The species has webbed feet and lives in some of the most remote regions in the world.
The flat-headed cat is one of the most elusive and rare felines in the world, and for three decades conservationists thought it had died out in Thailand, leaving only a handful of places where the species still eked out an existence.
Now there’s good news: the tiny feline, which weighs about half as much as a house cat, has been spotted in a remote region of the country.
Camera traps set up for an ecological survey starting last year detected flat-headed cats 29 times in Thailand’s Princess Sirindhorn Wildlife Sanctuary, according to the country’s Department of Parks, Wildlife and Plant Conservation. One of the sightings was a female and her cub, an encouraging sign that shows the local population is breeding.
Credit: Jim Sanderson/Wikimedia Commons
The sanctuary covers five square kilometers of rainforest and peat swamps. Along with the flat-headed cat and several unique species of birds, it’s also home to the endangered hairy-nosed otter.
Conservationists believe about 2,500 flat-headed cats remain in the wild. The species is mostly nocturnal and has webbed feet, helping the tiny wildcats navigate mangrove swamps and rivers in its rainforest habitat. Known as Prionailurus planiceps in scientific nomenclature, the flat-headed cat is most closely related to the fishing cat (Prionailurus viverrinus), which also has webbed feet, and the leopard cat.
Finding evidence of the endangered feline in Thailand is “exciting, yet concerning at the same time,” said Kaset Sutasha of Kasetsart University.
That’s because it means the surviving population is severely fragmented, which makes it more difficult for the cats to breed and could lead to genetic bottlenecks.
But Atthapol Charoenchansa, director general of Thailand’s parks department, also called it a “significant win” for conservation efforts. Knowledge of its presence in Thailand provides more opportunity to study the rare felines to better understand their behavior and protect them from extinction.
Jaguars, pumas, ocelots and margays are able to thrive in the same jungles, a unique arrangement that sheds light on how each species lives.
The jungles of Guatemala are teeming with life.
The guttural calls of howler monkeys haunt the rainforest from above, where scarlet macaws hop branches in flashes of red, yellow and blue.
On the forest floor opossums, peccaries, and oversize rodents called pacas move through dense brush, occasionally picked out by the few shafts of light able to break through the canopy. Ocellated turkeys plumed in iridescent copper and emerald advertise themselves to potential mates with thumping sounds, while spider monkeys perch on the weathered stones of long-forgotten Mayan cities that were swallowed by the jungle centuries ago.
As in most tropics, the apex predators are cats — four different species, to be exact. Jaguars sit at the top, unchallenged. Pumas, close in size if not ferocity, also find sustenance in the rainforest alongside ocelots and margays.
Margays are smaller than house cats and resemble tiny ocelots. They’re outstanding climbers, expert hunters, and spend most of their time in trees. Unlike most cat species, which are crepuscular, margays are nocturnal. Credit: Clement Bardot/Wikimedia Commons
How do four medium carnivorous species exist side by side?
By dividing time, space and items on the menu, according to a new study.
Ocelots are extremely adaptable: they’re excellent climbers and swimmers, and can thrive in various environments. Credit: Victor Landaeta/Pexels
The felids hunt at different levels of the jungle at different times of day, and while there’s overlap between prey, each species has its own distinct diet, according to a research team from Oregon State University. Their paper, Niche partitioning among neotropical felids, was published earlier this month in the Journal of Animal Ecology.
As the big kids on the block, jaguars primarily eat peccaries (pig-like ungulates that weigh up to 88 pounds), armadillos, deer and, sadly, ocelots. Apparently membership in Club Felid does not grant the smaller wildcats a pass. Ocelots top out at about 35 pounds, while the largest jaguars weigh in at about 350 pounds, making the smaller cats easy prey.
Pumas opportunistically prey on peccaries and brocket deer, but the majority of their diet is composed of monkeys, both spider and howler. Ocelots and margays naturally go for smaller prey, sticking mostly to rodents and opossums.
As the largest and most powerful cats in the western hemisphere, jaguars are the apex predators of their environment. Credit: Atlantic Ambience/Pexels
While jaguars hunt on the ground and have a well-documented habit of slipping into the water to prey on caiman and crocodiles, pumas, ocelots and margays take advantage of their climbing abilities and lighter frames to reach arboreal prey. That allows pumas, for example, to snag monkeys and arboreal opossum species from the canopy, so they don’t have to compete with jaguars.
The team verified the “spatial, temporal, and dietary niche partitioning” within the Maya Biosphere Reserve by using ground camera traps, arboreal camera traps and fecal samples, which allowed them to confirm the prey each species has been consuming.
Interestingly, margays are the pickiest — or perhaps most limited — of the bunch, preying on only seven species, while the other three cats regularly hunt between 20 and 27 different kinds of animals.
The information gleaned from the study not only helps researchers understand how these species interact with their environment, but also can help guide conservation decisions to safeguard them against extinction.
Pumas, also known as cougars and mountain lions, are adaptable and elusive. Credit: Catherine Harding Wiltshire/Pexels
The Buddy Balloon will grace this year’s Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in Manhattan.
Today is the day Buddy spends the other 364 days of the year dreaming about: turkey day!
He’s been a turkey fanatic since he was a tiny kitten, when I fed him the good stuff and he emerged from his dining nook licking his lips, meowing happily and looking like the most content little guy in the world.
While I try to remind myself how fortunate I am all year, for this year’s Thanksgiving I’m expressing particular gratitude for Bud, my best little pal.
I’m fortunate to be his caretaker and best friend. I’m thankful for the strong bond we share, his affection, and his loyalty. He’s always by my side, and even though he’s a bit of a lunatic at times, he’s a good boy with a big heart.
What about you, Bud?
“I’m thankful for all the delicious snacks I get to eat, all the comfy napping spots around the house, and of course for turkey!”
Cool. Anything else you’re grateful for?
“Yeah! I have some pretty cool toys and I’m told I have fans around the world!”
Uh, sure. What else?
“Hmmm. I think that about covers it.”
You sure?
“Yep.”
Don’t worry, it’ll come to him at some point, probably around 4 pm when he realizes I won’t be back in time to feed him according to his regular schedule.
Buddy and I wish all of you a happy Thanksgiving, and if you live in the US, we hope you have the Thanksgiving you want, whether that’s in the company of family, friends, or a quiet holiday spent at home with the people you love most. And of course, don’t forget to save some turkey for your own little buddies!
How do you ensure people will heed warnings to steer clear of nuclear waste storage sites thousands of years in the future? One outlandish proposal involves genetically engineering domestic cats to glow in the presence of radiation.
Imagine you’re a person living five thousand years downstream.
Maybe civilization collapsed and restarted, maybe records were lost, or maybe like Etruscan, Harappan and proto-Elamite, the languages we speak today will be long forgotten.
At any rate, if you discover a forceful warning left by your ancestors from the deep past, would you understand it without translation or cultural context?
And if you’re the one tasked with leaving the message, how would you do it?
The message has to be enduring. It must be recorded in a format that will withstand the tests of time, conquest and natural disasters. The message must be comprehensible without cultural context, because we have no idea how language will shift in the future or whether our descendants will enjoy the knowledge that comes with continuity of records.
Lastly, the message must be both compelling and absolute in its meaning, because its content is vitally important: This site contains nuclear waste. Do not under any circumstances excavate or disturb the contents of this facility. It will lead to sickness, suffering and death.
The traditional trefoil warning sign is unlikely to scare anyone off. The new radiation hazard sign, right, seems unambiguous, but so do warnings on Egyptian tombs.
How do you phrase that in a way our naturally curious species will heed the message?
We certainly didn’t heed the warnings on the tombs of King Tut and other pharaohs. For all we know, humans of the future might believe the hidden chambers deep in Yucca mountain or buried 3,000 feet underground are filled with fabulous treasures and wonders beyond imagination.
They might interpret the warnings as superstition, meant to ward off looters, “grave robbers” and anyone else who might be motivated to break in. They might see the care and effort that went into encasing the objects and conclude there must be something very much worth preserving inside.
Or they might be driven by simple curiosity, as so many human endeavors have been.
A tour group visiting the incomplete Yucca Mountain nuclear waste storage facility. Credit: Daniel Meyer/Wikimedia Commons
Arguments about how to warn the future are at least as old as the Manhattan Project (1942) and the first nuclear power plants (1954 in the USSR, 1958 in the US), but there weren’t serious efforts to come up with a plan until the 1970s, when scientists, historians and other thinkers began to engage in formal efforts to find a long-lasting solution.
Some of the ideas are boring, some are impractical, and some are absurd, like an idea to create a “garden of spikes” atop nuclear material waste sites, to discourage people from settling in the area or excavating.
Unfortunately, one idea that’s still being kicked around is the concept of the radiation cat, or raycat.
Knowledge and language may be lost to history, signage may be destroyed, physical obstacles may be removed. But one constant that has endured, that has seen empires rise and fall, and has existed long before Stonehenge and the pyramids of Giza, is the human relationship with cats.
They’re now valued as companions, but we still use them as mousers on ships, in heavily populated cities, in ancient structures and on farms and vineyards.
They’re embedded so deep into our cultural psyche that it would not be outlandish to think the archaeologists of the future may conclude the internet was constructed primarily to facilitate the exchange of images of cats.
Even the first high-bandwidth deep space transmission was a video of a cat, so in a very real sense, the dawn of a solar system-wide internet was heralded by an ultra high definition clip of an orange tabby named Taters, beamed back to earth from the exploratory spacecraft Psyche, which was 19 million miles away when it transmitted Taters on Dec. 11, 2023.
Consider also that the basic felid body plan — shared by domestic kitties, tigers, pumas, black-footed cats and the 37 other extant species — has barely changed in 30 million years, because cats are extremely successful at what they do.
In other words, cats aren’t going away, and domestic felines have a place in every human society.
So philosophers Françoise Bastide and Paolo Fabbri conceived of the “living warning” in 1984. The idea is to alter the genetic code of felis catus so that the animals glow or change color in the vicinity of nuclear waste, using minuscule levels of radiation as the trigger.
There are natural precedents for this, including bioluminescence and several species of octopus that radically change colors and patterns on their skin to evade predators.
The second component, once the genetic code has been altered, is the creation of folklore: songs, stories and myths that will endure through time, warning people to keep cats close, treat them well, and run like hell if they change color because it means something terrible, something evil beyond imagination, is nearby.
To ensure the folklore of feline Geiger counters endures, an idea by linguist and semiotician Thomas Sebeok would be incorporated. Although empires and states rise and fall, there’s one organization that has survived for 2,000 years preserving a unified message: the Catholic church.
Sebeok proposed an atomic priesthood, an order that would pass the knowledge down through generations, continually seeding culture with stories and songs of glowing felines.
Spent nuclear fuel rods are stored in on-site pools at the facilities where they were used, but pools are meant only as temporary storage solutions. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
If this stuff sounds wacky, that’s because it is. We won’t figure out a way to ensure a message is received and understood thousands of years in the future without considering some off-the-wall plans.
Of course messing with the genetic code of any animal raises serious ethical questions.
We don’t have the right to play God and tinker with the genetic code of extant species. We don’t fully understand the immediate consequences for the health and happiness of cats, and we know almost nothing about the long-term effects on the species.
I’d also argue that we have a special relationship with cats and dogs, one that exceeds any obligations we may feel toward our primate “cousins” or other non-human animals.
Cats and dogs have been living with humans for a combined 40,000 years. They have been molded by us, they are dependent on us, and all that time in human proximity has led to unique changes.
No animals on this planet can match them when it comes to reading human emotions. Our little buddies pick up on our emotional states before we’re consciously aware of them partly because of their robust sensoriums, and partly because as their caretakers, our business is their business.
A clip of a cat named Taters was the first data burst transmitted to Earth using NASA’s upgraded deep space network. Credit: NASA/JPL
We bear a responsibility to both species and the individual animals. It’s not just the fact that without them, our lives would feel less meaningful. It’s the indisputable fact that without them — without dogs who flushed out prey on yhr hunt and guarded small settlements, without cats who prevented mass starvation by hunting down rodents — we would not be here.
Cats and dogs play a major role in the story of the human race. We are indelibly linked. Their DNA is not ours to tinker with, and they are not tools we can repurpose at our convenience.
Thankfully the US Department of Energy has never endorsed the concept of raycats. While there is a website advocating for a raycat program and small groups around the world dedicated to its propagation, the interest is mostly academic.
The Raycat Solution, which maintains a site dedicated to the idea, has a FAQ which says its supporters are serious about its potential usefulness, but for now most experts see it as a thought experiment and reminder that the problem must be dealt with eventually. At some point NIMBY will have to yield to reality, and wherever the US ends up storing nuclear waste, it’ll need to be secured, sealed and marked.
The goal is for the message to endure at least 10,000 years, at which point scientists say the radiation will be minimal.
That’s assuming that the future holds the collapse and rebuilding of human civilization, or at least a technological backslide in which the majority of our species’ knowledge is lost.
We like to think things will be brighter than that and instead of glowing to warn people of danger, cats of the far future will be where they belong — with their human buddies, exploring new frontiers on starships with plenty of comfortable napping spots.
Header image depicts the Alvin Ward Vogtle Nuclear Power Plant in Georgia, the largest nuclear plant in the US. Image via Wikimedia Commons/NRC
[1] The nuclear waste storage facility at Yucca Mountain was initially funded and approved by congress in 2002, then was canceled and de-funded in 2011 after significant pushback from people who live in Nevada, along with their representatives in congress. Plans for the site have changed several times in more than two decades, leaving the US with no central, secure site to store nuclear waste.
In disrupting another industry, AI has moved into a realm where its use has physical consequences.
I’d planned on taking a break and easing up on posts after the glut of cat-related news the past few days, but this story is disturbing, timely, and sadly we’ll almost certainly hear about more of these incidents in the near future.
KitKat, a nine-year-old tabby who called Randa’s Liquor Store in San Francisco’s Mission District home, was killed late Monday night by a vehicle owned by Waymo, an autonomous ride-hailing service.
Witnesses said they saw the Waymo hit the cat and pulled him out from under the self-driving car. They say KitKat was sitting on the sidewalk at the time. It’s not clear if the Waymo vehicle drove up onto the sidewalk or if its bumper was the impact point.
A witness who filed a report with 311 via smartphone said the Waymo vehicle “did not even try to stop.” The car continued on to its next pickup.
Several people rushed the injured tabby to a 24-hour emergency veterinary clinic, but his injuries were too severe and he died five minutes before his human arrived.
KitKat was extremely popular with people in the neighborhood, patrons of the neighboring bar and sandwich shop, and passersby. They described him as a feline who liked to patrol the sidewalk and pop into the bar and sandwich shop to “supervise,” making sure all was well in his little realm.
“Everyone’s heartbroken,” Jessica Chapdelaine, who tends bar next door and lives in an apartment above the liquor store, told Mission Local. “He’s the baby. He was everyone’s best friend and he was just the sweetest boy.”
Waymo didn’t respond to requests for comment by Mission Local, TheSFist and other media. The Google-owned company had not addressed the incident on its website’s press page, nor on its X account despite several users bringing it up, as of Thursday morning.
“You can’t even drive in the dark in normal weather without killing a cat,” one user wrote, while others weren’t nearly as diplomatic.
The San Francisco Standard provides a bit of context on the autonomous vehicle issue in California:
“The state had logged 884 autonomous vehicle collision reports as of Friday, according to the Department of Motor Vehicles (opens in new tab). A dog was struck and killed by a Waymo in Bernal Heights in 2023. A week later, a Labrador survived getting hit by a Cruise self-driving car; the company no longer tests its cars in San Francisco.”
On the other hand, there have been several dramatic incidents involving autonomous vehicles that have successfully avoided collisions with other cars, people and animals, even when given a fraction of a second to respond. In an incident in LA from earlier this year, a home security camera caught footage of a Waymo stopping instantly to avoid a dog that ran out into the street directly in the car’s path:
A human driver almost certainly could not make a safe decision in that time interval, but a machine can confirm there is no car immediately behind it and execute the stop within a few milliseconds.
Still, as more ride hailing services roll out autonomous fleets and expand into more cities — as the major players in the still-developing industry are already doing — this will become more of an issue. Waymo operates fleets in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Phoenix, Austin (TX) and Atlanta, and plans to roll out its service in Miami and Washington, D.C., in the near future.
The obvious question is whether AI-driven vehicles are safer than cars with people behind the wheel, for drivers and pedestrians. The answer seems to be yes, especially as the technology improves. Machines don’t text while driving, don’t get distracted fiddling with radios and don’t get behind the wheel after drinking. Sensors and software have improved dramatically in just a few years.
But that won’t be enough. There’s a psychological hurdle in giving up control. It’s the same reason why so many people are terrified of flying even though we’re statistically much more likely to die in car collisions. When you’re behind the wheel, you have control over your fate — or the illusion of control, anyway.
A close-up shot of hardware and some of the sensors on the Jaguar I-PACE Waymo autonomous vehicle. Credit: Waymo
Parallel to the questions about safety are concerns about whether any corporation should be permitted to put driverless cars on the road, especially when the companies with the resources to commit to a major venture like this are the familiar Big Tech conglomerates run by the same handful of tech oligarchs.
Should they be allowed to wipe out yet another industry, taking away work from people who drive taxis or for rideshare companies? Do we need the government to step in and place some guiderails on tech that has developed at an unprecedented pace and threatens to upend huge swaths of society? Should we demand a much more robust regulatory process and risk falling behind other countries in the AI race?
These are questions we’ll all have to grapple with, and there are no easy answers.
Pain In The Bud 