Return of the Screaming Thing

Yesterday morning, as I sat drinking my first cup of coffee, shrill screaming from outside brought me to my feet.  As I rushed toward the back door, thinking I would need to break apart my 40 pounds of housecat in a typical spat near my deck, I bumped into Carmel (20 pounds of cat) still inside my house.

Only one cat, Splash, was outside. 

A second scream of more dubious origin reached me just before I opened the door onto the sunrise morning. I caught site of Splash diving under the deck when I stepped outside.

I walked out to the center of my deck and stood there.

“Splash?” I huffed.   “Splash, is something under there with you?  Splash?

Not so much as shuffling came from below the deck.  Songbirds chirped from a great distance.  A raven overflew me, wings whistling softly.

“Splash?”

Then I heard the screaming thing yowl from someplace deep in the timbered arroyo between me and the lake.  The sharp sound echoed up through the juniper and pine—a forceful scream like that of a trumpet’s final note.  Not a small thing.  Chills stitched themselves up and down my exposed arms.

Relative quiet filled the space around me once more.

Birds called.

I heard the faraway drone of the first fishing boat cutting through water on the lake below.

I stepped back inside my house again after standing in the blush of sunrise and birdsong for a little longer.  I am not sure what I heard.  I have heard the screaming thing on two other occasions over the last twenty years.  I suspect mountain lion, but I am just not certain.  After about a half hour, Splash came back inside and slunk away to hide under the clothes washer in the laundry room.

--Mitchell Hegman