Bobcats, the administrative liaisons of the jungle: I love them, you love them, the American public has loved them since Reagan’s pet bobcat, Arthur. I’ll be the first to admit that their crepuscular nature is attractive. But make no mistake, the one in the Cochran Bird Sanctuary needs to go.
Her name is Sheila, and, quite frankly, she’s a bully. How many times have we all been taking an evening stroll in the Sanctuary when out of nowhere, a sleek figure approaches, takes your walking stick, and — I swear to god — laughs at you? A thousand intolerable times is the answer! Sheila was originally part of a war on drugs/hookups/fun in the Sanctuary five years ago. When the project failed miserably, PAPS figured she would go back home to Methuen, but she stuck around.
Now she spends her days doing bobcat stuff and refusing to let anybody into the Sanctuary without answering a riddle or gaining access by combat. She also won’t let me get my soccer ball that I lost in there Junior year, which is, like, totally uncool. I’ve tried to reason with her, but my skills from Philosophy-360 Proof and Persuasion proved futile, and she quickly outsmarted me and intellectually outflanked me. Make no mistake, her reign of terror will be brought to an end.
For those who are with me: meet in front of the Sanctuary at 8:00 p.m. armed with balls of yarn and some snacks (in case this takes a while) to end things once and for all. For those of you who are living blissfully unaware of Sheila: it probably just means you’re a nerd or something, definitely not because I made her up so I could finally be the leader of an angry mob.
