Wampus Cat

As a kid, along with my brothers and cousins, I played all over the pastures and woodlands surrounding our corner of heaven in the upper Big Level Community of Stone County, Mississippi. We spent as much time as we could in the sandy hollows and boggy branches, the springs and cow ponds on and adjacent to our 40-acres, as well as roaming through the piney thickets and sagebrush clearings between our place and Granddaddy’s and Uncle ’Nell’s farms just a mile away. We built numerous huts and treehouses, dug caves in the old sand pit, explored every nook and cranny, and climbed every tall tree within walking distance of our respective homes. In season, we picked and enjoyed wild blackberries and dewberries, scuppernongs and bullaces, and occasionally we picked and smoked rabbit tobacco. There was no limit to the adventures and mischief we could create for ourselves. About the only restriction placed upon us was that we needed to be within earshot of Momma’s or Aunt Reicey’s car horns and get on home promptly when we heard their three long blasts.

Though it held a lot of mystery and attraction for us, one place where we didn’t spend a lot of time playing was along Kirby Creek. This small creek heads up just north and east of our property and flows in a southwesterly direction to Flint Creek down below Highway 26. The woods along Kirby are thick and swampy, even to this day. For us kids, crossing the creek wasn’t an option except over the bridge at the end of our road; it was just too spooky, abounding in snakes and other ominous creatures. We didn’t play in the creek, and I certainly didn’t go there alone.

One Saturday afternoon while Mama was ironing, I commented that I was bored—maybe for the second or third time. Daddy and Keith had gone fishing and I had run out of things to do. Mama suggested that if I was that hard up for something to do then I could walk down to get the mail. I bellyached about that a bit as it meant a walk of almost a mile, down and back to our box at the end of our lane where it joins Big Four Road and where the Kirby crosses under the bridge. She said that since Daddy and Keith would be late getting in, she really needed me to go. She said that Johnny could walk with me if didn’t want to go by myself. But he didn’t want to go, and that was okay with me. Shoot! I was almost 8 and didn’t need a 5-year-old tag-along.

Halfway down, past our lower pasture and past the old Hatten house, the elevation drops significantly as the lane nears the creek. At that point, the woods get thicker and the canopy of the trees almost completely covers the road, not to open up again until the road joins the blacktop. Walking alone through that shady, spooky section, I was beginning to wish Johnny had changed his mind. His company would’ve kept my mind off the multitude of no-legged reptiles and who knows what other creatures were out there, with ever how many legs, teeth, fur, and feathers, there may have been lurking in the shadows just beyond the road. I hurried on, trying not to think about wampus cats, vampires, and flying monkeys.

Having scurried on and making it safely to the mailbox, I couldn’t resist spending a few minutes at the bridge, seeing what I could see. I threw a few pieces of gravel at a large cottonmouth sunning his cold-blooded reptilian self on an old log. As he slithered into the water and started under the bridge, I turned to go to the other side to continue my barrage there. But at that moment, my eye caught a flash of movement 25 or 30 yards away from me at the edge of the woods. I stood frozen with chill bumps up and down my neck, arms, and legs—a terminal case, I thought—as I watched a large, black cat saunter out of the woods on the north side of the road and cross the blacktop and enter the woods on south side. This creature was as big as any dog I’d seen and was moving as gracefully as any housecat. It seemed to be in no hurry getting across the pavement and either didn’t see me or didn’t care that I was there. But I saw it, all of its sleek, black feline form. I saw all of its six-foot length, from its cat-like head and ears down to its long black slinky tail. I had no doubt that I’d just seen a panther—up close and personal. This was surely one of those wampus cats the older folks were always teasing us kids about.

Let me pause right here and say that if you are of a certain age and have roots in a rural area somewhere here in the U.S. South, you probably grew up hearing the term wampus cat. It’s an American colloquialism which the American Dialect Society says describes “an undefined, imaginary animal that people have used to explain the loud cat-like screams and yowls they hear at night.” In my own thinking I never got the idea that a wampus cat was imaginary or any separate species, but rather it was a description that could apply to any number of large swamp cats, from bobcats to wildcats to the larger panthers, cougars, or other catamounts that the old-timers say used to roam these parts. It made sense to me that wampus was just a dialectical inversion of the word swamp. What I didn’t know until recently is that the notion that a wampus, as an imaginary being with fierce powers, is interwoven into the cultures of Native- and non-Native-Americans from Appalachia through the Deep South all the way to Missouri, Texas and beyond. In fact, Cherokee folklore, which is filled with tales of evil spirits lurking in the deep, dark forests that surrounded their villages, includes an intriguing account of an evil half-human, half-cougar demon called the Ew’ah. Somewhat resembling a mountain lion or cougar in size and appearance. Legend had it that the wampus cat could walk on its hind legs, outrun arrows, and its yellow eyes had the power to hypnotize its victims. It was almost impossible to kill. But more on that can be found in the links in the notes section below. Now back to my story.

Once that big cat crossed the road, and I was released from my paralysis, I hot-footed it back to the house, running as fast as my little bare-footed feet could go. I ran at first fearful that this wampus cat had, in fact, seen me and was merely circling around to chase me down from behind. Then, as I made it to higher, open ground, I still ran, because I was anxious to tell Mama and the rest of the family what I had just witnessed.

At supper that night, after Keith and Daddy got home, I told my story for the second or third time. There was some amazement and there was some doubt. Keith said, “You didn’t see anything. You were just spooked by being down at the creek by yourself. It was probably just an old hound dog.” Mama said, “Oh, I’m sure he saw something.” Daddy said, “It could’ve been a large wildcat. But I’ve never seen a blank panther.” They could doubt, but I knew what I saw and I knew that it wasn’t a dog or a plain ol’ bob-tailed wildcat. Nor was it something I imagined, that’s for dang sure!

This satellite image from Google Maps shows our road, named for my dad, as it runs north from Big Four Road and the Kirby Creek bridge where this big-cat incident occurred. Not much has changed in the last 60 years. Our sandy gravel lane has been paved and the old wooden bridge has been replaced with one of concrete, but the woods are still as thick as they’ve always been and the Kirby still flows through the same creekbed hidden from above.

I’ve mentioned in previous blog pieces that I’ve spent a lot of time in recent months combing through numerous old newspapers at newspaperarchive.com. I can’t tell you how delighted I was when, a few weeks ago, I came upon this nearly 100-year-old “Big Level News” item:

The Daily Herald, 17 Jan 1922, p6: ANOTHER CATAMOUNT
Uncle Tillis Ladner was seen in Wiggins behind the Stone County courthouse Monday skinning another large catamount which he had caught in Kirby Creek swamp near Arthur Clayton's mill. The animal is an overgrown wild or bobcat, and differs only in the length of its tail from him. Mr. Ladner caught one of the largest of these animals last winter that has ever been seen in this part of the country. The animals are very destructive to sheep, and the stock owners are glad to see their pelts drawn over a board.

And now, 60 years after my sighting, I feel vindicated. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if a small family of wampus cats still lives today down in the deep, dark forests that surround Kirby Creek.

Oh, and one more thing. In case you’re wondering, don’t ask me what happened to the mail that day because I couldn’t tell you.

Notes:

https://www.appalachianhistory.net/2017/10/story-of-wampus-cat.html
https://thehistorybandits.com/2017/06/27/big-cats-of-the-southeast-part-3-the-wampus-cat-and-other-anthropomorphic-depictions/
https://www.grunge.com/211918/the-legend-of-the-wampus-cat-explained/

The wampus cat is the mascot at Conway High School, in Conway, Arkansas. It is depicted with six legs, the hind four for running and the upper two for fighting. Conway is one of six high schools in the U.S. with the wampus cat as its mascot.

A WORD TO PONDER

cat•a•mount (noun): any of various large wild cats: such as a cougar, panther, bobcat, or lynx ( catamount is a dialectical inversion of ‘mountain cat’).
www.freedictionary.com

SONG OF THE DAY

“When Panthers Roamed In Arkansas” by Kate Campbell (The Portable Kate Campbell. 2004)

BONUS TRACK

“Baton Rouge Rag” by Kitty Gray & her Wampus Cats (1937)