Here we go then . . .
Now I Know My A B C
In the spring of 1999 I decided a short holiday was in order. I'd not long moved to a charming and haunted house in Crumpsall with a friend, where we'd spent all winter hibernating – me with the usual aches and pains, he with the miseries from lack of direction since he'd dropped out of University at the start of the last semester. As luck would have it another friend, Vince, fancied a change of scene and, as the place had always fascinated me and I'd never been, I suggested a visit to Cornwall might be fun and he agreed.
After perusing a number of brochures (no internet then!) I decided to book us both into a self-catering holiday village just outside St Ives for two weeks in May. It would be an eight hour trip involving three trains and two taxis but I, at least, viewed the trip as adventure into the land of mysteries as Cornwall is host to so many legends, strange sightings and residents who still practice the Old Religion, including some (in single figures) who speak Cornish and refuse to recognise the British monarchy.
So it was we arrived at the holiday village on a late, warm afternoon and collected our keys and a map of the surrounding area. There was everything you could need for a quiet week or two – mini-market, pool, even a kids' adventure club led by someone dressed as a fox which gave the area a suitably “Wicker Man” feel.
The chalet we were allocated was a cute, single-storey building whose russet brick and natural timbers blended well with the woodlands in which it was set. There were around twenty of these, each with its own porch and pathways which linked to all parts of the site without looking too deliberately cultivated. Sounds of a brook which ran parallel with the golf course provided a soothing backdrop to the scene and typical English wildlife could be spotted dashing in and out of the trees – grey squirrels, badgers, various families of birds and . . . . what else?
We were about half way through the holiday and decided we couldn't be bothered cooking one evening and after hanging around watching TV and reading until around 9.45 I volunteered to go to the chip shop – as I said, the site had one of everything in miniature – while Vince would borrow a corkscrew from the woman next door as ours had broken and we fancied a glass of wine.
It was quite dark out but lit with street lamps dotted around the site so I wasn't concerned for my safety and set off.
Returning with the hot food in a carrier bag I traced the footpath to our chalet and, when I was around 50 yards away was startled to see the silhouette, a deeper black against the darkness, of a dog (I assumed) or other largish mammal dart across from right to left across the front of the chalet and then behind the bushes that adorned its front. This took place in the matter of a couple of seconds and in that time I thought: I'm nervous of dogs; I hope it's a nice one; dogs aren't allowed here off a leash; the only dog we've seen so far is a Yorkshire terrier; that tail isn't canine.
Shaking, I unlocked the front door and closed it firmly. Vince emerged from his bedroom at the back of the chalet, wide-eyed. “My God, am I glad you're back!” he exclaimed. “What's up?”, I replied, “You look scared half to death!” Now this is a tough gay guy who can kill with the lift of an eyebrow and takes no prisoners.
I'll paraphrase what he said in response as, typically of people who experience high weirdness there was no tape-recorder at hand and, even if I'd had a camera ready and poised it would have been impossible to catch an image of the creature as it ran.
“I was sitting on the couch, just dozing a bit when I heard a really loud rustling sound from that big tree at the back (this was a huge one that overshadowed the chalet, dipping almost to the roof). It didn't sound like the wind and it's such a calm night – you can't have wind like that blowing in isolation. I hoped it wasn't a peeping tom or someone planning to break in and was just getting up the nerve to take a look when there was this awful crash – REALLY loud like someone (or something) had just dropped to the ground. But there was no sound of anyone running away. It really freaked me out. I swear something was up there.”
Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly I told him of my sighting just a few seconds ago and we spent most of supper-time discussing it and it gradually dawned on us both that the shadow had not been that of a dog at all.
Now Cornwall and the West Country in general is known for sightings of big cats that have no business being there (Alien Big Cats or ABCs for short) and reports come in regularly to internet groups and publications from the Fortean times to Cat Monthly. The most prevalent theory for their existence is that colonies of big cats – panthers, cougars and so on - have continued to breed after release from private menageries when the law for keeping wild animals as pets was changed. This sounds feasible to me; as a cat keeper myself (of the small variety) I know how discreet and solitary cats can be. If they don't want you to see them, you won't; it's as if they have a cloaking device.
The shape I saw moved at a heck of a speed and with determination; it wasn't dawdling or hanging around looking for prey. There were plenty of small mammals it could have fed on round about – rabbits, squirrels – even deer in a nearby park. The stream would provide drinkable water and the forest plenty of coverage.
According to my estimates – based on both memory and photographs of the chalet – it would have been around 28 inches in height from the floor to the back; any higher and its back would have visible over the bushes, any shorter its legs would have seemed out of proportion.
The tail would have been about 16 – 18 inches long from base to tip. It was smooth and came to a point. It was held in a straight line, parallel with the ground.
The animal was silent; there was no sound of claws on the gravel as there would be with a dog which cannot retract its claws while walking.
It appeared utterly black – no hint of colour revealed by the moonlight, no brindle or patches – just like a black silhouette brought to life.
I do not believe it was a trick of the light – my fight, flight or freeze response kicked in immediately as it should in the presence of an unknown creature.
My friend's reaction to an appropriate event so close to the time does, I believe give extra weight to the validity of this being an Alien Big Cat encounter.
So now I really DO know my “ABCs”! I'm just glad fish and chips were not on the menu that night . . .
