The Plight of the Scottish Wildcat
The summer sun dips behind the pine trees. A deer drinks at the edge of a rippling stream; its ears flicking with every sound. An owl on sentry duty calls, heralding the changing of the forest guard. There is a stirring on a branch above and the rising moon catches a pair of waking eyes piercing the gloom. Then slowly he descends, like amber sap sliding down ancient bark. On the ground he pauses, displaying tiger-like black markings and a distinctive broad, ringed tail. He is alert and his senses keen. Something in the heather moves and he hugs the woodland floor, silently edging forward. He pounces, lifts his head revealing a small vole, turns and melts into the night. He is a Scottish Wildcat and his ancestors have lived in these forests since the last ice age separated this land from modern day Europe. He was here before man came to these lands and before domestic cats existed. Back then, he shared this island with his distant cousin the Lynx, before the latter wa