Upton was on edge because there were mountain lions (or Pumas, or Cougars) killing dogs, cats, and chickens in the area. Residents were advised to keep small children and pets inside, and barn doors closed. During this time, Johnny Page and I, both seven years old, were walking along rural Prospect Street to his house. I remember it was a beautiful fall day. There was an open field to the right with a low stone wall, and a hill to the left.  We looked up and immediately froze. About twenty feet away, a huge mountain lion was slowly crossing the street from the field right in front of us. The light brown wild cat stopped and stared at us with his piercing eyes. Clearly he was not afraid of us at all. In fact he looked at us like “Hmm, I wonder what they would taste like.” My legs were shaking uncontrollably, then he continued to amble up the hill and into the woods. At that point we didn’t know what to do. Do we go back down the hill to my house? Or do we forge ahead a quarter mile to Johnny’s house? My mind raced with images from the Davey Crocket TV show where a mountain lion would jump on him from a  hill or a tree. We stood there for a few minutes and then made a run for Johnny’s house, all the while imagining the mountain lion was chasing us the whole way. At the time, every person I shared this story with accused me of making it up. A year later when we moved away, the mountain lions continued to  menace the town. Believe me, I wasn’t lyin’ about the lion

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