Yes, I’m the mountain lion who tried to snatch your
baby. I was hungry. Game is scarce. But I’m not sure I was stalking to eat. You
see, a month ago my son was run over trying to get across your four-lane, and
my ill will hasn’t lifted because I saw it happen. And then, of course, the
baby was on a blanket on ground that once belonged to me -- before the
development, before the four-lane, before your nonchalant indifference to the
effect of whatever you feel like doing has on me.
They’re hunting for me, but they’ll go easy when they
catch me, and they will. After all, it’s not any of the violent barbarisms you
routinely practice on your miscreants that they’ll use on me. No. They’ll put
me down – a euphemism for murder me -- by
euthanasia. I’ll feel just like I’m taking a nap. Such noble humanism.
It’s happened to so many of my family, so many of my
clan -- we who were here long before you clambered up our mountainsides with
your Indian guides and long rifles – that it’s become what your species call
the new normal.
And oh, sincere apologies for the inconvenience my son
caused. Serious impact damage to the car. The police report says doing 80 in a 55
zone. Your insurance is going to go up, you know how that works. And how
about the traumatized children in the back seat. My goodness, another thing to have
to work on in therapy.
I have a modest proposal that will even the playing
field. I think if you’re willing to be honest, you’ll agree its time has come.
Euthanize the driver. Or better, turn the driver over to me.
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