Monday, High School. The hallway between third and fourth period is a trap. Three hundred students moving at once, the metallic clang of lockers slamming shut, the smell of spray deodorant and rubber sneakers. I stick close to the lockers and walk almost sideways, silent, stepping with my toes before my heels. A lacrosse team guy almost bumps into me, but I dodge him with a twist of my waist I didn't even know I could do. He doesn't even notice. Sometimes I feel like if I don't speak, I'm literally invisible. It doesn't bother me. In fact, it relieves me. All I want in those moments is to be up high.
Tuesday. I live in Boulder, Colorado. From my bedroom window, you can see the Flatirons, those slanted rock mountains that look like knives cutting the sky. In the afternoon, I stared at them while doing my History homework. I felt that tension in my leg muscles, just above the knees. It's an energy that builds up, like a coiled spring begging me to jump. My mom says it's hyperactivity and sends me to run in the yard. But running in a straight line over mowed grass doesn't work. I don't want to jog. I want to climb a tree, leap over a fence in one bound, land without making a sound.
Thursday. I had the dream again. The night is cold, the air is thin, smelling of pine and old snow. I'm crouched on a thick branch. I don't have hands; I have heavy paws. And I have something else: a perfect counterbalance behind me. A long, thick tail that moves on its own to keep me balanced on the wood. In the dream, I see a deer below, but I don't jump. I just watch. I'm a shadow observing the world from above. I woke up at three in the morning with my heart beating slow and strong, and that feeling that my bed was too close to the ground.
Saturday. The YouTube algorithm knows things I don't. I was watching parkour videos and ended up on a short documentary about Mountain Lions in the Rockies. I was frozen. The way they walked, first placing their pads, the analytical gaze, the solitude. In the comments, someone wrote: 'My theriotype is a cougar, the phantom shifts are so intense with this video.' I looked up the word theriotype. The screen filled with results. I read for hours. The room grew darker, and I didn't even turn on the light.
Sunday. I found a community, a Spanish Discord server called 'La Manada'. I decided to join in Spanish because it felt more close-knit, less chaotic. There's a guy from Spain, Mateo, who's a wolf. And a girl from Argentina, Luna, who's a fox. I chose the username 'Leo_puma'. I introduced myself by saying I don't like running in a pack, that I prefer being alone, and that I don't know if that fits here. Mateo replied immediately: 'In the forest, there are wolves, but there are also lynxes and pumas. Everyone fits. Welcome.' I released the breath I didn't know I was holding.
Tuesday. Yesterday, I had my first conscious phantom shift. I was sitting on the edge of the couch, reading. My neighbor's dog barked loudly all of a sudden. My ears didn't move, but I clearly felt how invisible ears on the top of my head turned back, flattening against a phantom skull. And my back felt heavy. I sensed the tail. Long, hanging over the edge of the couch. It was so real that I passed my hand through the air expecting to touch fur. There was nothing physical, but the neurological sensation was complete.
Thursday. Today I tried doing Quadrobics in the backyard when no one was around. I placed my hands on the grass. My body felt stiff at first, but I lowered my hips and made a small leap forward. I landed with my elbows bent. A spark of pure electricity shot through my spine. That was it. It wasn't a human playing; it was my feline brain finally finding the posture gravity demanded. I spent half an hour jumping over invisible obstacles. I ended up exhausted, with dirt-covered hands and the biggest smile I've had in years.
Saturday afternoon. The problem with being a puma in an American high school is that society expects you to be a dog. They want you to work in teams, be loud at games, seek constant approval from the pack. Today at a party, I sat on the kitchen counter, the highest point I could find, just watching people talk. A classmate told me I was a weirdo for being up there. I didn't reply. I just stared at him until he felt uncomfortable and left.
Monday. I've been reading about my theriotype. The puma concolor. They say they have the widest geographic range of any terrestrial mammal in the Americas. They can live in the snows of Canada or the jungle. They adapt. They're stealthy. They can jump five meters high from a resting position. That explained why I always look at house roofs or tree branches, calculating if I can reach them in a leap. My brain maps the world vertically, not horizontally.
Wednesday. I found The Wild Animal Sanctuary in Keenesburg, an hour from home. It's a massive rescue sanctuary. The amazing thing is that for visitors, they built an elevated wooden walkway nearly three kilometers long. You walk ten meters above the ground to avoid stressing the animals, watching them from above. Watching from above. Exactly what I need.
Friday. I asked my dad to take me to the sanctuary over the weekend. I told him I wanted to take pictures for biology. My dad looked surprised because I almost never ask to go out on weekends. He said, 'Sure, son, let's get the camera ready.' That night, I packed my backpack: camera, water, and a small sand-colored thread bracelet I made the other day.
Saturday, heading to Keenesburg. Interstate route east. We left the mountains behind and entered the vast plains. The sky in Colorado is so big it can be dizzying. My dad was listening to soft music. I was quiet, mentally going over what I hoped to feel. What if I don't feel anything? What if I see the pumas and they're just big cats and that's it? The fear that all this is just my imagination sometimes hits me hard.
On the Walkway. The sanctuary is enormous. There are no cages. They're vast fenced prairies where rescued animals roam. We climbed onto the elevated wooden walkway. Being at that height, walking over the grasslands without touching the ground, immediately changed my mental state. My posture hunched slightly forward. I walked with my hands resting on the wooden railing, sliding my gaze over the dry terrain below. My dad was taking pictures of some bears in the distance. I was looking for something else. The sand color. The stealth.
The encounter. We were in the rescued pumas' section. There was tall grass and some wooden structures. I thought I wouldn't see any. And then, a tiny movement. If I hadn't been searching with narrowed eyes, I would have missed it. Under the shadow of a wooden platform, a large male puma was lying down. His fur was exactly the color of the dry autumn grass. Pure evolution. Pure perfection. I stopped dead in my tracks.
The vertical gaze. The puma was resting, but he wasn't asleep. He lifted his huge head and looked up at the walkway. He looked exactly where I was. His eyes, like two pale gold coins, locked onto me. I was ten meters above him. In nature, the one above has the advantage. But I didn't feel like I was dominating him. I felt like we were recognizing each other. The solitude, the patience, the tension accumulated in the muscles. For ten full seconds, we held each other's gaze.
The movement. He got up. He made no effort. He simply went from lying down to standing in one fluid motion, like water flowing upwards. He walked slowly across the prairie. Each step was silent. I watched him move away and disappear into the brush. My dad came up beside me and regretted not getting the photo. I lowered my hands from the railing. 'It's okay,' I said. 'It wasn't for the camera.'
In the car, heading back. My dad talked about the wolves and bears we saw afterward. I nodded, but my mind was still on the walkway. I checked my phone. I sent a message to the server, to Mateo and Luna: 'I saw my species today. I walked above him on a walkway. It was silent.' Mateo replied with a paw print emoji. Luna wrote: 'That silence is your home now.' She was right.
Monday, High School again. Crowded hallway. Deafening noise. Three hundred students banging lockers. This time I didn't stick to the wall with anxiety. I walked down the center. When a group of kids came shouting in my direction, my brain didn't process fear. It processed a route. With a fluid, quick sidestep, effortlessly, I dodged them and continued on my way. One kid turned, confused at how we hadn't collided. I didn't look back. A feline doesn't apologize for its agility.
Wednesday. I spoke on voice chat for the first time with Luna and Mateo. It was strange to hear their real voices. Mateo has a strong Spanish accent, and Luna talks really fast. They asked how I was. I told them the truth: that I'm still a loner, that I don't think I'll tell my friends at school, but that I no longer feel broken. That I know my instinct works perfectly, it's just set for a different ecosystem. Mateo said, 'Everyone hunts in their own way.'
Friday night. I'm sitting on the roof of my house. I climbed out through my bedroom window. From here, I can see the lights of Boulder and the vast black shadow of the Rocky Mountains cutting into the stars. The wind hits my face. I know I'm Leo, I'm 16, and I have a math test tomorrow. But I also know that my spine remembers a long tail, and my eyes know how to search the darkness better than the rest. I'm therian. I'm the puma in the heights. And finally, the air feels right.
