I was born in a place where I could run between trees at full speed, the wind rushing through my whiskers. My moist nose could pick up the scent of a deer that crossed the path hours before.1 I could climb the trees to gaze upon the rain forest as if it were my own, and it was. I felt the thrill of the chase, creeping up on my prey during that period when the sun begins to set.2 By retracting my claws, I was able to slowly sneak right up to an animal—any animal, really, for I am not picky—without making a sound.3 They never saw me coming. There was barely ever a fight. Then, I would drag them up to the trees, to protect my prey for the next several days from the lazy beasts who would wish to steal my kill. Stupid hyenas. I am a predator. I am “more intelligent than the tiger and more ferocious than the lion,” or at least I used to be.4
I was caught during a hunt, when the air was so hot and thick, you could nearly lay on it. I was walking along the jungle floor, my head cocked, trying to distinguish the direction of a faint rustle in the wind. My whiskers felt a soft vibration to the south, and as I turn and walked in that direction, claws retracted just in case the animal was close, the ground gave way. I fell into a deep pit covered with branches and leaves. Many of the branches fell on top of me. I let out a roar of desperation, but it was no use. I was trapped in a hole ten times my height.
I was sold to a woman who lived across the ocean from my home. She kept me in a cage with big, iron bars, feeding me dead, cold meat. A majestic animal, like me, deserves more than cold meat. I deserve more than those bars that keep me from running or climbing. My cage was hardly large enough to circle. She kept me in a room with a large metal beast that swallowed her, ran off, then regurgitated her hours later. There were no trees, no wind, no hope.
Luckily, this life did not last long. One day, the woman was put into a metal beast with blinking lights that emitted a strange whining. The men that put her in the beast talked about something called “fraud.” I’m not sure what this means, but it meant I was able to leave that tiny box of a cage.
Now I live in something called a ‘zoo’, where tiny humans stare at me. While this isn’t as bad as the place the woman kept me, it is still a cage. I can run, but not far; I can climb, but not high. I still eat cold meat. The only good part about my new home is that I am no longer alone. There are two others like me: Jane and Charles. They are mates. I do not have a mate, but the man who gives me meat says they are looking. I do not really care. I prefer to be alone, laying in a tree, watching.
In any case, I am not a kitty.
My spirit animal is not a kitty; it is the black panther. When I was little, I used to dream about large cats. I remember in one of them, my mother and I were being chased by a male lion. I kept thinking how odd it was that a lion was in our front yard. Then I looked to my right and there were two black panthers grooming themselves like housecats. They were not threatening; in fact, they barely noticed our presence. They, unlike the lion, seemed to belong. When I saw them, I felt safe, despite the angry lion in my yard.
The black panther can be several different large, black cats, but the strictest view defines the species, the animal I saw in my dream, as a melanistic leopard.5 These beautiful animals are intelligent, solitary animals with a terrifying presence. The black panther is smart, graceful, quiet, and a bit of a feminist. She knows when to strike and when to wait. I can relate to her, but I have so much more to learn from her.
In The Jungle Book, the black panther, Bagheera, is the responsible, smart character that looks after Mowgli along with Baloo. In reality, male black panthers do not look after their young. The female looks after the two or three cubs alone.6 This applies to all big cats, excluding the lion. Nonetheless, the black panther is a species of female strength. The females do not need men. They hunt for themselves and their children while still maintaining their fierce reputation. I think any woman can be inspired by this.
One of the most feared species in the wild, they nearly disappear in the dark, can watch their prey from tree branches high above the ground and sneak up on their prey by retracting their claws and tiptoeing on the pads of their paws.3 Because of this, the black panther is known as the “ghost of the forest.”7 In a sense, they tread lightly, carrying a huge stick. Unlike the silent black panther, I tend to say things before thinking. I do this to be funny, but I’ve always wanted to be one of those people who sit quietly, absorbing the words of others. When these people talk, everyone listens, because whatever makes them speak must be important. This reminds me of the black panther. When she makes a noise, it is because she means to make a sound.
The black panther is a creature of isolation.7 Black panthers only leave solitude during breeding season or when a mother has cubs. I can understand this need to be alone. While I enjoy being around other people at times, I prefer to be alone or with one or two close friends. I like to be alone with my thoughts. Sometimes, when I am in a crowded room, I think about the next time I’ll be able to hear myself think. This is mildly paradoxical, but what I mean is that I like being with me. I like the sound of silence. In fact, I cannot study when there are any noises. I focus on the most minute of sounds, rather than the book I am supposed to be reading. I understand the black panther’s choice to be alone, because I crave it so often.
I think what I find most interesting about the black panther and what I think I can most learn from her is that she will only attack a human when she is dying of starvation or when attacked.8 I watched a show once on Animal Planet, in which a woman kept a black panther caged as a pet. This is probably the most torturous thing for this kind of animal. She would come into the cage and pet him, as if he were just a domesticated cat. He would allow her to pet him, but he was not free. There were no trees to climb, and he could barely pace across the cage. After a while, the black panther attacked her, like a victim of kidnap breaking free. She walked into the cage just as she had done every day, but finally, the wild animal reacted to the situation. He finally accepted that the cage was an attack against his very nature. The police killed him, because he acted like a wild animal. However, before that final break, the animal knew that he would not be able to win against a human. The human is not the black panther’s natural enemy. Black panthers know when they have bitten off more than they can chew. I tend to take on projects too large, thinking that I can handle the stress. I need to learn to know where my limits are. All my life, I have sought competition. In high school, I was salutatorian, taking on as many difficult classes as my school offered. In college, I am in Plan II, in the midst of writing my 60-page thesis. Soon, I will start graduate school. I am tired of competing with others. I want to be the type of person who can look at something and ask, “Is it worth it?” or “Is this the fight I really want?” The black panther is that type of animal. Yes, she can accomplish great feats, dragging large animals into trees in order to keep them away from other animals, but she knows when to let one go.
Unfortunately, these teachers are in danger. Despite the fact they adapt to live in a wide variety of habitats, the change in climate and the invasion of the human species has put them on the Endangered Species list in many areas of the world. People kill black panthers for their pelts as well as the thrill of the hunt.9 Because of the selfishness of human beings, this amazing animal may not live much longer. I hate to think that by the time I have children, my spirit animal may be gone. Can your spirit animal be extinct? This makes me wonder. If the world were a different place, would my spirit animal be a wooly mammoth or a dodo bird or some extinct exotic fish? In any case, at this moment, my spirit animal is a survivor. The black panther can live nearly anywhere and adapt to its surroundings. There is so much to learn from this fierce, intelligent, and independent animal. I hope it survives long enough to teach us.
