. I start every morning peering out, even before it gets fully light, to see who might be out there. 

It's a rare morning that there's not at least a whitetail out there, browsing around.
As I do my morning routine, I trot back to the living room every few minutes to scan the grasses for any anomaly. I know every bush, stick and clump in that meadow. Anything out of the ordinary, I see.

 Anyone watching me on a given morning would think there was something wrong with me, trotting back and forth from studio to living room like a hamster on a wheel. But they don't know how high are the stakes here.
This scanning behavior is often enough richly rewarded that I keep it up.

On this frigid morning, December 10,  hoarfrost covered everything and gave it a ghostly, mystic air. And on one of my scanning trips, there was a brown lump where there had never been one before. I was carrying a big bag of raw suet from the fridge, and when I saw that lump I dropped the bag--plump! right on the living room carpet, where it lay for the rest of the day until I remembered what I'd been doing when the world stopped turning. I dashed for my camera.

 

But there was no need to hurry. That lump wasn't going anywhere.

It was licking its big soft paws as if it were 65 degrees out, instead of 22. I was shooting through the glass of the living room window. For such a rare opportunity, I longed to shoot through thin air. 

So while it was licking its paws, I crept over and slid the deck door open a few inches.

Close enough to hear, it lifted its head. Did I just hear something? 

 

 Nah. Must've been my imagination. Back to the paws. Lick, lick, lick sliiiiiiide. Head up. Freeze. Lick, lick, sliiiide

 

until I got the whole lens and my head and shoulders out and was able to shoot through the deck rails. Much better. Notice how the tongue is still just barely protruding. I've seen housecats in the middle of grooming themselves look around with their tongues out. But 

This. 

Is. A. 

Bobcat.

  

I've had some mighty sweet bobcat encounters. More than I could have ever dreamt.  I thought about James, the 2016 male, and Cindy, the 2017 female, both of whom took up hunting on August 17 in their respective years of visitation, right in my yard, taking out squirrels and rabbits until there weren't enough to bother with. How I was able to photograph them right from my drawing board. How I got to see Cindy kill a squirrel and a chipmunk, and James try multiple times to catch anything at all. Cindy smoked him for hunting prowess. But he must've gotten something, because the rabbits dwindled and the squirrels went from 9 to none, and then he moved on.

Now here sat this beautiful cat, right in the path, just biding its time, as if it were waiting for someone. Of course, my mind was racing, wondering if I had ever seen it before. Could it be James?

Click, click, click. I kept making pictures, crouched down by the open deck door. I was thankful I'd had the sense to put a coat and hat on when I started, because I figured it'd get really cold.

 

 I kept shooting as long as it was there. What else could I do? You don't walk away from a calm, resting bobcat.

And it raised its head high and slitted its eyes. What could it be looking at? I didn't dare take my lens off it, so I just kept shooting.

 

And the unbelievable happened. This is uncropped, to show you what a narrow little window I had between the deck rails.  You're going to want to click on this, and all of them. Because how often do we get to luxuriate in the stripes and spots of a wild cat, right in our own backyard?

Or, um...TWO. 

Next: Who's that lady??