The mountain lionesses' and their journey to freedom

She dozes in the shade, unresponsive to the loud noises in the courtyard: the whine of the circular saw and the thud of planks being thrown against each other. She has been like this for days, hiding in plain sight with her eyes closed in the sun. Flies buzz around her, and a smell of decay lingers in the air. This comes from the meat scraps lying on the ground, rotting because no one has touched them.

Owen curses under his breath, switches off the circular saw and throws his thick protective gloves onto the freshly cut planks. Glancing over at her, he narrows his eyes and spits contemptuously. As he walks over to the water jug in the shade, which keeps the liquid vaguely drinkable in the heat, he takes a swing and delivers a fierce kick to the fence behind which she lies. 'Bitch', he mutters to himself as he reaches for the water. Another man appears behind him. He watches Owen for a while before speaking to him.

'I told you this wouldn't work out. Nobody's interested in her. Besides, she doesn't look that great, you know.' Owen spins around and snaps: 'I know what you said, and I know what that bloody piece of trash looks like. It's her own fault. I've put everything in there, including water. Maybe she's ill – it's possible.'

The other man shrugs, takes another look at what lies stretched out behind the metal latticework and then turns away. He begins to count and mark the planks. Owen leans against the wall of the house, taking the occasional sip. He has taken his shirt off by now, and his upper body is glistening with sweat. The veranda door opens and a girl of about 14 or 15 comes out. She's carrying a large bowl of vegetables, which she sets down next to the wobbly makeshift table leaning against a wall. As she adjusts the stool, Owen calls out to her.

'All right, Billie? Have a look at our little gem there – it looks like a lice-ridden carpet, doesn't it?' He laughs loudly and pushes his hat back onto the nape of his neck. The girl doesn't spare him or the kennel a glance. Shrugging, she says simply: 'I've got to peel the vegetables, Dad.' She puts beans, potatoes and root vegetables on the table, sits down, and starts work. Silence briefly descends on the yard. Nothing can be heard except the soft sound of a paring knife. But it doesn't last too long. Suddenly, the door of the pickup truck parked in the yard slams shut, and Owen shouts after the girl: 'Hump and I are going into town. Tell Mum we'll be back for dinner. And do your job properly, Billie!' The engine starts and the dusty truck lurches forward out of the yard.

As soon as the pickup is out of sight, Billie stands up. Making sure that no one else is around, she walks over to the door where the buzzing of flies is loudest. Crouching down in front of the metal mesh, she hisses softly and invitingly. Suddenly, the golden-eyed lioness opens her clear eyes. What, at first, was barely distinguishable from the reddish-gold sand, now begins to move. Fascinated, Billie watches the large cat stand up and slowly put one paw in front of the other without taking her eyes off the girl. Billie murmurs happily to herself, whispering nonsense as she gazes into the clear gold, sinking into the mountain lioness's gaze as if into a deep well.

The animal ignores everyone except Billie. Ever since she fell into Owen's trap and was held captive here, she had mostly refused food and exercise, except for those moments when the girl appeared outside the reinforced enclosure. From the very first moment, there had been an understanding between the puma and the human – one that needed no words or sounds. Owen had hoped to find a buyer for the cat. When that didn't look promising, he offered the local farmers the chance to shoot her. 'Twenty dollars, and you can put a bullet through the skull of that bloody beast killing lambs, and you can keep the pelt.' So far, no one had taken him up on it, but Owen was hoping for a soft-hearted city-dweller who'd want to kill a puma just to show off. It wasn't legal, but no one would complain.

Billie hadn't tried to touch the cat even once. It wasn't fear holding her back, but respect. Even now, she limits herself to eye contact, which the silver lioness calmly returns. She begins to groom herself, just like any of the other cats. But the girl watches, holding her breath, as she observes the cat's elegant movements, despite its weakened state, and its nonchalance and palpable strength. Billie has risked a great deal to help the big cat. The cellar chest is crammed full of meat from the last slaughter. Owen slaughtered a fattened pig a few weeks ago, and he also goes hunting.

Until now, no one has noticed any of the game meat has been missing. He considers managing the supplies to be women's work, and Mum never notices a thing. Billie lets the meat thaw in her room and, at night, slips it through the gap between the kennel walls and the roof. The animal accepts it every time because it comes from her. Billie is so happy about this that she's willing to risk being punished. Owen hits damn hard when he's angry. She and Mum know that all too well.

Billie doesn't care when the two of them argue. She calls him Dad, but he isn't her father. He died five years ago. Billie doesn't hate Owen; she's just indifferent to him, as she is to her Mum, who is slowly but surely forgetting everything. This is because of the things Owen secretly burns at the back of the shed. That's forbidden, too, but lots of people come round to buy some.

Owen won't be back for dinner. He and his friend won't arrive until midnight at the earliest. Mum's been in bed grunting to herself since this morning. The two of them had a very lively evening yesterday. Billie's had enough of it.

As the sun slowly sets, the girl quietly makes her way back into the house. She gently pushes down the bedroom door handle and peeks inside. 'Mum?', she asks, but Mum doesn't answer. She's snoring, exhaling foul-smelling breath with every rise of her chest. It's almost like the smell in the shed when Owen's burning stuff.

Satisfied, Billie closes the door and walks into her room. She had packed the large army rucksack the previous day. Then she pries up a floorboard and fishes out a small cardboard box. There isn't much money in it, but she has saved every penny she has earned from odd jobs. Owen has no idea how much she has earned from mowing lawns, cleaning windows and babysitting over the last four years. He snatched the money she handed over to him greedily. Most of it ended up in the little cardboard box. It'll be enough for a bus ticket. She'll have to walk a few miles across the fields to reach the intercity bus station, but that doesn't matter. She has walked this route in her mind many times already and is looking forward to it eagerly.

By the time Billie is back outside, the farmyard is bathed in twilight. She isn't afraid of the gathering darkness. When Owen comes home drunk, he stumbles up to Mum's and doesn't wake up until seven or eight o'clock. By then, Billie will be long gone. Very far away.

The mountain lioness is standing by the fence, her eyes glowing mysteriously in the dim light, and she is waiting. It's as if she knows what's about to happen. Billie puts down her rucksack and resumes her soft, soothing murmur. Staring intently into the female puma's eyes, she reaches out her arm and unlocks the gate. 'Never look a big cat in the eyes. They don't like that. They'll rip your throat out straight away.' That was one of Owen's sayings, but he had no idea. Billie steps back, pulls the door open and crouches down again. It just feels right.

The cat hesitates for a few seconds, but then she starts to move. She stops just in front of the girl, refusing to go any further. Billie takes a few steps back, coaxing the cat and whispering to her. 'Go on, my beauty. Get out of here. You're free – and so am I. Go on, then.'

Something happens that will give Billie the strength she needs for her difficult journey, even if she doesn't realise it yet. For now, she just feels this miracle happening to her. She trembles as she accepts this unexpected gift. The silver lioness is slowly leaving her prison. So slowly, as if in no hurry. But then her muscles tense. Yet before this magnificent creature, built for leaping and hunting, takes its first leap, it presses itself against Billie for a breathless moment, just as a domestic cat would. She lets out a deep, throaty sound, like a purring snore. Then a tawny shadow leaps out of the courtyard in long strides. Shortly afterwards, the girl leaves the courtyard with purpose, her rucksack slung over her back.

For a moment, she looks up towards the mountains into the ever-darkening night – towards where the mountain lioness has run. She raises her hand once more in greeting. Then she walks resolutely in the opposite direction.

© 'The mountain lionesses' and their journey to freedom': a short story by Ilona E. Schwartz (translated by Izabel Comati), 06/2026. The picture shows a mountain lion, Public Domain Licence.