Or maybe it’s all of that, plus my conversation with Handsyguy37. I chuckle at that ridiculous username even now.
I have to admit it was nice to talk to a man who might be romantically interested in me. Were we flirting? It felt like flirting. It made me laugh. I’m looking forward to talking to him again.
Maybe Ellery was right. Maybe this is exactly what I need.
I get out of my truck, and a cool breeze blows, bringing with it the scent of dry leaves and wild onions. The scent of fall. My favorite time of year.
“What took you so long?” An man in his eighties, Mr. Herring according to the report of the call, says as he hurries toward my truck. He’s tall and thin, his skin papery and nearly as white as his hair. “I’ve been waiting all morning.”
I manage not to say that it’s only nine thirty, so there’s no way he’s been waitingallmorning. “Good morning. Amelia Burns. Where did you see the animal?”
He squints at me. “A woman? I asked them to send a man. There’s a lion cub in my backyard. A woman can’t handle this.”
I bite my lip so damn hard I taste blood. Silently, I cycle through all the things I will not say.
Sorry, sir. Request the gender of your government worker day was last week.
Or
We offered the job to all the male animal control officers, but they were too chickenshit to do it. Everyone knows women are braver than men.
Or
There is no way in hell what you saw was a lion, because we live in North America, and there are no zoos or animal parks with lions within a hundred miles of here.
That last one isn’t entirely fair, because he might mean a mountain lion. There are no known cases of mountain lions in the mountains of southwestern Virginia, but many people mistake bobcats for them.
Which I could explain to him, but won’t because judging by the way he’s glaring at me, being schooled by a woman will only infuriate him.
If I weren’t on my best behavior, that might be fun. Really fun. Unfortunately, the only fun I’m allowed right now is after-hours messaging with Handsyguy37.
“Why aren’t you saying anything? Are you stupid? Get back in your truck and tell them to send a man.”
Wow. “Sir, you are being verbally abusive. If you don’t stop. I will leave.”
“Good. Leave and send a man out here.”
“I can leave, but there’s no man on duty today.” There is a man on duty today, but he’s on the other side of the county, and I’ll be damned if I give Mr. Herring what he wants. “Can you tell me where you saw the big cat?”
I use the term big cat, so that when we discover the animal isn’t a lion cub, Mr. Herring won’t feel embarrassed. He can say big cat like I just did and never have to be wrong.
And if it is a lion cub or a bobcat, I’m calling a wildlife expert in because wild animals are not my department.
He glares at me for several long moments. “Thelion cubis in my backyard next to my wife’s herb garden.”
I grab my catch pole from the back of the truck and gesture for Mr. Herring to go ahead of me. “Please lead the way, sir.”
He scowls. “I’m not going back there. The thing could have rabies. Lions are dangerous, even cubs. That’s why I live in America and not Africa. I want nothing to do with anything that can eat me.”
I don’t tell him how easily a large dog could kill and eat him, given the inclination. Not to mention black bears, coyotes, and alligators. And pigs. Pigs will eat people. Rare, but possible.
Luckily, I’m self-aware enough to understand that explaining that to him would come across as me being smug and annoying. Even if I really do think we’re all safer if we’re aware of the threats around us. And if we don’t discriminate against an entire continent because of one animal that is actually quite fascinating.
Or maybe I’m just annoying. I can live with that.
“I’ll go get the animal,” I say instead.
“Don’t you want to call for backup?” he asks.
