The Cat’s Pyjamas: In Pursuit of Sri Lanka’s Wild Cats

Counting Sri Lanka’s wild cats is no minor feat. None of them care to be counted, still less seen. Some have vanished; and at least one is the subject of such impassioned scientistic debate that its righteous credentials as distinct species or sub species still hang in the balance. Even so, of the many mighty mammals that once sat, enthroned, like Phidias’ Olympian Zeus gazing at the lesser world around him, so too did a dazzling assembly of cats lord it over the island, at the very apex of Sri Lanka’s food chain. Some of the most glamorous members of this ancient feline club have long since vanished, predators who themselves fell prey - less to other predators but to climate change, and the accompanying alternations in vegetation. Others, thriving, or perhaps now just clinging on to life with grim resilience in other corners of the world, never made it to the island in the first place. This, today, is not the country where you might glimpse cougars, lynx, ocelot, or jaguars slipping stealthily through scrub forests. But, as benefits of one the world’s most notable biospheres, the island has instead as astonishing variety of surviving predator cats, truly the cat’s pyjamas, including one that has moulded its appearance so intimately around a particular environment that scientists have eagerly given it endemic status three times over, with a fourth, identified from a small town near Nuwara Eliya, waiting for taxological promotion like a good, albeit dead man before the Catholic Dicastery for the Causes of Saints. Today, tourists come in teaming numbers to catch a glimpse of the Ceylon Leopard. Indeed, some are so overwrought if denied the sight they are wont to demand their money back from hapless safari operators. For the leopard, shrewd, secretive, elusive, has its own quite firm ideas about just to whom and when it might offer itself up for a selfie. It is without doubt the greatest endemic jewels in Sri Lanka’s mammalian crown and the largest of the country's cat species. Unlike other leopards, notably the ones that inhabit India, it has no other rival predators, and this has inspired so great a degree of evolution that Sri Lanka’s leopards are now considered to be a separate and quite distinct sub species, only to be found on the island. This lack of competition has probably helped account for their size - averaging six feet in length, head to tail, and weighing anything up to two hundred and twenty pounds, making it larger than other leopard species. Solitary and with a life expectancy of around 15 years, it is also far less agreessive than others; and quite comfortable hunting through both day and night, rather than restricting itself to the usual nocturnal habits of its Indian counterpart. It is beautifully attuned to hunting, an observer noting that “if the lion is the king of the jungle, then the leopard is the king of stealth,” able to run seventy kilometres an hour and leap as far as six metres. Despite habitats that stretch right across the island, it has a preference for the cooler highlands – places like Horton Palins for example – and has developed thicker fur and fat layers to stay warm. This fussiness has probably told against it: actual numbers of the Sri Lankan Leopard are falling fast and are currently estimated to be around just eight hundred. Conservation methods have failed to have any meaningful impact on their population in general and there is little sense of urgency in government circles about the pressing need to do more to protect the future of this apex predator. Habitat loss as much a disastrous history of human-animal interaction is largely to blame for this decline but if nothing is done soon about it the Sri Lanka Tourist Board may have to turn to promoting monkeys. It is differentiated from other leopards too in its rosettes which are closer-set and smaller than any other species. And an errant gene in the leopard population provides the rarest of leopards, the Black Leopard, of whom there have been only a few firm sightings. One in every three hundred leopards born has the propensity to be black and so able to live up to Karl Lagerfeld’s gimlet observation: “One is never overor underdressed with a little black dress.” Thousands of centuries ago it had a lot more competition from wild cats that were much larger and more fearsome. And the spectral remains of three of these giants of the cat world live on in the minds of those wise enough to be ever mindful of history. Indeed, the simple process of discovering these beasts made searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack look like a walk in the park. Traces – the odd bit of tooth, or chip of bone – emerged during long hard digs by dedicated biologists in parts of the country not renowned for their embarrassment of facilities, hotels, bars or even air conditioned rooms. But the reward in finding these lost clues was immense, throwing open the country’s far ...