Flimsy Whimsy: Lynx
Few people have ever seen a lynx. It‚Äôs because they don‚Äôt exist. They‚Äôre just an urban myth. The tracks that people see are from overfed monstrous tabby cats. In dire times, people let them wander in ravines and forests. It‚Äôs the punishment called the forced fast for fatness. Our tabby with the M (for moron) on its forehead pretended it was a lynx one day.
My neighbor, whose house backs onto the city forest (not a forest, but urbanites exaggerate) was raking his leaves. From across the busted fence when he approached me. ‚ÄúYou know, the other day I got up and sat outside to have coffee before going to work. You‚Äôll never guess what I seen!‚ÄĚ
I guessed incorrectly, ‚ÄúA grizzly bear. A big one. A bearded convict?‚ÄĚ
‚ÄúNo you silly old corndog. I saw a lynx.‚ÄĚ
‚ÄúYeah, I think I saw one too,‚ÄĚ I agreed. There was no point informing him his lynx was my fat and lazy tabby. He‚Äôd argue with me all night, and then complain that I interrupted him from finishing his leaf raking. The argument would be retold and rehashed by our wives the next day. Not worth it. Neighbors are supposed to be civil ‚Äď most of the time.
You see, I‚Äôd been through all this before, some 60 years ago. I‚Äôd come in off the gravel road whooping it up about the lynx I saw. Grandpa picked up the old orange cat, probably some ancient ancestor of the one I have now, ‚Äėceptin that one wasn‚Äôt as heavy.
He grinned mischievously and asked, ‚ÄúDid it look like this, by chance?‚ÄĚ
That‚Äôs when I discovered lynx don‚Äôt exist. But there‚Äôs no point in letting everybody else know. Best kept secret, like the whereabouts of wasp nests and good doctors. Coons? Now those guys are a different story.