A low mist barreled across the late summer fields like tumbleweed, too early, in my mind, for this time of year. The howls and yips had awakened me. Reluctantly, I glanced at my watch and cringed. It was 2 a.m.! Thud! My cat, Sid, had leaped from the bed and, with his nose pressed against the outer screen door, listened intensely. Above the mist was a freckled star-studded night sky scrubbed clean of clouds while the bright full moon journeyed toward the western horizon.
Yipping, howling or any other vocalizations occur for the most part during the night; though, I have been told that their ‘song,’ or whatever you may call it, can be a 24-hour unmusical affliction to soul and mind. At least it is true for me, and I think it is true for Sid, too. On this night they were particularly noisy, and Sid sensed they were near, and he remained rigid at the open door. Directly facing our bedroom is the barn where he once slept and scrounged for food (that is, when he wasn’t ‘knocking’ on my door). When the sing-songy yips and howls and their variety of tones, pitches, modulations, and inflections (sometimes with warbles, lilts, crescendos and trills) drifted into silence, it was two-thirty.
Sid climbed onto the bed and snuggled more tightly than normal into the nap of my legs. I remained still until assured he had fallen asleep. Then, ever so carefully, I adjusted my position to obtain a more comfortable spatial arrangement.
Eery how sounds not understood invade your sleep to spark an uncomfortable restlessness. Eyelids tacked wide open, I stared into the grainy darkness of my bedroom. When quietude finally anchored to the night, tenseness’s grip unfolded, and I felt myself drifting off. It must have been a good hour before I, too, fell back into what I thought was a dreamless slumber.
Sid has been with me almost nine wonderful years now. I remember our first meeting well. He was roughly four months old when he first showed up at our door looking for food. A ‘dog person,’ I was uncertain how to feed him and Jeanne, my wife, discouraged any such interactive generosity. But I could not turn him away. My neighbor who had taken care of many different animals suggested breadcrumbs soaked in milk. And that was what he got. Now, he gets high-end food from the veterinary clinic along with a special additive to his water to protect his teeth and, of course, an annual checkup. A spoiled little runt indeed! In a way, he now earns his keep by effortlessly bringing laughter and love to this household. Like all family members, he is missed whenever he is not with us.
When the coyotes (or ‘werewolves’ as I call them) first came around, Sid lived on the second floor of the barn. That was in the summer of 2013. Though coyotes are diurnal animals their presence on my property was most persistent at night. It must have been scary for Sid to be so young and out on his own. Not knowing better, I left food on the deck overnight for him. Now I know that was a definite NO! NO! Though the dish was empty next morning, I think it may have furnished an attractive encouragement for the ‘werewolves’ to venture closer to the house. Sid always showed up mid-morning hungry. Hmm…Now I know why.
One day that summer, Jeanne, and I allowed Sid to enter our home. Casually, he wondered in and examined each room on the first level before sauntering back to the front door again. While he waited to be let out, he looked up at me with those intelligent eyes of his and ‘meowed’. When I opened the door, he hesitated and glanced up at me again before he took off at top speed toward the barn.
The next day while I attended to the two horses we boarded, Sid showed up in the barn, intent on getting my attention. Closing the gated area in the barn set aside for the equines, I followed him along an aisle parallel to the quarter horse enclosure and separated from it by a three-foot high concrete wall topped with a two-foot metal tubed rail. On my left were a few empty stalls suitable for small animals but now filled with an assortment of junk left by the previous owner. Sid kept looking back as if telling me to pick up my pace. Ahead was a large beam leaning at a steep angle against the outer stone wall. Sid jumped onto it, glanced back at me with a ‘meow,’ then scurried along this well-worn ancient highway to disappear through an opening at its top. Though I could not see him, he continued to meow. I retraced my steps to the ladder that led to the hayloft and began to climb. At the top, Sid was there to greet me with several loving bunts. Afterwards, I followed him to his sleeping location nicely hidden amongst the loose hay and square bales. Later, as he and I walked back to the house, I knew we had developed a special bond, one that has held fast ever since that day.
Jeanne and I had to return to the city for two weeks. We asked the Rowntrees, our neighbors, who are really like family to us, to take care of him. Leanne and her daughter, Nadia, readily agreed and when we left, I knew without doubts that Sid was in good hands. You see, Jeanne and I hadn’t agreed upon whether Sid would be part of our family yet. Let’s just say we were at a fork in the woods where paths diverged, and a choice had to be collaboratively decided.
Two weeks later we returned to discover that the ‘werewolves’ had been fearfully active during that period and after the first two days into the first week, Sid had disappeared. Needless to say, I was downhearted by this news. For days I wandered the property making a clicking sound with my tongue that I taught him to recognize. But to no avail.
Then on a warm and sunny day in early October Sid re-appeared on my deck sprawled out in a large splash of sun. That was the day he officially became part of our family. In the evening of the same day, I was watching television while Jeanne dozed-off on the couch. Sid wandered into the room and jumped onto the arm of the couch behind her and startled her. She sat up so quickly that it startled Sid, too, and in that moment, he flew onto her heavy woolen sweater hanging on for dear life while she frantically danced around the room hysterically screaming “Get him off me!! Get him off me!!!” Obviously, both survived this incident because he is still with us nine years later. At the beginning, Jeanne was adamant, “I do not like cats!!” How that changed over time to become a loving relationship will be left until a later story. For the moment, I will return to the present to discuss the ‘werewolves’ of Pine Meadows.
The panoply of howls, yips and other vocalizations made by coyotes appear (according to what have read) neither to be eminent attack on prey nor a celebration of its capture. In fact, various articulations can form signature howls for an individual coyote. Like us their voices are individually distinctive. One thing I found interesting in my initial research was communication for the most part is quiet and expressed through body language.
So why the array of songs? It seems they represent warnings, hellos, happiness, joy, anger, distress, disapproval, dislike, pain, their whereabouts and calling out to family members. Raspy sounds which include growls, snarls, hisses, and barks generally communicate warnings or being upset or angry. Sing-songy friendly howls, yips and squeals which are higher pitched and smoother tend to indicate friendly, happy, or contented sounds.
A few coyotes can often sound like many are present. And this can be very disconcerting to anyone including my cat, Sid. At this early stage of my research, I have neither learned how to distinguish the distinctive sound from an individual coyote nor identify the voice communication between individuals from different families. Maybe by the time of my next writing I will be able to share more information with you.
In the meantime, these ‘werewolves’ will continue to interrupt Sid’s and my sleep. But I think in his case his experience with them carries a whole different dimension that sets off alarm bells of stress and fear. He, like us, knows there is at least one cat who presently lives in the barn. Do cats empathize? Maybe. Or maybe not.
Still, I wonder what goes through Sid’s mind when he peers into the night and sees the outline of the barn looming menacingly through the darkness.