CASE 2 - ABCs

Buoyed up by the massive success of my ‘Nessie adventure’, I wanted the next cryptid to be less high-profile than the huge scoop I got in ‘maybe hearing Nessie’ and ‘kind of seeing a flipper of something that might look like a flipper or wood’, as critics have insisted on putting it. Mr Johnston, if you think you can do better, then please do. We can all criticise.

Well, I’ve an absolute doosey for you this time, matey!

Smilodon populator - Translated means: Aaarrrrggghhhh!!!!!

The next cryptid I’ll be seeking out for a slap will be an ABC! An Alien Big Cat! Not an ET alien; a big cat that shouldn't be here in Scotland. Like my neighbour's cat in my bloody flower beds - but bigger.

An ABC is any non-native or extinct species of big cat; like a lion, tiger or lynx. But they’re boring as hell. Any nutter could have imported a tiger in his shoe and let it loose in Duthie Park (though it would piss all over that talking cactus they’ve got. And those terrapins).

A big bastard cat sod right here in the UK! Where did they come from, how did they get here? That’s what I sought to answer, but probably won’t. How would I? Be realistic folks. I will, however, bust its chops.

Even better than some mangy panther, it could be a sabre-tooth tiger. Holy fucking shitballs! That’s nearly a bloody dinosaur! Tell you what, it’d have a good go at one anyway. It'd mess up Moschops, i guarantee it. They were big mental bastards with teeth like a pair of machetes.

Sod off Simba

There have been loads of sightings all over the UK and beyond. Most are probably stupid people who mistake Felix next door for a jaguar, or see a dog with a weird haircut and think it’s a leopard. Seriously, if you have to make a dog look stupid, just put a coat on it. Don't shave it and make it look a total fanny in front of other dogs.

Scientifically speaking, you’ll know an ABC when you see it, as it will likely be in your guts mauling your spine at the time. Seriously. For my own safety, in this case, I’m packing some heat. I wouldn't normally want a 'piece', but I'm not facing those fangs with nothing but my awesome karate skills.

I had a word with my dad and he categorically denied loaning me his shotgun. Short-sighted of you, dad! I am an only child, apart from my brother, and I have no kids, so it’s in your interest to keep me safe, if you ever want to teach someone rugby; someone who won’t cry in the scrum.

I tried buying a 9mm pistol in a pub down the harbour, but got laughed out of the place. Instead, I bought an ultra-realistic pellet gun. The ABC isn’t going to know it’s fake, so I’ll have time to get the boot in before it realises anything’s amiss. Also, it fires tatties; which is environmentally friendly.

'Betsy'

There have been sightings of ABCs all over the UK, and beyond, but this cryptid led me right to my own doorstep! There were sightings of big cats, possibly Lynx, around the Westhill area, a few years back. Westhill is a suburb of about thirty thousand folk, near Aberdeen.

Unfortunately, Westhill has expanded rather a lot since I lived there, so the line of houses has incurred on land once only inhabited by field mice and underage drinkers, the latter of whom roam the streets like baying mobs of arseholes. This brings ‘civilisation’ rather closer to the places where these ABC sightings took place, and I doubt that big cats like ‘civilisation’; even if it means a ready supply of garden rabbits and slow pensioners.

Still, I wasn’t going to be deterred. I made contact with a local ABC expert, who we shall call ‘Peggy’ (not for security reasons – the TV licence folk are after her). She had already photographed a pair of ABCs in the area. When I saw the photos, I was blown away.

Two smilodon fatalis hanging out at a secret location.
'Peggy' 2010

What brilliant evidence. I was very impressed by these proud majestic creatures, and couldn’t wait to kick one up the arse. Peggy, a retired teacher who smelt of incense and really liked dragons, accompanied me to a secret location in the woods near Westhill, where we set up a hide.

I’d gotten a cheap tent from Tesco, and a sleeping bag from my folks’ loft. We pitched the tent and had a cup of tea. As it got dark, Peggy wandered off to have a cigarette. It smelt funny; she said it was menthol, and the cats liked the smell. I liked her attitude; professional and knowing, yet cuddly. Like a tie-dye Ray Mears. When she returned, I noted she looked tired, with bloodshot eyes. She giggled, and wiggled a bag of cat-nip.

We’d made a trap out of a bucket of tuna hanging from a branch and we hid behind a log. The plan was for her to turn on the torch and I’d set off the timer on my camera, which would give me 5 seconds to pelt it over and drop-kick the sabre-tooth up the arse.

Previous attempt at ABC capture using 'tuna trap'. 'Peggy' 2010.
1 - ABC notes tuna bucket.
2 - ABC gets stuck in.
3 - ABC tans bucket - the bugger.

I’ll be honest, I was bricking it, and held that spud-gun close to my beating heart. I checked it was loaded, then re-checked. Peggy told me to stop fidgeting, and 'be one with the woods; listen to the leaves and feel the vibrations of the cool earth'. She said the sabre-tooths would let us know by telepathy that they were coming. It was at this point that I realised she was mental.

Not eat my face and wear me to my own funeral mental, but not quite just exposing herself in ASDA’s mental either. Just then, I heard the noises; rustling in the undergrowth nearby. I tried to grab the torch, but Peggy stopped me. Then all hell broke loose, with terrible wailing noises and snarling. Peggy bolted off with the torch. She left me there like a lump of tasty meat for the sabre-tooths. I quickly formulated a plan; I ran like buggery.

As I ran through the trees and undergrowth, with the howling growing more intense behind me, thoughts flew through my mind… Had she set me up as some kind of sacrifice to the cryptids? Why had I so readily trusted a person who didn’t have a lock on their toilet door? Why hadn’t she brought a sleeping bag? She didn’t think we were sharing did she? Had she been trying it on?

My body and mind were ready to explode, so I threw myself up a tree and wedged myself uncomfortably into some jabby branches. The plan had been fool-proof. The problem was human error, or even human-cryptid collusion. Surely not? Surely Peggy hadn’t sold her species out? I thought back to the bucket of tuna hanging off a tree. It was perfect and should have worked, if only she’d kept her nerve (or hadn’t betrayed me).

The next morning I climbed down and went back. The camp was a mess. The sabre-tooths had ransacked it completely. The tent was shredded and smelt of wee. They had set fire to my sleeping bag, and there were empty beer cans everywhere. A tattered jazz mag lay nearby, and the tuna bucket was battered and bent.

Note L to R - smouldering sleeping bag, nudey mags,
high-alcohol beers, ripped and widdled upon tent.
Also note excellent 'Yetismack Leaf-Camo' system.

I have two theories regarding the destruction of the forest camp. The first is that the peeing was territorial markings, the destroyed sleeping bag and fire(!) were attacks on the encroachment of urban living, and the booze and bongo mags were an attempt to blow off steam by a likely youthful male grouping of sabre-tooths.

The second theory is that sabre-tooth tigers are fucking dicks, with no respect for other people’s property: that tent cost twenty quid, and the sleeping bag was old, but perfectly usable. Kiddie-winks and dog walkers use those woods and shouldn’t have to negotiate porn and beer cans to do so. These cryptids are just dickheads.

Based on the facts as I have them at the moment, I tend to favour the second theory.

Sabre-tooths typically acting like knobs:
mugging a sloth, probably for drugs.

I must add that it’s incredible that they have utilised fire (I wonder at a modern-day Promethean/Peggy origin), but did they have to use such a vast leap forward in societal technology for knackering my kit?

Once, sabre-tooth tigers roamed the world, from arctic tundra to arid desert. They were the lords of all they surveyed, and feared nothing. Now they are reduced to eeking out a living in the forests near Scottish suburbs, where they have developed anti-social habits such as binge-drinking and rampant thuggery. Pissed up on booze in a bush; Christ, I gave that up when I was 16. How long 'til they're stealing cars and smashing up greenhouses? They’re 42 million years old and should know better.

More Sabre-tooth anti-social behaviour.
There's a 60% chance this incident is alcohol-related.

I’ll be honest, I no longer wish to give the ABC/sabre-tooth tiger a good kick in the chops. I feel sorry for it, for how far it has fallen both morally and socially. Operation YetiSmack is, despite the connotations, a positive endeavour of overcoming fear; but there is nothing positive about the antics of these sabre-tooth bellends.

I have written to Westhill's MSP regarding the ABC/sabre-tooth menace, and await a reply. Never bothered with the council; what's the point?

It’s terrible how the encroachment of Westhill’s ‘civilisation’ has clearly had such a negative effect on this once proud and noble beast, but they need to wise up and act like grown-ups.

What a shame. What a crying shame.

A Sabre-tooth tiger: now mostly a thing of the past - good.

Carry on to the next case...