A big cat sighting!

I believe the dog and I saw a big black yesterday evening. Here's the photo I managed to capture!

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DAN HOLDSWORTH: Afghan mystery cats

Jon,

I saw this blog post from a war correspondent who has extensively covered Afganistan. Apparently there have long been rumoursof very large cats in Kandahar province of Afganistan, which the locals usually laughed off as mere supposition.However, when the US soldiery started seeing these cats on night vision and even thermal imaging kit (the US Army has some quite incredible technology these days) they were taken seriously. Here are photos of one such cat.



http://www.michaelyon-online.com/afcats-wild-cats-of-afghanistan.htm

EDITOR'S NOTE: Sadly there is no scale given.

According to Wikipedia, the following species of felid live in Afghanistan (although I would question the lion):

Suborder: Feliformia
Family: Felidae (cats)
Subfamily: Felinae

Genus: Acinonyx

Cheetah Acinonyx jubatus VU

Genus: Caracal
Caracal Caracal caracal LC
Genus: Felis

Jungle Cat Felis chaus LC

Sand Cat Felis margarita NT
Wildcat Felis silvestris LC
Pallas's Cat Felis manul NT

Genus: Lynx

Eurasian Lynx Lynx lynx NT

Genus: Prionailurus

Leopard Cat Prionailurus bengalensis LC

Subfamily: Pantherinae

Genus: Panthera

Lion Panthera leo VU

Leopard Panthera pardus LC
Tiger Panthera tigris EN

Genus: Uncia

Snow Leopard Uncia uncia EN

BIG CAT PAINTING ON Ebay

C'mon guys...

BIG CAT STUFF IN ARCHIVE

Paul Cropper, the eminent Australian cryptobloke, sends round robin emails once in a while, which contain a wealth of cryptozoological news. After extracting the current news stories and posting them up on the CFZ Newsblog last week, we were left with a bunch of 2009 Big Cat stories. So, rather than waste them we made them into a pdf, and posted them:

Enjoy

IN PHENOMENA MAGAZINE THIS MONTH

In this month's issue of Messrs Mera and Sadler's online magazine there are a lot of things of interest to readers of this bloggo. These include big cat research reports, the latest on Lloyd Pye's ongoing starchild project and some stuff about mermaids. For details, email sadler_dave@yahoo.co.uk

MAX BLAKE: Those "big cat" pictures in full

The other day young Max was quoted out of context in a Somerset newspaper, and we covered it here on the blog. He commented on the piece: "My quote was as I wrote it, but they have taken it a little out of context! Basically, it's a non-story. As it says in the quotes from Mr Highfield and myself, we both think it is a large breed of domestic cat, and the mystery in no way deepens!"

Because, no doubt, folk in certain quarters who enjoy sniping at us, will accuse Max of following in the proud CFZ tradition of debunking nonsense stories, as if there is anything to be ashamed of doing that, here are the two original photographs that Max sent us last week.

Big cat, my giddy aunt!

OLL LEWIS: On the track of Unusual Tracks

When the current cold snap started about ten days ago, Jon and I were talking about things that we might investigate this month, and the subject of the report of the devil’s footprints we had investigated in the village this time last year came up. Our conclusion had been that a rabbit lolloping around in the snow in an unusual manner most likely made them but, Jon hoped, it would be interesting to see if similar tracks turned up in the snow this year in order that we could compare them. I said, “I don’t know about that, but I’d be interested in seeing if anyone sees any tracks from the Hartland cat.”

Several witnesses have seen the Hartland cat in the woods and farmland around the areas of Hartland and Woolsery for a number of years. (And yes, these sightings date from long before we moved into Woolsery before some armchair pundit with half the facts decides to act like an internet tough guy and accuse us of making the whole thing up). If local rumours are to be believed there is more than one of them too. Jon is currently making a film about the big cat sightings in the area and our friend Emily’s investigation of those in the locality that she began after hearing of a sighting of the cat by her uncle.

Around this time of year, two years ago, we received a ‘phone call from Roger Heywood from Duerdon farm just outside Woolsery about a sheep kill. He had seen the sheep happily frolicking about in the field the afternoon before, but the next morning found the animal skinned with most of the flesh removed. Roger did the sensible thing and called his local mystery animal investigation team and we sent Richard Freeman to take a look. After examining the corpse Richard was left in no doubt that a big cat had dispatched the unfortunate sheep.

Today (the 13th of January) Roger made another ‘phone call; he had some unusual prints in the snow. As the light was fading Graham and I quickly grabbed a tape-measure, my notepad, a torch, digital camera and film camera and hot-footed it (well ‘hot-four-wheel-drived it’ technically but lets not split hairs here) to Duerdon Farm, where Roger was waiting. We then followed Roger’s tractor to the field where the tracks had been found. By the time we reached the field, twilight had set in, but in the powerful headlights of the tractor we could see a line of tracks stretching from one end of the field to the other. Most of the tracks were in the deep, otherwise unbroken virgin snow that covered the field but when they reached tracks from a previous visit of the tractor they followed this track for a few paces. When I asked Roger when the tractor track had been made he said it was from yesterday evening and because he found the animal’s tracks when he had been out at about 2pm this means the tracks must have been made between around 5pm and lunchtime the next day. Not wanting to disturb the line of animal tracks, I walked down the existing tractor tracks to get a closer look at the animal tracks.

The tracks themselves were very interesting. One set in deep snow that I examined closely showed that the animal was placing its back paw in the imprint of the forepaw; this is not something canines do when they walk so that, along with the shape of the prints, meant that I could eliminate dogs and foxes from my list of possible culprits. There was no sign of webbing between the toes either, which was a good indication that the tracks were not made by otters. I hesitate slightly to say that these prints were definitely made by a big cat though because of the toes; there are five of them. However, a number of big cat researchers have found anomalies in the paw prints they’ve found in their area, including things like apparently non-retractable claws or polydactylism, which might be consistent with interbreeding among a very small group of individuals over several generations. Keeping it in the family can play havoc with feline Hox genes it would seem and polydactylism in felines it is not all that uncommon; my childhood pet cat, Tigger, started off life as part of a family of stray moggies on a farm and had more than her fair share of digits for example. As well as the possibility of it being a big cat, I would also consider the possibility of the prints having been made by a badger but there are one or two problems with this theory too as none of the tracks show evidence of claws as one would expect to see in a badger track. And then there is the size of the prints.

The print from the forepaw measures about 8cm by 9cm and the back paw print measures 5cm by 6 cm with a stride length of 71cm. This is rather larger than a badger where the forepaws would be expected to be around 4-5 cm and the stride would be about 50cm, so if it is a badger then it would have to be huge and such a large badger could perhaps be considered a cryptid in itself. As well as taking a number of photographs, Graham also made use of the digger scoop of Roger’s tractor in order to be lifted aloft to get some photographs of the tracks stretching across the field. Once we had obtained as many photographs as was possible in the fading light, we returned to Roger’s house where I filmed an interview with him and then it was home to Myrtle Cottage to inform Jon of what we had found.

If the snow hasn’t thawed by tomorrow morning we hope to be able to get plaster casts of some of the prints, but in the meantime take a look at the photos, what do you think? Is it a big cat, an abnormally large super badger, or something else entirely?

Here we should note that Dale had a look at them last night and wrote "Composite Kittycat tracks. Stepping in the same track makes the prints look bigger and with more toes. Last track in picture most accurate one of set." Time will, I hope, tell JD

FRIENDSHIP - THE PERFECT BLENDSHIP

About a month ago we brought you a peculiar photo story about a leopard singularly ignoring a small rodent in his cage which brought forth some aaaaaaaaaaaaaw's and some belly laughs. However, I think that you may agree with me that this following sequence of pictures is even more peculiar....

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: PART 14 - The Meeting

The other week, as an amusing one-off , Tim Matthews wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every few days will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny," says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

A meeting was to be held at the Minster Village Hall and many villagers would be there out of concern. The local vicar, Thomas Harrison and the head of the Village Council, Lady Penelope Gregson, would be chairing the meeting at which The General would be speaking and locals would be able to ask some of the questions that were concerning them.

The children were all going and Robin was bringing his camera to film events and to produce the first scenes for his internet movie, presenting, he hoped, a villager’s view of events. Many of the children’s friends would be going too and it was said that local farmers would be out in force almost certainly to give The General a hard time.

The children met at the war memorial. Ellie had decided, after talking with Frieda, to stay away from the event and true to form, The General asked her to stay away because “things might get heavy”. He also didn’t fancy having any of the limelight being taken away from him by a pretty young girl, and a local one at that.

As the children approached the meeting they said hello to lots of their friends and neighbours. All those attending had to fight their way past a strange man selling “Minster Beast” t-shirts and a van selling “Big Cat Burgers”. Disgusted, the children and their friends from the village mocked the money-makers and made their way into the hall.

The place was a hive of activity; women from the local WRVS offering tea and sandwiches, the vicar speaking with a local radio station, Channel X TV personnel lauding it over the locals and setting up cameras for a “live link” and villagers mingling with strange people who looked like they rarely saw daylight. Various groups were giving out leaflets including the “Rendlesham Research Initiative”. Robin reliably informed his brother and sisters that in fact a lighthouse had been responsible for the sightings in 1980 but the people giving out leaflets – and asking for donations - said it was a government-alien cover-up, and that rabbits and radioactivity were also involved.

The children sat to the left of the hall next to friends of theirs and Tom produced a huge bag of sweets including jelly snakes, curly wurlies and Sherbert Dip Dabs. He also had some other goodies in his bag but they were for later. (He was carrying materials that would be of use to friends; when the time was right.) Whilst munching away at their feast, Robin filmed various scenes and Frieda assisted by taking lots and lots of digital photos with mummy’s new camera. All would be included on a new website Robin had set up and that afternoon he’d used his pocket money to buy a website and domain name – www.minstercats.co.uk – which would become the main vehicle for putting out a sensible, balanced view of what was happening and also a lot of information designed to encourage all the visitors and trippers to leave as soon as possible.

After around twenty minutes waiting, The Reverend Harrison stood up on stage and welcomed “friends and visitors” to the village, to the hall and to the meeting. He noted that such excitement was relatively unknown to locals and that some resentment had been caused but that he hoped that some understanding could be gained through the evening’s proceedings. “It is to be hoped that from tonight we can start to see thing’s from each other’s point of view and that the Spirit may guide us towards a common purpose,” he added. Lady Penelope then took the stage and declared that this was one reason why tonight’s meeting had been called; to see what could be done about the current state of affairs, the interruption to village life and what - if any - evidence there was for the many extraordinary claims being made. “It would be nice to see some of the outsiders acting with class and tact,” she added. Several people laughed.

Reverend Harrison continued with a prayer and it was interesting to note that the villagers joined him and that the outsiders mocked. Just as the prayers were ending The General and his motley crew of shower dodgers burst in through the main door. His troupe pushed their way past some of the nice old ladies making tea and marched up to the front of the room where ABC sympathisers had saved some chairs for them.

“I demand an audience,” screeched The General. “I must be heard!”

His supporters, around 20 in all (probably the entire membership), clapped furiously as if The Messiah had entered the room but nobody else was impressed by this fake. Florence stood up and threw an empty bottle at him and was immediately chastised by her older brother even though it hit the target. “Silly girl,” he rasped. “We’re supposed to be pretending to just be here for the fun. Keep a low profile. Please keep calm my darling....” Florence went bright red but her actions met with the approval of her friends. It was a good shot. The General swung around with a look of hatred on his face and felt the back of his head to see if there was any damage. “Might knock some sense into him,” said Albert Brigstocke, a local gardener. Everyone nearby laughed.

After a few minutes of bullying and loudness from The General, Reverend Harrison agreed to allow him to say a few words. What transpired can only be described as the rantings and ravings of a madman but to cut a long story short, The General basically said that Upper Minster had become, variously, a focus for dark forces, was being visited the devil and was “a centre for “Nephilim Activity.” The big cats were “a small part of it but evidence shows that Upper Minster is a window area for Paranormal activity.”

He made some pretty offensive comments about local farmers too; so rude in fact that even the Barton family, who were sitting to the right of the hall near the back, were stunned. If he had been trying to win friends and influence people he had singularly failed but his brief from Yvonne Fawcett was to cause as much trouble as possible so she could get more dramatic scenes on camera and make it look as if the villagers had something to hide.

After The General had finished, the floor was opened up to questions and it was at this point that local frustration and anger boiled over. It started with Susannah, the local vet, calmly but firmly asking The General a series of straightforward questions. “What evidence do you have for local big cat activity?” she asked.

“Too much to mention here,” he said. “But Marj Seaton told me what she saw and there have been many other sightings too,” he replied.

“Yes,” said Susannah, “but these reports, that I have seen on your website, could be anything. Having done five years training at Vetinary College and a further two years specialising, I can find no good evidence, no scientific evidence, to support your claims. Indeed,” she continued, working up a head of steam, “several of your supporters believe in aliens, UFOs, abductions, the global conspiracy and none of this has to do with big cats, and nothing to do with Upper Minster. Not one of you is a vet, none of you have any qualifications, none of you are experts and nowhere in anything you present is there any meaningful evidence. In fact, yesterday one of your supporters claimed to have found evidence of something you call “animal mutilation” of two field mice and I ask you, Mr Norman, why any of us here in Upper Minster should take you at all seriously beyond the offence and upset that you have caused.”

Clearly shocked that a wretched local, and a damn vet too, should have inside information on his activities, The General struggled to maintain control. “Errm, well, yes, eh hem...yesterday we did make momentous discoveries down by the river and errr, we were ably assisted by, errm, local people, in making these finds. As I speak, the samples are being looked at by experts.”

“There you go again,” interrupted Susannah. “Without meaning to bang my own drum and that of Minster Vets, which deals with all the local animals and provides an excellent service to people here,” (cue appreciative applause from local farmers and pet owners alike) she stormed, “I am the only real expert here. And you’re not talking to me and you haven’t asked for my help. What scientific methods are you using and which experts have you consulted? I think, given the interruption of village life you and these damn media whores have caused, that you should at least present us with evidence; a picture at least, or some detailed answers.”

“Young lady,” The General replied, “you are clearly here to disrupt tonight’s proceedings and I am wondering who put you up to this!”

“I put myself up to this. I realise you probably have trouble with women,” she added, much to everyone’s delight, “But I am asking questions that you don’t seem to be willing or able to answer. You are the one making the claims and I am the local vet. Now I do not discount the possibility that a large cat could be operating locally – one released into the wild perhaps - but you are coming here making ludicrous claims. I would like to know the names of the scientists you are working with and I can offer them my assistance and I am sure my friends here would prefer me to represent them than you misrepresenting them.” Massive applause erupted and people cheered Susannah. She was the local heroine.

The General was beside himself and started shouting. He was a bully after all. At this, the mood changed from interest to anger. “Yes, she’s right,” shouted Will Smith, local shopkeeper. “Come on, tell us: who are the experts?”

“Answer her questions you fat prat,” shouted Lynsey Stark, local mother of three. “You’re just talking lots and saying very little.”

Other people joined in as Susannah sat down. Several local farmers got out of their seats and walked towards the stage wanting to have meaningful discussion with The General. He, meanwhile, was visibly distressed at this evil turn of events and fiddled with his glasses as Reverend Harrison struggled to maintain a semblance of order. Yvonne Fawcett was not pleased, either, as her propaganda coup was turning sour. It would look like she was working with idiots and her expensive live link was being ruined by what she saw as inbred locals.

The General stood up and prepared to walk out with his people. The meeting was going nowhere but he figured that at least he was at the centre of attention and could present himself as the hero of the hour. Just then, on cue and as arranged, several of the Fox children’s friends armed themselves with some goodies Robin had prepared for the evening. Throughout the evening, Robin had been passing his friends little bags of ammunition. The General walked, with his nervous-looking troops, towards the back of the room, whose audience was shouting much abuse at him and telling him to clear off. As he approached the back, and the gaggle of journalists clamouring to ask him questions, a group of youngsters ran towards Farley Norman, shoved custard pies into his face and fired crazy string at him and his supporters. Others threw feathers. What a mess! The ABC Team was covered in bright colours and gunk and some looked shocked and terrified.

Priceless! What a wonderful picture for live TV viewers and local media. Clearly, Big Cats Research had entered a new stage in its development....

Robin Fox sat back and smiled. Things had gone nicely to plan. The General might think he was calling the shots and his sidekick, the Fawcett woman, might think she was famous and untouchable, but he was actually, a teenager, going to make things happening the way he and his family wanted them to happen.

Tonight had gone very well for the Foxes.

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: PART 13 – UNLUCKY FOR SOME

The other week, as an amusing one-off , Tim Matthews wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every few days will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny" says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

“You should have seen it, Frieda,” said Ellie to her best friend. “I cannot believe you got me involved like this but since you helped me with my mum I have been so tremendously grateful and I love you very much. But I can tell you,” she continued, “that being involved with those loons has made me determined to help you more."

They were sitting outside the Minster Cricket Pavilion – built in 2004 by way of a grant from the Regional Development Agency – drinking water and eating sweets. Frieda gave Ellie a hug. There may be boys, Frieda thought, but Ellie was her best friend ever and loved spending time with her. Now, of course, things had got more serious and there was a lot of madness descending upon their home so they needed each other more.

Just then, the girls saw Jenny Pearman, their friend from the Minster Pub. Jen was now being called “Cat Girl”; a poor ‘in joke’. All the locals knew her utter horror at her involvement in the ongoing saga of mystery cats in the village for it was she whose loose talk – well that’s the way she now saw it – had been overheard by glass collector Tony East. From there, things had got out of control in a couple of days.

Now the weekend was approaching and stories in newspapers – from local rag to the Daily Mirror – an internet awash with stories, counter stories, hype and speculation and the god-forsaken efforts of Channels X’s Jeremy and Fawcett had made Upper Minster the place of choice for the curious, the uninitiated and the hardcore. The whole village was dreading it. Tonight there would be a special meeting in the Village Hall on Main Street to discuss matters and everyone would be there. Called by members of the Village Trust, this promised to be the highlight – some said the lowlight – of local affairs for many an age.

The last time anything similar had happened was in 1990 when a number of impressive crop circles had appeared in nearby barley and wheat fields. These were said to be ‘revolutionary’ as they broke the mould of simple circles and avenues that had appeared previously across the southwest. An ungodly host of pseudo “experts” had organised a CornCircleFest at the Hall. It turned out, much to the locals' glee, to the annoyance of landowners and to the utter contempt of those who insisted that the formations could only be made by a higher intelligence, that the culprits were a group of teenagers, including Jenny’s older brother James. James was a practical joker and budding artist and he had perfected the art of corn swirling. He had encouraged a few friends to join in the fun and they called themselves Team Sodom. They’d even let off helium balloons painted silver to suggest UFOs above the fields they were working in. Years later they were still at it. They’d made a lot of money making crop formations both at home and abroad and one of their designs had ended up on a beer label used by a famous brewing company. They’d made a lot of money but James’ mum Marcia still hoped he’d get a proper job and do some growing up.

Jenny, Ellie and Frieda discussed the latest excitement and whilst they detested The General – and all the more so since learning more of him and his crazy followers – they had to admit that they were looking forward to having fun at his expense. More than anything, though, they wanted to protect their way of life from outsiders and invaders, as they saw them. “When you go to London or Bristol or somewhere like that they’re soulless, selfish places,” said Ellie. “I go for gigs and music stuff there sometimes but I’m always so glad to come home here, and to you.” She hugged her friends and said, “I tell you, this man is mad and this weekend perhaps thousands of people are coming here because of him and that awful tart from the TV station. You should see them fawning all over each other, it’s truly sad.”

“One thing,” she continued, “your brother was talking about making a film about this for the internet. I am quite happy to take my make up off, tie my hair up and wear one of your pretty Laura Ashley dresses to appear as nice as pie and describe the extremity of their views and their excesses on camera. I could also mention the total lack of scientific method on site, and the way they try and recruit young girls like me. Can you believe that The General had the gall to call me a wayward kid, a rebel, someone needing direction in her life? Then he put his arm around me. I almost died. Vile man!”

“Good Lord, he is a pig,” declared Jenny. “You should have seen him in the pub with Terrible Tony and his acolytes last night. They were all drunk and being obnoxiously loud. Awful creatures. The General even said, after several pints of Stella, that he loved being the leader because it “got him women”. So much for mystery big cats, heh?”

“The women must be desperate,” added Frieda.

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER - Part Twelve - Raaaaar!!!

The other week, as an amusing one-off , Tim Matthews wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every other day will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny" says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

Frieda was sitting in the bedroom she shared with Florence and although it was quite unusual for a fourteen-year-old to share rooms with a younger sister, she adored Florry and kept an eye on her. Florry had the worst nightmares ever and was quite highly strung whereas Frieda was relaxed about most things, even big cat hunting. Florence had trouble sleeping, too, so Frieda offered her all the sisterly love she could manage and they enjoyed each other’s company.

Enjoying a book on dinosaurs, Frieda was interrupted by the buzzing of her mobile phone. She had a text from Ellie. “Omigod they have found two mice and think aliens experimented on them, love El x”

“Madness,” exclaimed Frieda, rushing next door to tell her brothers and sister about the latest news from the front line. “You will not believe this!”

She showed them the text and when they’d stopped laughing, and had managed to explain to a befuddled Florence exactly what the ABC Team thought they had found they sat there in disbelief. “Whatever next?” said Robin. “This is like the worst version of Harry Potter!”

“Harry Potter is ace,” said Tom, “But I know what you mean. It is as if they’ve watched far too much BAD science fiction and can’t tell the difference between reality and fantasy.”

“Indeed,” said Robin. “But it helps us. Frieda, can you text Ellie back and ask her to get pictures. I have an idea.”

“She is ahead of you, brother,” replied Frieda. “Here we go. She has just sent them. We should download them onto your computer and take a look. Now where’s that cable thingy?”

“Here it is,” he replied. “Right then... it goes in the USB port heeere... Aha, it’s working... open programme... find piccies... and CLICK!”

Shortly, a few good-quality still pictures of two long-dead field mice appeared on the computer screen. There were indeed small holes in the head quite visible. The children didn’t see anything remarkable about these pictures even though the ABC Team a few miles away by the riverbank clearly saw more extreme possibilities.

“Well what is this supposed to show?” asked Frieda, pretty much saying what the others were thinking. “It looks unremarkable!”

“It does, doesn’t it,” added Robin, “But I shall send these pictures to Susannah at her new surgery and see what she thinks. After all, she’s got more qualifications in animals than 100 ABC Teams put together.”

An e-mail to Susannah@minstervets.com was soon dispatched and Robin spent time doing things with a computer programme to clean up the pictures. Then, just a few minutes later, came a reply:

“Thanks for message Tom. I spoke to Jack about big cat but these specimens are not new and quite normal. I have come across similar holes on a range of animals – from field mice to foxes – and they occur when something small buries into the creature, sometimes from the head, sometimes from the side. How these people arrive at aliens and helicopters is evidence of near total insanity. In fact it is at times like this that I realise how many dangerous and obscene theories there are out there and I should hate the thought that this group would have any involvement in researching big cats of any sort. Indeed I wouldn’t be happy at them investigating the contents of my rubbish bin.

That is enough from me!

Love Susannah xxx”

The children laughed at the rubbish bin comment and pictures of The General and Burger Van Man rooting through the bins of Upper Minster looking for food flashed through their heads.

Whilst the youngsters were getting organised, a few ABC Team stragglers were putting out a “specially prepared action leaflet” door to door in Upper Minster. Featuring a vicious-looking big cat with blood dripping from its mouth and flaming eyes on one side; and written in bad English on the other, the leaflet, produced by The General, read as follows:

“People of Upper Minster. We are your saviours the ABC Team of Big Cats Research. Dedicated to uncovering the cover up about big cats in your village. Animals have been killed, pets terrified, pensioners scared to death but we are hear to help you rid the place of its scourge. We are calling in supporters from the nationwide to assist us in our peril and we will put this place on its map.”

“We will not rest idly in our beds while your are under threat from things unseen. Your quiet life of village living cannot last thanks now to the invasion by dark forces.”

“Have YOU seen the Killer Cat? If so, handle with care as it is dangerous and known to kill. Phone us now on the number given and we will be there to assist you in ridding your place of its scourge. You can trust us world experts. We mean business and we are the ABC Team in conjunction with Channel X TV seen Europe wide on Channel 777.”

If ever a leaflet was designed to annoy, disturb and upset local people, this was it.

............

Meanwhile, down by the river the field mice had been put into an old carrier bag and The General had taken the specimens promising to send them to a “Lab in London for further investigation,” by which he probably meant the large freezer in his West Ham flat. There was a general air of excitement and confusion but Yvonne Fawcett was not yet sure what to do with this story as it sounded far too ridiculous to be true, even for her, the pioneer of Paranormal TV magazine style reporting. When her job as scheduler of Children’s Programmes for Channel 5 had come to an end, she had formed her own company – Semantix Film Productions – and won commissions to make numerous TV shows. She often took a starring role, too, her biggest hits being those where she was able to encourage gullible celebrities – not her usual array of B- and C-list scareaholics – to join her at Loch Ness or in some haunted castle or other. She’d even done a night vigil in a crop circle near a Neolithic site in Wiltshire. Several of her crew members had allegedly fainted although the un-broadcast material filmed by static cameras during the adverts – the stuff the public wasn’t supposed to see - showed them laughing and joking and practicing falling over. Damn those satellite communications experts, she thought to herself.

Just then one of the ABC Team members, Donna Wild, shouted “Have you seen this? Paw prints in the mud!” Now anyone knowing anything about pets could see that these were normal cat prints but no; Donna had to make a big deal about them. “They’re much bigger than I’d expect,” she claimed. A later investigation for Channel 4 News would show that Donna had never even owned a cat and that her own pet was a suffering reptile kept in appalling conditions in a rented house in Southampton. Mind you, it was people like Donna that kept the world of Paranormalia going with their mostly unsubstantiated claims. She, like the other ABCers, was on a mission and needed some proof, so they found some. What was more, once a claim was made it needed to be backed up because if they didn’t have each other and their fantasies what did they have?

Yvonne Fawcett, the most wily feline of them all, saw an opportunity. Filming the excitement, a plan started to hatch. A bit of clever editing, a bit of blurry footage of paw prints, partially obscured, might be enough to convince a gullible public; those who wanted to believe. She thought she could get away with it. Most times she did and her viewers wanted to believe. After all, she was on special assignment... so she would find something special....

Since the story had broken she had had words with the Channel X Dirty Tricks Department and this had resulted in her friend and colleague Ron Jeremy being brought in to replace news reporter Richard Smallbody. Not only did their viewers wants results – proof of the unknown – but they wanted it now and the more they needed it, the more chicanery was required to bring in the results and allow Channel X’s advertising sales team to bring in the revenue....

It was very much a case of cause and effect and The General was useful to them; so they used him and would drop him as required.

“Farley, dear, we need to do a piece to camera. This waay!” What Yvonne wanted, she got and Farley ‘The General’ Norman was happy to be the centre of attention despite the fact that his appearance was bound to suggest to even the most supportive Channel X TV stalwart that all was not well in his camp, or in his mind.

They went for it:

“I am standing with Farley Norman of Big Cats Research here in rural Dorset at the heart of a community rocked by extraordinary claims in recent days. I am Yvonne Fawcett and I am going behind the news to present a series of cutting edge reports from the frontline with the people making the news. Mr Norman, we have seen you on Channel X news with Ron Jeremy but give me some background to your work here so far and today’s mooomentous events."

“Well Yvonne,” said The General. “It started with a lead from a local supporter here in Upper Minster and now we have a dedicated team engaged in a full scale iiiinnnternational effort to track down a mystery beast with magical powers – the power to appear and disappear at will, to stalk local residents and to operate with impunity on local farms. This is not just a cat out of place, this is a mystery cat out of time and space, able to bend reality to its will.”

The General was talking a lot of empty nonsense, of course, but to the uninitiated it sounded fairly believable. Coached by the ruthless Yvonne Fawcett to present a racier storyline, he was in his element doing everything he could to keep the story going and to ensure that he was central to its development.

“We are standing now, here, today, in the centre of a window area of such importance that it cannot be underestimated. We will need time, with our team of experts, to take samples and make our investigations before going to the scientists.”

As The General spoke, Ellie MacPherson vowed to make sure that this awful man never got anywhere and would have to beg for his life when her friends and neighbours - the local villagers - got wind of what he and the ruthless Fawcett were trying to do to their home.

It was only a matter of time, she thought, before all this media hype started to unravel. “And when it does,” she said to herself, “Me, Tom, Florence, Frieda, Robin and friends will be there to make sure that life gets back to normal.”

Of course the villagers had a trump card. They had their own cunning Foxes; four children and one friend, Ellie, and she was their inside man....

She put her headphones back on and rejoined the ABC group....

NEIL ARNOLD: Sussex Spook Lore: Phantom hound or black leopard?

I have known Neil for fifteen years, now; since he was a mod schoolboy with ambitions for adventure and I was an earnest young hippie who merely wanted to start a club for people interested in unknown animals. Nothing much has changed over the years. We are just both a tad older.

From Richard Jefferies Wild Life In A Southern County (1879):

‘Near by the hollow, where the stream crosses the lane, is another spirit, but of an indefinite kind, that does not seem to take shape, but causes those who go past at the time when it has power to feel a mortal horror.

A black dog may be seen in at least two different places: the wayfarer is suddenly surprised to find a gigantic animal of the deepest jet trotting by his side, or he sees a dark shadow detach itself from the bushes and take the form of a dog. The black dog has perhaps more vitality, and survives in more localities than all the apparitions that in the olden times were sworn to by persons of the highest veracity. They may still be heard of in many a nook and corner. I have known people of the present day who were positive that there really was “something” weird in the places where the dog was said to appear.

It is supposed that horses are peculiarly liable to take fright and run away, to shy, or stumble, and break their knees, at a certain spot in the road. They go very well till just on passing the fatal spot a sudden fear seizes them as if they could see something invisible to men; sometimes they bolt headlong, sometimes stand stock-still and shiver, or throw the rider by a rapid side movement. In the daytime – for this supernatural effect is felt in broad day as well as at night – the horse more frequently falls or stumbles, as if checked by an invisible force in the midst of his career. This, too, is a living superstition, and some persons will recount a whole string of accidents that have happened within a few yards; till at last, such is the force of iteration, the most incredulous admit it to be a series of remarkable coincidences. These last two, the black dog and the dangerous place in the road, are believed in by people of a much higher grade than carters…

The carters have a story about horses which had spent the night in a meadow being found the next morning in a state of exhaustion, as if they had been ridden furiously during the hours of darkness. They were totally unfit for work the next day. Instances are even given where men have hidden in a tree with a gun, and when the horses began to gallop fired at something indistinct sitting on their haunches, which something at once disappeared, and the excitement ceased. But these things are said to have happened a long time ago.’

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: Part Eleven - You Gotta Love It

The other week, as an amusing one-off , Tim Matthews wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one, and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every other day will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny" says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

“Right,” said Jack. “I’ve managed to get a few people involved. Experts even. My colleague Jeff’s eldest daughter Susannah is a recently qualified vet and she’s agreed to help us out in this. She is fascinated by the latest developments and would really like to help track a big cat down for personal curiosity and so she can add it to her already impressive CV. She spent three years in the Army before doing her vet’s course up in London so she’s gutsy and the right person to help us. Her boyfriend Greg is good with guns and he’s going to bring hit shotgun just in case the worst happens and the creature decides to attack.”

“Oh no,” cried Florence, “you can’t shoot it. Pleeeeaasssse!”

“No Florence,” nobody wants to harm it but as your mummy says we need to take precautions. This is a serious endeavour and we need to careful on every level. History is here being made by us all so we need to do it right and we need to be cautious yet decisive when the time comes. We shall see what occurs....

“And Ellie is putting a spanner in the General’s works,” declared Frieda. “Apparently, he is even worse than we’d expected and totally bought her ridiculous lines about demons in the graveyard and shapeshifting black cats. Apparently, get this, the fool has told Ellie that you can psychically predict someone’s DNA. He also believes that he can tetra heal the Universe and has the power of Greyskull. Idiot! She asked me what he was on about. I told her I haven’t a clue but to stay with it. I doubt he has a clue what he’s talking about either.”

“Well, let us hope the ABC Team is down by the river,” added Robin.

“Up a creek without a paddle,” joked Tom.

“Our problem is that there are too many variables at the moment and we need more hard data. I have had an idea though,” said Jack, thoughtfully. “About filming, or tracking at least. I think it’s maybe time to set the trap. I need to visit a farm supplier I know first though....”

Meanwhile, down by the riverbank Billy Poison and his lady were confusing paw prints in the mud – no doubt made earlier that morning but something like a Golden Retriever on its walk – with those of a big cat and already seeing this as evidence that Ellie was indeed right in her suggestion that this was the place to base their operation. “Can’t you feel it, Billy,” enquired Ellie, thoroughly enjoying her role and taking it ever so seriously now that she saw her village threatened by these outsiders.

And, she considered, how dare the General assume that because she had red streaks in her hair and listened to Grindcore music on her MP3 player that she was some wayward village idiot who hung out in the graveyard or by the cricket pavilion taking drugs and drinking beer! As it happened, she was the youngest of three children, possibly the cleverest but not much given to academic pursuits. She was more an artist and loved making things.

Quite a lot of her time was spent looking after her mother, Anne-Marie, who had Multiple Sclerosis and, despite have a goodly supply of cannabis available (from some outdoor planting in the Minster Woods) to help with her movement, and all the love in the world from her family, she still struggled getting out and about. So Ellie did what she could for her mum, spent quite a lot of time seeing friends at her house and doing creative things in her spare time.

Matters descended once again into the farcical as The General emerged with a retinue including a mobile film unit from Channel X TV led by presenter Yvonne Fawcett. At least she was wearing wellington boots and a sensible outdoor jacket. The General had a pair of cheap trainers on and looked totally ridiculous in a pair of shorts that were far too small for him. He was barking orders to anyone that would listen but most of his followers were more interested in getting photographs of themselves with Yvonne than doing anything for the self-styled Leader and Expert.

“Ok people. We are here today to investigate the mystery cat further,” said he. “We have a number of local leads including information from this young lady here, Ella.”

“It’s Ellie,” replied the teenager, clearly miffed at The General making the same mistake as other people. “And what I suggest we do is spread out along the river banks on either side and see what we can see. We’re looking for anything out of the ordinary.” Seemingly in charge, and yet working for the other side, Ellie seemed to somehow galvanise the ABC Team into action and they split off in twos along both sides of the riverbank.

Huffing and puffing and trying to keep up with his team, The General waded into the river and emerged five seconds later covered in mud. “There’s a bridge just up there,” said Ellie, unable to stop laughing. “Ahh, yes, love,” he said. “I thought I saw something metallic in the water. Hum.” Ellie rolled her eyes and put her headphones on. The music of Dead Infection was much more enjoyable than hearing The General’s babbling ninsense, Ellie thought.

Half an hour later, after more interviews with The General, a woman from Scotland who’d “come down specially” and had “psychically predicted the arrival of a dark messenger” in Dorset was surveying the scene. Ellie was there, taking it all in, and there was much excitement as the walkie talkies crackled into action. Billy The Burger Man had found something “out of this world” (well he was into UFOs so what did anyone expect?) and needed “everyone to witness it” further up river. So off they tramped, some in excitement and Ellie in resignation, that he’d probably found an old crisp packet and would declare it as evidence for a retrieved alien spaceship before sending them out to hunt for occupants.

They arrived to find a small crowd standing around what looked like a couple of field mice. More photographs were being taken and someone from the Midlands, one of The Generals’ shock troops, had even produced a pair of surgical gloves. Someone with a brain, Ellie thought, whatever next?

What came next boggled even her young and open mind. “I cannot believe it,” said Burger Man. “Animal mutilation. I never thought I’d see the day!”

“Animal what,” asked Yvonne, cameras rolling in anticipation of something...anything. “Mutilation,” interrupted The General. “Proof that we are not alone.”

“Well, they look very alone now,” said Ellie. “And they’re just field mice, so what gives?”

“They have bore holes in their skulls and I have seen this in publications,” replied Burger Van. “Done by aliens, intent on harvesting animal DNA for their own uses. Nothing else could have done something as precise as this but we have more and more cases in The Literature,” he added.

“Errm, and how did they get here?” asked Ellie, hoping the cameraman was getting all this insanity on film. “Well,” he continued,”My bet is, in an area like this, that they have been dropped from a great height probably by black helicopters operating out of a secret military facility. That’s what They do, you know.”

Field mice dropped from black helicopters piloted by aliens? “Let the heavens open up and swallow these people whole,” Ellie muttered to herself, shaking her head in total disbelief.

The ABC Team had cranked the credulometer up to 11............

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: Part Ten - General Norman

The other week, as an amusing one-off Tim Matthews, wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one, and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every other day will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny" says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

The General was thinking about the cat too. He was also thinking about fame and fortune, getting one up on his imagined competitors, especially those clever clogs from the FRS with all their damned credibility and scientific know how. It had even got to the point where, instead of Paranormalists, people who attended David Icke lectures and Ufologists getting involved, they had started to produce a magazine about Natural History! I mean what next, the General thought to himself.

He’d been into UFOs once, and now what he called Alien Big Cats. To him it almost didn’t matter what subject he was dealing with as long as he was Top Dog and he’d do anything to stay there. Big fish, small pond. That was as near to the twin toed amphiuma of the FRS he was going to get, he told himself. Often, within the promotion of the Paranormal, people with little or no education or training got involved precisely because little intelligence was required to “make it” onto the speaker’s table at a conference. Blind belief, an occasional show of loyalty and the well placed stab in the back were the required elements to be a success and the General had gutfuls of talent in these directions.

And often, as he knew, the more shocking rubbish you put out there on the internet the most people took you seriously. David Icke had proved that. The General’s main talent was for making a splash. His ex wife Dawn has always said that if he’d jumped into a swimming pool the water would jump out in horror but, despite what he considered a messy divorce when she burned all his Hulk Hogan magazines and posters, the General believed, like Hitler, that he was mightiest alone.

Sitting in his C+C (Command and Control) vehicle, a burger van cum gathering point for other members of the ABC Team, the General surveyed his empire; a couple of walkie talkies with the squelch buttons turned up for lifelike “police hiss”, a faded yet current Ordnance Survey map of Dorset featuring the villages of Upper, Lower and Little Minster, a half drunk cup of coffee in a mug with stuff growing in it that would fascinate scientists for years to come and a packet of Tesco value range digestives, “for energy” as he would tell his shock (ing) troops when they arrived.

Just then, a knock on the door. “Helllooo, anyone in theeere”? said a female voice.

“Errrrmmm, come in,” said The General, semi panicking that someone not under his control might be wanting to speak with him. Struggling to get out of his seat – well he was 18 stone – he opened the door to discover a moody yet confident looking teenager with long dark hair and red streaks staring back at him.

“Alright then?” said the girl. “My name’s Ellie, Ellie Macpherson. I’m looking for the ABC man.”

“Errrmm yes love I am he,” said the General, always able to muster pomposity on demand. “What can I do for you love?” Ellie thought he sounded and looked like the sleazy salesman from KirbyVax who’d dumped powder all over her mother’s bungalow floor a few years ago and insisted that £2500 for the Ultimate Cleaning System (“it can even be used on the dog,” said the man) was a “lifetime bargain and cheap at twice the price.”

What, she wondered to herself, had her best friend Frieda Fox got her into this time...?

“Big cats? I’ve seen a few locally and I think I can lead you right to them,” said Ellie. She was a sharp girl in many ways but was attempting not only to remember her script but also to seem as natural as possible - not to mention a bit thicker than usual. She’d been told to ‘dumb down’ for the General. It had also been suggested that his own massive ego would mean that he’d believe that she saw him as the all-important Hunter of the Mystery Beast. The General, meanwhile, was thanking his dear old mum for this bit of luck. More cannon fodder against the FCS. More media fodder for Channel X TV!

“Tell me more,” said the General, sounding ever like an enthusiastic child. “What can you tell me about the creature.”

“Well,” replied Ellie, trying really hard not to laugh, “I’ve seen it change, right. In front of my very eyes. One minute a big cat, black, long, and the next minute just like a demon flying through the air.”

“Perfect,” cried the General, forgetting himself.

“Well, it is good, isn’t it?” teased Ellie. “Look, in the morning why don’t I take you and your friends down to where I saw it and we can scope things out a bit? Thing is,” she added, naughtily, Scully style, “you’ve been looking in the wrong place. You need to look on the other side of the village. This thing isn’t gonna hide in woods and run around open fields. You need to be looking by the river. After all, most Paranormal activity takes place near water I’ve heard, but you’d know more about that and that’s why I came to see you. You’re the expert, not me. I’m just one of the little people the system ignores. People don’t take me seriously, right? Think I’m mad. And those sightings in the graveyard made me seriously start to wonder what was going on here. About my own sanity, really. Sitting drinking a few cans, with my mates, nothing serious like, and then these figures just rode acrosssss the skkkkyy.”

As she spoke she looked rather gormlessly into the distance and started to make slow, sweeping movements with her hands as if to indicate what she had seen. Not even one of the Most Haunted crew could have pulled off a better blag than this.

The General was, like Ellie, over the moon with her performance. He clapped his hands and started rubbing them together like a used car salesman who’s just sold a £150 wreck for £1500. Reaching for an “ABC Report Form” (in brown and white, camo colours...) he glanced at Ellie who was staring rather vacuously into space and looking bored with her hands in her pockets. He could hear the hum of her MP3 player in her jacket pocket – a camo jacket no less – and he was rather taken with her Avril Lavigne look and pink leggings. Her hair was black and flame red and the fringe partly obscured her face so it was a bit hard to tell what she was thinking. She’d look good on TV or video, he thought.

“Your place is with us,” he declared. “Kid like you, difficult background, no aim in life, bit of a rebel as I can tell, realises there’s stuff going on locally. All these boring old farts with their quaintness, tea sets, family portraits and just-so lives haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on out there. But they’re gonna find out and you, my girl, can help us unlock the mystery for good...”

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: Part 9 - Moving on Up

The other week, as an amusing one-off Tim Matthews, wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one, and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every other day will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny" says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!


“One thing though,” said Frieda, thoughtfully. “Shouldn’t we try and get someone involved with those ABC idiots up in the village? I was watching an old X Files episode the other day and Fox Mulder was pretending to be on the baddy’s side when he actually wasn’t!”

“Well, we’re hardly The Lone Gunmen,” replied Robin, “and we aren’t half as geeky,” joked Tom. “But we’re a much better team and nobody beats the Fox clan,” added Florence.

“And I can think of the perfect person for the job,” declared Frieda, reaching for her mobile phone. “Ellie Macpherson....she likes wearing camouflage, is very nuts, is very devious, listens to music that sounds like Jack’s chainsaw and rarely takes her headphones off!”

“What’s more, she’s one of my best friends,” she continued, “and she owes me one!”

“Shame about her name though!,” Tom interrupted, being mean, “but she’s OK. Anyway, we have work to do but I vote for an X Files and Pringles night tomorrow evening!”

“If we get time,” said Robin. “But all hail the X Files. Mind you, this mystery of ours is just so much fun and we’re much cooler than Mulder and Scully.”

“Haha! Frieda’s mobile has been dropped more times than The General,” laughed Florence, on a totally different track as usual. “Look at it, it’s got dints in it!”

“At least I’m allowed a mobile, Florry,” Frieda replied. “It’s indestructible, like us,” said Robin.

“Yes well,” exclaimed Frieda, “We won’t be wearing camo gear because we have style and finesse. And I’ll tell you something else my darlings,” she continued, “The General is going to meet his Waterloo.”

“KaBOOOOM,” went Florence, making a series of exploding noises and waving her hands about in glee as she had happy thoughts of The General and Burger Van man disappearing into the ashcan of history.

At that moment Jack walked back in. He’d been making some phone calls to local farmers and friends who might know something – anything – about the mystery cat of Upper Minster.

“Fascinating news, children!” he declared. “I have made some discoveries...and I was right about some of the local people keeping quiet about this. Their reasons are, indeed, many and varied but a lot of it’s about not wanting ill-bred amateurs and ego trippers like this General coming down here and putting us on the map for all the wrong reasons. It seems as if much thought has been directed towards the potential identity of a large beast that has been attacking sheep and deer, the latter on the Minster Estate. The Fotheringays have instructed their gamekeeper to put up better fencing recently because of the attacks. They really value their deer and this is costing them a lot of money so they’ve been investigating. Paul Marsh, the gamekeeper, tells me, in confidence, that the dead deer display unusual characteristics; not those you’d expect from fox, dog, or even badger activity. The latest kills have been too clean and without going into details that might upset you youngsters, he’s thinking it’s some sort of larger predator. He has heard rumours about a large cat and a few of his workers have seen fleeting glimpses at times when they least expected it. But the activity is so random that he hasn’t given it enough thought....until now.”

“So all this IS real,” cried Florence. “I wasn’t imagining it!!!”

“You weren’t Florence,” answered Jack. “You and Tom probably did see a big cat. What it’s doing here is another story but the fact is that enough people have seen it for me to be pretty certain. There is enough livestock to keep a cat of that size well fed and happy but it would seem to covering a huge area if the reports I’ve heard about are correct.

“But I don’t want people hunting it doooown,” said Florence. “It is a such a rare beastie and all people want to do is shoot it!”

“Perhaps not shoot it, but FILM it,” said Jack. “As you know, I studied zoology many years ago at Bristol University and spent a year traipsing around South America looking for supposed giant snakes, supermega crocodiles and other weird creatures. And then, lo and behold, this thing turns up on my doorstep!”

“Indeed,” said mummy, entering the room with cocoa and biscuits for the children and something stronger for herself and Jack.

“Oh mummmyyy you’re far beyond ace,” exclaimed Florence. “We have been having a War Council......and I hereby declare this The War Room Of Joyfulness!”

“That is good, Florence, but from what I hear these cats are pretty vicious and any thoughts anyone here has of getting near one are totally forbidden. Any close up work will be done with Uncle Jack and few of his friends. And, I hear, he has a secret weapon!”

“Yes indeed, my love, I do. It’s called common sense,” he joked. “Actually,” he added, “it’s a rifle that fires a large dose of knock out drops to our favourite feline. Very much fun.”

“This is not a schoolboy game, Jack.” Mummy was chastising him. “Nor is it some bizarre Indian adventure written in the style of a 19th racey novel! This is serious. You could get hurt, the children could get hurt, the village could get a bad reputation and I am also thinking about this cat....”

THE LATEST EPISODE OF `ON THE TRACK` IS NOW AVAILABLE

The latest edition of a monthly webTV show from the CFZ and CFZtv, bringing you the latest cryptozoological, and monster hunting news from around the world.

This episode brings you:

Mystery ducks - the pink headed duck rediscovered?

Mystery ducks - genyornis

Mystery ducks - `Quackers` of `The Farmers Arms`

New CFZ turtle pond

Cuthbert the unknown terrapin

Breeding success - yellow bellies

Breeding success - cockroach species

"There's more to cryptozoology than monsters"

CFZ OutreachBig Cat Research: Behind the scenes of `Emily and the Big Cats`

Big Cat Research: Eyewitness interview

Big Cat Research: Mysterious footprint

Summer at the CFZ: Hedging

Stuart Rickard has died

New and Rediscovered: Agamas

New and Rediscovered: Madagascan frogs

New and Rediscovered: Northern Atlantic Right Whale

NEIL ARNOLD: The London Leopard Fiasco

I have known Neil for fifteen years now since he was a mod schoolboy with ambitions for adventure and I was an earnest young hippie who merely wanted to start a club for people interested in unknown animals. Nothing much has changed over the years. We are just both a tad older...

Wow! News travels fast. A colleague of mine at the Southwark News in London contacted me recently after a man walking his dog had an interesting encounter on March 16th 2009 which read as follows:

“Just walking my two dogs late this evening (at Peckham Rye) when one of them started acting strangely near the back of the garden area. Then something came out of the shrubs and started to walk across the path into the picnic area. At first I thought it was a fox, then realised it was actually bigger than my dog, which is a young Labrador. Its tail was long and thin, curling up over its back and it had sandy-coloured fur with a leopard patching. It dawned on me that this was some kind of wild cat, then seconds later a second one, smaller, appeared alongside it and they both turned and headed up the path towards the wooded area.”

I was naturally intrigued about the sighting as I have covered much of London and the south-east for many years, but what mystified me, and also made me giggle more than anything was how my comments in response to the sighting, which I covered on my Saturday Strangeness column for Londonist.com, were picked up by the ‘big cat brigade’, namely Mark Fraser of Big Cats In Britain. I simply stated that I didn’t believe the witness had seen the normal spotted leopards as, in all my years of research across the south, I’d never received any consistent sightings or evidence to suggest such cats were out there. Black leopards, yes. But normal leopards, no. In fact, the witness could well have seen anything from a lynx, as I’ve seen lynx with slender, but not overly long tails, or something smaller such as a serval. I had no reason to believe it had been a pair of leopards. And no further sightings have emerged to suggest so.

The next moment, Cryptomundo website featured my article, and Scotcats (Mr Fraser) was quick to react:

“BCIB archives have several reports of spotted leopards in the UK, and even a picture to boot.”

In my article I also commented that I was the UK’s only full-time researcher into sightings of ‘big cats’ which also touched a raw nerve.

He commented: “I would also assume that people like Di Francis would have a little amusement as not being classed as a full-time big cat researcher here in the UK.”

I found this pettiness a little sad considering only a few months previous I’d written a post speaking of such ‘ner-ner-ner-ner-ner’ attitudes in the world of UK ‘big cat’ research. At the end of the day, to comment on my own research and then be criticised for it kind of shows how silly this has all become. The criticism also emerged on the Big Cats In Britain blog, under the childish headline, ‘Dooh they say no reports of spotted leopards’. Of course, the ‘they’ Mark was referring to was little ol’ me, and then the post began with, “Again we come across an author who claims there are no reports of spotted leopards in the UK.”

The ‘author’ of course being me.(and whilst it was actually nice to be called an author rather than something nasty,) I’d just like to finish by saying, Mark, I actually think it’s good that you’ve constructed the website for people to report sightings nationwide. I also respect Di Francis and her work, if it wasn’t for her books many ‘researchers’ out there wouldn’t be doing what they are today. But considering my opinion on normal leopards in the south was based on my research, and never did I say anything regarding the rest of the UK or your research, it’s crazy how such a detail has irritated you. But then again, I guess that’s what plagues this kind of research, it always has done. It’s going to go on forever. As many groups etc, emerge from the shadows of the mythical British Big Cat Society, it’s clear that it’s Ufology all over again. And proof also that it’s not about the cats, but the catastrophe of petty politics within a field that should be fun. The gloves are off…the anoraks are on.

If anyone has any grievances with me, my mobile number is 07851602853. Surely this can be dealt with by being adults ?

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: Episode 3 - "The General's in Country"

Last week, as an amusing one-off Tim Matthews, wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one, and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Starting this evening, every other day will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny" says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

The General forced himself into one of Marj’s vintage armchairs and, without asking for permission, plonked a tape recorder on the coffee table that divided Marj from her visitor. (She hardly considered him a guest.)

“So,” said the General in his dulcet East London tones. “I have report form here. It took many months to perfect and the colour scheme of brown background with white writing seems to be quite appropriate,” he insisted. “I need to ask you a number of questions and it might take half an hour. I should point out that ours is a scientific organisation. Big Cats Research and the associated ABC Team is backed by notable individuals the length and the breadth of the land!”

“Oh yes,” exclaimed Marj. “You don’t seem scientific to me and my son Nigel is actually a PhD at Imperial College, London. I wonder what he’d make of all this. Hardly a big deal, just a dog barking at something he’d seen.”

“Come on now, we’re not talking those kind of dry as dust scientists,” countered The General. “I’m talking Discovery Science, Borderlands, stuff we don’t understand, the boundary between what is real and accepted and the Other Side!”

“Other side,” said Marj, somewhat taken aback. “What other side?”

“Well, one of things I was going to ask you, dear lady, was whether you have had any bedroom visitors, psychic encounters or felt a presence at any time over the last few weeks. This is crucial!”

“Crucial to what?” asked Marj. “This is getting odder and odder. I thought you were interested in the dog and whatever it was he saw.”

“Only partially,” replied The General. “You see, we have the experience and we know we’re not alone. These creatures are much cleverer than you might think, and they are indeed, our experts tell us, shapeshifters!”

“Whaaaat?” said Marj, horrified. “What aaaare you talking about young man?”

“Well, years of tracking these things down tells me they can’t simply be a big cat living in the wild. There is so much more to this. I mean, my sources tell me about sightings in the graveyard by the Upper Minster Church.”

“Well, I have heard similar stories but they came to me via drunken schoolchildren who were so high after a night in the pub that they could have seen anything. I’ve never heard of anything especially credible.”

“What we are dealing with here can take any form and affect people in ways we hardly understand,” The General insisted. “So what we are going to do is stake out various locations with cameras, infrared, a range of other scientific equipment and wait for IT to return.”
“I am not sure that will be particularly popular,” Marj exclaimed.

“It’s as if we’re under siege!”

“Once we’re satisfied we’ll be on our way. As I speak, groups of My People are making their way here and one of them is setting up in the back room of the pub. He has maps, books, walkie talkies, the whole shebang.”

“Heavens,” added Marj, wondering whether she’d made a big mistake allowing this slob into her nicely kept cottage. She was a very polite, very English lady not given to excesses. The General, in contrast, seemed to have excesses in all the wrong place, particularly in what he said.....

Meanwhile, back in the village, a large white truck with a satellite dish was pulling up outside the Minster Pub. The landlord, Rob, was seething in anger as regulars would have trouble getting in to his pub through the front door and some prat of a TV director appeared to think he owned the pub, the village and probably everything within ten square miles.

“What the hell are they doing here,” boomed Rob. “This is becoming a circus and not something I like. I mean, if anything was really going on with mystery animals don’t you think the sentient beings in Upper Minster might have noticed?”

“Well,” said Adam Barton, a well-known local farmer, “I reckon foxes have a lot to answer for...and they’re not very mysterious.”

THE CFZ ARCHIVING PROJECT: Mystery Cats part 4

As you know, Oll has been working on the archiving project since early February, and he has just started the Mystery Cat section. This fourth trenche is mostly from the mid 1990s, but with a few from much earlier, and mainly covers Worcestershgire and Scotland mystery cats

http://www.cfz.org.uk/Archiving/ABC%204/

LIZ CLANCY: Art Exhibition with Cryptozoological Leanings

I FINALLY found the cable to plug my phone into a computer so here are the photos from that exhibition I've been promising you for the last 90 years.

The artist is Helen Fielding. She's from Lees and grew up there and all the paintings are of things that happened in her childhood during the Edwardian era.

AFTER THE DAY OF JUDGEMENT depicts Belle Vue Zoo animals in Lees the day after a great fire in 1910 while the artist's aunt tells stories. Apparently the animals escaped from the zoo during the fire. One the tigers actually belonged to a private individual called Biddy Murphy, though.

MISTY NOVEMBER depicts Helen Fielding in some woods in Blackpool. Her brother saw a tiger in the bushes and thought it was their neighbour, Biddy's tiger. This was in 1906. Since Biddy's tiger was still in Lees, either the little boy imagined it or this was a big cat sighting! (Hopefully the latter!) Anyhow, the pictures are attached and for any CFZ readers that might live up North, the exhibition is open in Touchstones, Rochdale town centre till 1st June.

Look after yourself and God bless

Lizzy xxx