The Lunch Report: A Snow Leopard Lunch

For the tech geeks amongst you, the following Lunch Report in no way relates to the next generation Mac upgrade (sorry) but I suggest you read on anyway.

Today’s lunch consisted of:

One small Manhattan chicken chowder (leave it to my cafeteria to get creative with leftovers)
One diet coke
Several saltine crackers
One Snow Leopard (Panthera Uncia for the Latin scholars amongst us)

Cost: $12.20 (Yes, I exceeded my daily budget but there were extenuating Panthera-uncia circumstances)

No, no, no, I did not EAT a snow leopard for lunch. For goodness sakes, they’ve been on the endangered species list for quite a while now. Today, my soup and I slipped out of the office and parked ourselves before the Snow Leopard Exhibit at the Central Park Zoo (entry to which accounts for $10 of my lunch).

This is not the first time my lunch and I have done this. We’ve have been having secret rendez-vous with Bo, the male snow leopard, since last June when he first took up residence in the zoo. However, this is the first time the leopard showed up for one of our dates. Yep, no sooner had he established residence on the UES, then he realized that showing up on a date is actually optional for men in NYC (just ask how often your single female friends have been stood up on a date-the statistic is astounding), even when you're the one paying . . .

Apparently though, the male leopard is far more sensitive to the opposite gender in his native Central Asia. In Tibet, for example, male leopards often show up with fresh kill before thrusting themselves onto a female leopard to mate.* This is in sharp contrast with men in NYC who, while they wouldn't even think of paying the tab when dining with a lady, will lick their chops over their after-dinner drink in full anticipation of being more fully satisfied by their dinner companion later on in the evening. Much like the typical NYC man, after mating, the male leopard plays no other role in the cub rearing process.

I'm not sure what I did different this time to merit the leopard’s attention. In the past I have gone to great lengths to lure him, showing up with scraps of wild boar, marmots, mice and other of his favorite treats (all of which can easily be secured online from FreshDirect.com—just click on meats and then look for the "leopard treats" button). I even once threw some markhor meat (whose odor is often described as Chanel No 5 for leopards) into the front of his cage hoping the smell would draw him near so I could savor his spots and piercing eyes. Nothing.

This time I had no expectations. I had long given up expecting to see him. Instead I sat on a bench engrossed in my chowder--it didn't offer the same thrill as the elusive leopard, but it was reliable and warming me up on this cool fall day. Just as I was on the verge of resolving whether green beans are in fact traditional chowder fare, there he was, staring me down, almost angry that I was ignoring him. His presence may not have been obvious to the untrained eye because of his superior ability to camouflage himself (much like NYC gentlemen—although I have never met one, friends tell me they're ubiquitous and I just haven't learned how to identify them).

My panther's appearance may seem insignificant to my readers but I attribute deep symbolic significance to the fact that he appeared today, of all days. Why? Last night I bumped into a male friend, sort of a scotch-drinking nocturnal leopard himself. For many years, despite myriad devoted girlfriends, he has eluded commitment as successfully as the snow leopard escapes the naked eye. Just when I thought I would have to spend another evening turning a deaf ear to why he wasn't sure whether his current girlfriend--despite her stunning looks, exceptional talent, profound intelligence and obvious adoration for my male leopard-like friend--was "the one", he surprised me by pointing out an engagement ring sitting comfortably on her finger. And it was far more sparkly than the fresh kill that leopards bring their female mates in Tibet. I almost spat out my fourth glass of wine, so stunned was I.

A committed bachelor has decided to make the leap to coupledom. An elusive leopard emerges after months of hide and seek. These cannot be coincidences. There is a message in all of this, a message of hope: A leopard may never change his spots, but maybe as he matures he can learn to use them differently.



*Note, however, that the female leopard must first alert the male leopard that it is mating season (you'd think he could figure that one out on his own), which she does by peeing over nearby rocks and other protruding objects.