Saturday night my friend Bill Weathers and his grandsons were coon hunting near the Red river West of Thackerville. Close to midnight they thought they'd treed a coon in a huge pecan tree, but when they shined their lights upwards a very large lynx cat was looking down at them. Bill said he was just going to leave it alone, but before he could say anything his youngest grandson shot his .22 up into the tree and the cat began falling down through the branches. Said he moved around to get a better look and to his horror the cat landed squarely on his left shoulder, began clawing the back of his head, clamped down on his nose (pierced completely through) and wouldn't let go. Said he fell on his back screaming for the lads to help him and after they repeatedly hit the cat with their rifles one of them finally kicked the lynx as hard as he could. Bill said, "In Viet Nam I thought I'd known what pain was, but when that boy's foot struck that cat, I screamed, "AAAAHHHGGGHHHHHHHH!!" With his swollen head lowered he then whispered, "Marv, I'm ashamed to tell you, but man I just shit all over myself." I said, "Bill, don't be ashamed about that. If a lynx cat was trying to bite my nose off and someone tried to kick it loose, I'd shit my pants too." Bill then said, "No Marv, not then. Just now. When I yelled aaaahhhggghhhhhhhh, I shit my pants.
