It's been two decades since we first fell in love with cougars. Last week we buried Tara, and today we buried Mercury, her mate, and our first love.  These two cougars changed our lives forever and the time has come for them to leave us and travel to the other world. Their bodies had long ceased to be fluid and graceful, and many times it was painful to watch how old and decrepit they had become.

Tara turned nineteen last October.  She suffered from arthritis and for the last two years she was unable to jump up to access the platforms and tower in their enclosure. She had lost most of her hearing.  And for the past few years both she and Mercury spent most of their days sleeping and sunning. She slept so soundly I would have to stare at her each day to determine if she was still alive.

Bart and I discussed having them put to sleep more then once. Their best years were clearly behind them. Cougars are proud. They would never reach such a state in the wild, such powerful creatures were never meant to be so humbled. These two were a couple of one-hundred-year-olds, and we were running a nursing home for the ancient. I felt pain caring for them. Perhaps it was the fear that I too would one day end up as they, old and frail and stiff.

But I know it is a fantasy to think that there is a gentle, easy way to put such incredibly powerful animals to death, even a mercy death. They fight it, and it is not pretty. Each time we discussed this, we came to the same conclusion, we couldn't save them from whatever was going to take them, for now, we could only hope they would pass in their sleep.

They both shared a large enclosure and attached to that was a quarter acre fenced-in hillside, with trees and flowers and a beautiful view of the woods below them. For the past few years however, they rarely availed themselves of this space, preferring to spend the days sleeping in various places in their main enclosure.

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