When I was a young, strapping, college-going lad, a wise fellow took me under his wing.  He taught me how to dress, how to dance, and how to pick up chicks.

I remember one night at a club, when a limousine pulled up in front.  My mentor grabbed me by the arm, and took me aside.  I excused myself from the honey whose first four phone number digits I had just procured. He took me to the window and pointed to the car.  A door opened, and about nine middle aged women, wearing clothes that their bodies could not cash, came flying out in a drunken hysteria, and piled into the club.

“Those, my friend, are what we call, cougars.” he said to me.

I was astonished.  I had never witnessed something that looked so wrong. 

“Watch out for them, man.  They’re nothing but trouble.”

I always remembered that advice.  I avoided their predatory stares like the plague.  You see, I give to the needy, not the greedy.

Later that night, my wise old friend gave me a more formal rundown on how to avoid these beasts:

• Do not run.
• Do not crouch or bend down. Cougars generally prey on four-legged animals. If a person stands, they will pose an unusual shape and the animal will often leave.
• Fight back if attacked.

But, it’s not just young men they’re after, so my teacher said.  If desperate or drunk enough, these cougs of the night will go after anything:

• Adults should keep children nearby.
• Pick up and hold your child to prevent them from running away.
• Keep pets inside.

That night at the club was the last night I ever saw him.  Sometimes I wonder, if my escape that night was because of him.  Was it an epic sacrifice a la Obi Wan’s to Darth Vader, that allowed me to escape? I’ll never know.  But I’ll always be thankful for his advice.