What’s with these horror movies? My human likes to curl up on the couch under a blanket, with me protectively in her lap of course, and watch these ghastly movies about serial killers, ghost infestations and lurking monsters.
Why would anyone want to scare themselves? You don’t see us creating an entire film genre dedicated to horrors like empty food bowls or late dinners, so why do humans make these movies?
Your fan, Mildly Curious in Manhattan
Dear Mildly Curious,
This is a question I’ve pondered for some time, inasmuch as I care about anything human-related to ponder. My human also watches those movies and he also does so with me sitting protectively in his lap.
Then I realized something. None of the people in these horror movies have cats!
The family from The Conjuring? They have a dog. Stanley Tucci’s family in that crappy movie about flying monsters that kill everyone? Dog! The family in that other crappy movie about giant axolotl-type things that terrorize people living in a coastal community?
You guessed it! They have a dog too.
You see where I’m going with this, right? Humans who serve us cats literally have no fear because no monster or crazy cereal killer would ever risk attacking a home with a cat in it.
Suppose a hungry evil monster is let loose in my neighborhood and is making its way through the street at night, then sees me in all my meowscular, intimidating, tigeresque glory sitting at the window, keeping watch over the nocturnal world.
That monster is going to skip right over The Buddy Domicile and go in search of easier pickings because it sure as heck doesn’t want to tangle with me and my claws. I have that effect on monsters.
They may be monsters, but they’re not stupid. Breaking into a home with a cat is like breaking into a t-rex enclosure. You’re asking to get mauled by a huge, meowscular apex predator who will eviscerate you and look handsome and badass while doing it.
People who serve us cats know this. They know no monster or killer or robber would be stupid enough to go near a house with a cat. They can probably sense my meowscularity two miles away!
So sometimes our humans may want to know what it feels like to be vulnerable, what it would be like if they didn’t have tigers like us guaranteeing that no intruder approaches. THAT is why they watch horror movies. Take it to the bank!
It took a tiger swiping at her for her to wake up from the dream of being close to big cats. Now Katherine Lee Guard’s mission is to educate people about the animals and how helping them means keeping a healthy distance.
No one knew Saigon better than Katherine Lee Guard.
When he arrived at the wildlife ranch in Thermal, Calif., as a baby in the mid-90s, it was Guard who stayed up with him at night, bottle-feeding the orphan cub and swaddling him in soft blankets. She was by his side as he grew, tending to his needs, taking walks with him through the desert and scrubland on the compound that was his home.
Then one day the massive Amur tiger turned on her.
“It was just so shocking even though I knew it could happen,” Guard recalled. “I thought I knew but until it happened, I had no idea. It was terrifying and oddly a weird ‘How dare you!’ kind of feeling that came over me. Like ‘How dare you come at me after all I’ve done for you?’ Because I’d raised him, bottle fed him, been up all night with him.”
Guard was equally surprised by her own reaction, which she described as “more indignation than fear,” but it was that indignation that “allowed me to shelve my fear long enough to get away and out of the enclosure.” If Saigon had sensed her fear, his predatory instincts could have overridden the maternal affection he felt for her.
Saigon never tried to kill Guard. If he had, she wouldn’t be here to tell the story. He was merely warning her that he didn’t want her near him that day, and he made sure she got the message.
Katherine and Saigon on a happier day when the massive tiger was in a better mood. Credit: Katherine Lee Guard
Amur tigers, also known as Siberian tigers, are the largest big cat subspecies in the world, topping out at 700 pounds, with males spanning 10 feet from nose to tail.
But the encounter — a growl, a much-less-than full strength swipe and a warning bump — was enough to turn Guard into “a nervous, vomiting wreck” once she extricated herself from the enclosure.
“Getting swatted by a paw, even with sheathed claws, hurts like hell,” Guard told PITB. “I’d feel trounced, disappointed and relieved at the same time. And stupid for being in there with them, although I never would have admitted that to anyone back then.”
That first bad encounter with Saigon, and similar encounters with a lion named Tsavo that Guard had also bottle-fed when he was a cub, planted seeds of doubt in her mind about what she was doing on that California ranch, working with a man who had previously used the big cats in circus performances.
Years earlier when Guard’s mom came to visit her, Guard came out to meet her with baby Saigon in her arms, feeding him from a bottle.
Her mother stopped and took in the scene. “That’s not the baby I imagined for you,” she said flatly.
“I never forgot it,” Guard said.
Later, while caring for a female Bengal named Bombay, Guard had an epiphany. Like so many others who make it their life’s work to be near big cats, she had always been beguiled by the beautiful, powerful and dangerous animals. Looking at Bombay, Guard realized the regal tiger was “totally without pretense,” moving with the purpose and grace of a being self-assured in her existence.
“She was purposeful and unyielding and for the first time I felt separate from her and it didn’t bother me,” Guard said. “It was beautiful to realize that she didn’t need me or anyone else. Had she been given a chance in the wild, she would have flourished. The desire to know her thoughts and be her friend lessened in me because I started to appreciate her for her, not for how she could make me feel. ‘She’s not existing for me! She exists for herself!’ We don’t ‘own’ Bombay. Bombay ‘owns’ herself.”
“It was a light bulb moment, and in hindsight I think it was the beginning of the change in my mindset.”
Guard stopped the practice of going “full contact” with the big cats — meaning caring for them without any barriers or safety measures in place, relying on luck to avoid death or dismemberment — and eventually left the ranch around 2003.
In the two decades since, she’s been focused on educating the public about big cats, supporting conservation efforts and trying to rescue the unfortunate tigers, lions, jaguars, leopards and other wild felids who have the misfortune of living in roadside zoos where they’re sedated and exploited for customer selfies, or living sedentary, unnatural lives in cramped backyards in states like Texas and Florida.
Tsavo the lion, who was rescued from “a shitty private owner,” was another one of Guard’s bottle babies at the sanctuary.
Like many others who have dedicated their lives to helping those animals, Guard is encouraged by the 2022 passage of the Big Cat Public Safety Act — but also miffed that it took lawmakers so long, and worried that loopholes in the law will be exploited by people determined to “own” Earth’s endangered apex predators.
The world of big cat handling is a small one, and the people in that world tend to know each other if not always well, then by reputation or in passing. Guard remembers meeting Joe Exotic, the “star” of the infamous Netflix documentary Tiger King, in the late 1990s. Her boss and mentor at the time, Wayne Regan, wanted Exotic to surrender some of his cats to the sanctuary. Regan and Guard had seen “Exotic’s” handiwork up close when they examined some of the tigers another sanctuary had managed to wrangle out of his care. The tigers were stressed, suffered from poor nutrition and were not well cared-for.
Exotic came to the meeting with a sickly, malnourished lion cub as if taunting the pair.
“I hated him immediately,” Guard said.
She was overcome with a desire to “steal the poor malnourished cub he had with him,” but Regan cautioned her against it. Knowing what “Exotic” — real name Joseph Allen Maldonado — is capable of, it’s probably a blessing that she didn’t, but she still thinks of the cub all these years later.
Exotic remains in a federal prison in Fort Worth, Texas, where he’s serving a 21-year sentence after he was convicted of two counts of trying to hire a hitman to kill his arch-nemesis, big cat sanctuary operator Carole Baskin. He was also convicted of 17 counts of animal abuse, and his name is synonymous with the horror and suffering big cats endure when they’re in the possession of private “owners” and roadside zoo operators.
Joe Allen Maldonado, who styled himself as Joe Exotic, was the subject of the infamous documentary Tiger King detailing his exploitation of big cats and his outlandish criminal activity. Maldonado remains imprisoned in a federal facility after he was convicted of trying to have sanctuary operator Carole Baskin killed.
Big cat advocates lament the fact that the documentary, as popular as it was, spent more time focusing on Maldonado’s eccentricities, Machiavellian maneuvering and manipulation of people in his orbit than it did on the suffering of the animals in his “care,” but it did draw attention to his crimes and the plight of tigers in the US.
“He tortured and killed and exploited so many animals,” Guard told PITB. “He is a coward piece of shit who is right where he should be. He is no ‘Tiger King’ and never should have had a minute of fame.”
She has a similarly low opinion of Kevin “Doc” Antle, another eccentric animal abuser featured in the documentary. Antle has provided big cats and other animals for projects including the Ace Ventura films, a Jungle Book adaptation, a Britney Spears performance and an appearance on Oprah Winfrey’s talk show.
Earlier this year he was convicted of illegal wildlife trafficking in Virginia, where authorities said he tried to buy endangered lion clubs in violation of federal law. He’s racked up almost three dozen USDA violations for mistreatment of animals over the years, has been accused of gassing adult tigers to “make room” for more cubs, and faces a slew of additional charges related to money laundering and the alleged import of wild animals, including a chimpanzee and a cheetah.
Kevin “Doc” Antle, who now calls himself Bhagavan Mahamayavi Antle,
Antle has also raised the ire of animal welfare advocates and conservationists for the controversial practice of breeding ligers — massive cats that are the result of breeding male lions with female tigers — and inbreeding tigers to produce a color morph commonly known as white tigers. While the latter are beautiful, majestic and rare, intentionally trying to breed them often results in cubs with malformations who either die in infancy or live short, brutal lives.
Guard does not regret the time she spent working with big cats on Regan’s ranch, just the naïve way she went about it. Like others who have spent years thinking about how to best protect and save big cat species, she’s come to the conclusion that the majestic felids are best helped — and appreciated — from a distance.
At the ranch, some of the felids were former show animals rescued from the entertainment business. Some, like Saigon, were abandoned young by people who had planned to use them in shows. Others were like Tsavo the lion, who “came from a shitty private owner.”
Regan was a former tiger trainer for circuses but had changed his views on using the animals for entertainment. He “was fastidious about taking care of the cats, very invested in their welfare and had only the best care for them,” she said. The ranch was sprawling, with enrichment items and toys everywhere, as well as a large lake with an island in the middle so the cats — particularly tigers, who are known for their love of water — could swim and play. At night they settled into their own individual habitats, each equipped with smaller pools, entertainment items and bedding.
In addition Wayne, Guard and their volunteers were reluctant to display the cats for anyone, even donors. They felt it would be a betrayal to the animals to be gawked at in a place that had become a haven for them.
Regan had learned the business from a man named Ron Whitfield, who remains active in the big cat community as the large carnivore curator at the San Francisco Zoo and trained animals for 30 years at the now-defunct Marine World in San Francisco.
“The business is so small that word gets around and Wayne, and Ron too, were known as good people to care for unwanted animals,” Guard said.
Guard and Saigon.
Tsavo as an adult.
Baby Saigon
These days, Guard cares for small cats too as a caretaker and feeder of stray cat colonies in her California neighborhood. It’s a reminder of the good people can do in their own backyards, and of the need that exists in a country where some 800,000 unwanted felines are euthanized every year despite Herculean efforts to push spaying and neutering. (Those efforts have been very successful, and euthanizations of cats and dogs are only a fraction of the millions they were just 15 years ago, but the fact that so many unwanted animals are still killed illustrates the enormity of the problem.)
Mostly, she wants people to know that the idea of having a big cat for a companion, or even living in something resembling harmony with them, “is a fool’s paradise.” Luck is the only determining factor in whether a handler lives or, as Siegfried and Roy can attest, suffers life-altering injuries from accidentally triggering the ever-present predatory instinct of tigers, lions and other big cats like jaguars and leopards.
They are, after all, the planet’s apex predators, hyper-carnivores designed by nature with the most deadly weapons of any extant animal.
Guard says she hopes the practice of keeping big cats truly ends after the current generation of panthera “pets” — those grandfathered in under the Big Cat Public Safety Act — pass on. And she hopes that young people who are as “spellbound and mesmerized” by the spectacular felids as she was don’t follow her lead and endanger their lives, which is why she’s brutally honest about her own experiences and makes no pretense about benefiting from any factor other than luck.
“It’s been a long road for me to go from there to here,” she said. “I’m glad I can recognize my mistakes and hope I can prevent others from doing the same. I don’t know why people are drawn to do dangerous things but for me I didn’t think about the danger because I just wanted to be close to my cats.”
She understands the allure, but always comes back to the same conclusion: humans and big cats are not meant to live side by side.
“The cost is too great if something goes wrong,” she said. “And something always goes wrong given enough time.”
Did you like this story? Read some of PITB’s other long-form journalism and essays:
Quinn the cat has “the uncanny ability to make people feel unwelcome in her presence!”
Quinn the cat lives separate from feline genpop, she doesn’t suffer fools and she’s got a well-documented habit of smacking people, cats and dogs.
The infamously disagreeable feline is up for adoption and the shelter where she lives has been up front about her unique personality, saying she might do well with a misanthrope who would appreciate Quinn’s dislike of any visitors and intolerance for anyone who doesn’t directly serve her.
“Tired of visitors coming to your house? Adopt Quinn! She has an uncanny ability to make people feel unwelcome in her presence!” shelter staff wrote in Quinn’s adoption post.
Yet they’re confident there’s a home for Quinn, insisting that “surely there’s someone out there who would appreciate her icy stare and her sudden smacks!”
Of course Quinn could blossom into a happy, sweet cat once she’s living in her forever home and she realizes she’s not going back to the shelter or the streets. Most cats do poorly in shelters where fear and stress overwrite their usual personalities. Even the most outgoing, sweet cat can appear depressed and antisocial when locked in a cage most of the time, without people to love them, play with them and make them feel safe.
Quinn’s direct adoption page (scroll down to adoptable cats) says she’s three years old and wasn’t claimed by her owner, so who knows what kind of traumas she may have endured in her short life?
Quinn currently lives in the shelter’s office where she “rules with an iron paw.” Anyone interested in adopting her should ask for her by name, the shelter said. Contact the shelter at the link above or by calling 301-733-2060.
When cats demand attention they can be relentless!
I’m sure the behavior in this video, of a cat absolutely determined not to let her human get a second of studying in, is familiar to everyone who has the privilege of serving a feline:
The cat grabs at the pen, tries to chew on it, covers the book with her body, nibbles on the pages and plays pretty much every trick in the feline book to get her human to stop what she’s doing and engage in some good old Cat Time.
Or more bluntly, she’s saying: “NO STUDY, HUMAN! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!”
I never gave much thought to how students fare with cats but I know writing by hand is pretty much out of the question for me. Bud just won’t let me do it. Either he’s trying to bite the pen or he’s swatting at it with his paws, making my normally neat handwriting look like that of a deranged person demanding ransom or the work of someone stupidly drunk.
I’ve got a tradition of sketching scenes on birthday cards and other things I send to my nieces by snail mail, and Bud must be secured in another room before I can even attempt it.
Same deal with music, unfortunately. If I’ve got a guitar in my hands, little dude tries to cut in with a blazing, discordant solo of his own. Cat claws and guitar strings do not mix. If I’m using my synthesizer, Bud decides we’re going to do a duet by walking across the keyboard and yowling.
I’ve actually sat hunched at my computer for hours trying to stitch together guitar solos from several different takes because they were going swimmingly until Mr. Bud cut in with a paw and a claw, and trying to fix rhythm tracks that were perfect until Buddy the Destroyer decided 4/4 should become 5/8 or a particular chord progression should be interrupted with an accidental bit of guitar dubstep. Thank God for non-destructive digital editing in modern music production! Musicians in the days of analog multitracks must have had to put their felines under lock and key before attempting to record anything.
Do your cats stop you from doing stuff? What are their methods?
Domestication’s real goal: to make cats cuddly as well as great mousers.
Cats have been doing things their way since the very beginning.
Unlike literally every other domesticated animal, cats were not domesticated by humans. They did it to themselves.
As if that didn’t make them unique enough, they lay claim to another major distinction: they’re the only species of obligate carnivores to undergo domestication in the entire history of human existence.
That explains why cats, more than any other animal that depends on humans, so closely resemble the wild animals they were before signing up for the good life of naps, warmth, endless rodents to hunt and free food from their new human friends.
In a new essay for The Conversation, evolutionary biologist Jonathan Losos, author of The Age of Cats: From the Savanna to Your Sofa, notes new DNA analysis settles the question of where cats came from once and for all.
Domestic cats are descended from North African wildcats, specifically the species felis sylvestris lybica. Unlike dogs, who underwent telltale physical transformations when they evolved from wolves, house cats “appear basically indistinguishable from wildcats.”
While the change in genetics that happen with domestication left cats pretty much as they were physically, the process made dramatic changes in the feline brain, reducing regions governing fear and expanding those related to social behavior. The result? The major difference between house cats and their wildcat ancestors is disposition.
In other words, domestication made cats cuddly.
Housecat evolved.
Notably, felis sylvestris lybica had to be pretty friendly in the first place, as well as bold and driven by the now-legendary feline curiosity to risk padding into human settlements with their bright lights, strange smells, open flames and the two-legged giants striding around them.
They didn’t have a way of negotiating or signaling their intent. They couldn’t say: “Hey guys, we’re here to kill and eat the tasty rodents who have been giving you problems by chowing down on your yums, but we don’t want your yums for ourselves. Plants are disgusting!”
So they had to demonstrate their usefulness, prove their worth, and enjoy the fruits of it by curling up in front of warm fires or on human laps.
That explains why it was the African wildcat that became a human companion species and not European wildcats, whom Losos notes are often “hellaciously mean” in interactions with people, even if they’re raised around humans when they’re young. It was also a matter of being in the right place at the right time, as nascent human civilization took root in the Fertile Crescent.
But ultimately, just like cats decided to domesticate themselves and didn’t really bother to consult us about it, so too do they bend us to their will with an entire repertoire of manipulative behavior, from solicitation purrs to incessant meowing and having a talent for looking their cutest when they want something.
While we may think we set the rules and parameters of our relationship with the furry little ones, as Losos notes, “cats usually train us more than we train them.”
