The City--and the World--Say a Tearful Goodbye to an L.A. Native... our Beloved P-22

Tonight I had a good, long, ugly cry. 

Not over anything sort of ordinary—not the loss of a loved one, some new personal heartache, or painful memories rearing their ugly heads—but over the passing of someone I never got to meet or see… but who nonetheless left indelible prints upon my heart.

 

[photo credit: Steve Winter, National Geographic]

Make that pawprints… for the dearly-departed in this instance is the L.A. celeb known ‘round the world as P-22.

On the off-chance that you’ve somehow never heard of him, dear reader, P-22 was the shockingly long-lived, oft-seen (in public, even!) mountain lion, who called Los Angeles County his home for a decade. 

 

Or, perhaps I should say, ruled L.A. County.

 

P-22 was still a relative youngster when I came onto the scene, some eight-and-a-half years ago, now, … but I was enchanted, immediately (of course) by tales—and pictorial evidence of sightings!—of this majestic male cougar. He was living proof of what could be possible, despite being surrounded by a world that seemed so devoid of hope for his kind.

To anyone outside of L.A. (particularly, non-Californians), those of us who live here, live in a city. A big, big city. And, for those who visit, well… yes, it’s a huge and sprawling city (where you'll probably experience a traffic jam or two). 

 

But… for those of us who actually live here—who deal with those maddening (and frequently, inexplicable) traffic snarls on a weekly or daily (or worse) basis—this is so much more than just a sprawling city. It’s a megalopolis. A nearly incomprehensibly-vast expanse of wildness (deserts, mountains, and valleys), taken over more and more every single year, by the encroachment of more and more humanity.

 

Yet there, in the midst of all this insanity, lived P-22 (as well as approximately 100 other, lesser-known, mountain lions). And somehow—by the grace of the Great Cat Gods, perhaps—the King of Them All, P-22, was able to survive and even, sort of, thrive, in all of this.

 

Until very recently, that is, when he was—after a decade of miraculously avoiding it—hit by a car, while attempting to cross one of our crazy freeways.

 

Gravely injured, he was eventually captured and brought in for tests, which revealed a host of serious problems--some from old age, but most from the injuries sustained, along with other unspeakably-sad mishaps caused by other forms of contact with mankind.

 

And today, a decision was made to euthanize him. To send our beloved P-22 across the Rainbow Bridge, to whatever Feline Valhalla awaits him.

 

I hope it is free of concrete and freeways and the horrible ruckus of vehicles driving much too fast. I hope there are no poisons anywhere for him to accidentally ingest, nor any polluted air for him to  breathe, or toxic waters for him to drink. He deserves better than that, in the Afterlife… as, of course, he always deserved (but never got), in this life.

 

It's so easy to get wrapped up in our all-too-human concerns… and to give nary a thought to the wild, innocent ones who were here long before most of us. Yet it is those that we must make it a point to protect… for if we lose touch with the wild—both inside and outside of ourselves—then what, and who, are we, really?

 

May your next incarnation be a glorious one, dear P-22. A piece of the  collective hearts of so many Angelenos—and of so many others, around the world—will forever be with you.

~GlamKitty