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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
Environment
Claire Stares

A rare, elusive feline

Ardnamurchan peninsula, one of the wildcat's last remaining strongholds in Scotland.
Ardnamurchan peninsula, one of the wildcat's last remaining strongholds in Scotland. Photograph: Jon Gibbs/Getty Images

Connected to the mainland only by a narrow land bridge, this sparsely inhabited region, with its patchwork of heather moorland, saltmarsh, rough grazing and woodland, forms one of the wildcat’s last remaining strongholds in Scotland. Its geography makes it the ideal location for Wildcat Haven, a fieldwork-based conservation initiative working to create a safe habitat for Britain’s rarest mammal, by humanely trapping and neutering feral and hybrid cats.

In 2010 I volunteered to collect sightings information for the Scottish Wildcat Association. I would also spend hours at dawn and dusk staking out reputed wildcat hotspots, and creeping along the single track roads in my car, in the vain hope that I might myself glimpse the moon-like glow of eyeshine caught in the headlights.

Five years on and I hadn’t fared any better. It was the last night of my visit, and the closest I had come to this enigmatic feline was the discovery of frayed bark on a wooden post where a passing cat had paused to strop its claws and lay down scent from the glands on its paw pads.

Then, suddenly my mother pointed out of the cottage window. “Wildcat!” she whispered urgently. I sprinted to her side to see what looked like an oversized muscular tabby swaggering across the garden.

Many hybrids display convincing wildcat traits, but all of this animal’s features looked perfect, matching every visual marker for a genetically pure individual. It was at least twice as big as the average domestic cat and thickset, with a broad head and flared jowls. The tawny fur on its flanks was overlaid with unbroken, ruffled, black tiger-stripe markings and its dorsal stripe ended at the base of its tail.

As though he could sense us watching him, the cat’s pricked ears twitched slightly and he stopped and turned his head, allowing us to see that his muzzle was brown and there was no white flash on his chest. He sniffed the air and glowered in our direction, flicking the clubbed black tip of his banded, bottlebrush tail, before slinking down the bank.

Twitter: @ClaireStares

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