My first thought was bobcat when I looked out the window at the road-killed deer carcass that I had dragged home a few weeks earlier to leave out for the critters. Other than a few ravens and our dog Loki, who would sneak over when we weren’t looking for a quick chew, the carcass had been largely ignored up until just this past week.
I grabbed my binoculars when the cat appeared and I instantly realized I wasn’t looking at a bobcat— it was a lynx, with all the classic hallmarks. The prominent ear tufts, the long legs, almost comically large feet, and his black-tipped tail. I had lived out in the woods here for over 40 years, and while I had tracked them and gathered DNA samples of lynx near the house for the U.S. Forest Service, it was my first actual sighting of this spectacular cat. Jodi and I, who were both home during our holiday break from the paper, were thrilled at this rare opportunity. At that point, we had no idea he would be moving in.
Canada lynx are generally specialized predators, adapted to life in the north, where they prey primarily on snowshoe hares. While they have been known to attack and kill smaller deer, that’s likely an unusual event. While lynx undoubtedly come across remains from wolf kills, those instances likely offer little more than scraps. In this case, a largely intact carcass, that has yet to be detected by our Lost Lake wolf pack, was a huge find for this particular lynx, which we refer to as a “he” even though we aren’t sure of its sex.
I did Google how to determine the sex of a lynx, and the AI response suggested lifting the lynx’s tail and measuring the distance from its butthole to its genitals. We saw this as more evidence that AI hasn’t got reality quite figured out yet. Needless to say, we didn’t get out the tape measure since we imagined the lynx might have something to say about such an inspection. We’re just going with “he” for now.
As of this writing it’s been seven days since the cat showed up. While we don’t really know what he does at night, during daylight he is invariably within about 25 feet of the carcass. Most of the time, he’s just guarding it, and he gets especially agitated when a raven or two flies in for a closer look. When he’s done feeding for the day, he makes a habit of covering up the carcass with snow. That’s the best time to see his enormously long legs in action, as he reaches way out and uses his big paws to pull in the snow.
Much of the time, it’s easy to imagine he’s a typical house cat. He spends a lot of time sitting on his haunches grooming and is very particular about the dense fur on his oversized feet. He stretches just like a house cat, deploying the classic downward dog and arched back stretches on a regular rotation. At other times, he just sits, sphinx-like, staring out at the world, a reminder that cats can be very Zen.
He demonstrated his knowledge of a deer carcass early on. He spent the first hours that we saw him methodically pulling fur from the back of the deer, zeroing in on the backstrap. After that, he began working the rear haunches. But for the tenderloin, which requires access to the gut cavity, the lynx showed the exact same priorities as any human deer hunter.
The cat has exhibited one other characteristic that’s frequently been noted by other observers. He seems to care not one whit what we do in the yard. It barely even lifts its head when I’m filling a bird feeder or hauling wood to the sauna, even though I’m in plain sight of the cat, and barely fifty feet away.
He has, however, reacted to a couple provocations. The first was a red squirrel that wandered too close while the cat was napping next to a log at the base of a large jack pine about 20 feet from the carcass. The cat exploded from his temporary bed and the squirrel scurried up the jack pine with the lynx in hot pursuit. The cat climbed up nearly 20 feet in the tree before calling off its attack. Perhaps most surprising was the reaction of the squirrel, which I expected would have hightailed it to the tallest branch of the tree. Instead, it seemed to just toy with the cat, rotating around the trunk, staying just barely out of reach. That same squirrel repeatedly expressed its displeasure at the cat’s presence, running up several hazel shrubs near the carcass, while chattering and stomping its hind feet, as if to scare the cat away. Red squirrels… you have to admit, they’ve got some cojones.
The cat also had a run-in with our dog Loki on day six of its stay. Since the cat had arrived, we had kept Loki tied up or on a leash in the yard, since he was well aware of the deer carcass and liked to run over for a quick bite when he figured he could get away with it. We weren’t sure what would happen if he tried that with the lynx guarding its larder, but we found out on day six, when Loki, who was momentarily off leash, made a dash for it. I didn’t see the interaction, but I heard a kind of stifled shriek, which sent Loki back to the front porch, eager to come inside. The cat seemed nonplussed by the incident and had already resumed feeding by the time I let the dog in the house. Lynx 1, Loki 0.
The arrival of our visitor who seemed to never leave made for once-in-a-lifetime viewing for a lot of friends and family. Over the course of the week, we had at least 20 people over to watch the cat, and everyone got nice views of him in action.
I figured the lynx would remain in the yard as long as his food supply held out. And that would have been weeks had the lynx had his way. But he didn’t. On the night of day seven, the wolves showed up. The next morning, the wolves had dragged the carcass well away from the house, ripped off the hide, and eaten most of the meat. But when I found the carcass, the lynx was back to feeding on it.
So, I decided to test his reaction to my presence. I slowly walked up to the carcass, getting closer and closer, until I was about 15 feet away from the cat, who continued to chew contentedly. I stopped, figuring I wasn’t about to pull the carcass away from the cat hence I end up like Loki quivering on the front porch. But 15 feet appeared to be the cat’s limit. As I took a couple more steps, he finally took notice and bounded off about 15 feet, putting a patch of young balsam fir between us. He just watched me as I dragged the remnants of the carcass back to its original location. Ten minutes later, he was back, contentedly chewing on it once again.
It would prove to be the last hurrah. The next night, the wolves were back and this time they pulled the carcass over the edge of the 60-foot cliff behind our house and I wasn’t about to make the round-about trek necessary to bring it back up to the house, even if any of it was still intact.
I woke the next morning, after Sunday’s fresh snow to lynx tracks all around the yard, including on the front porch, around the chicken coop, and finally, heading down the driveway, apparently on to its way to its next feeding opportunity.
Now, I’m on the lookout for another roadkill.