Quote from TiaxI think the "Mexican Lion" is supposed to be a different subspecies of mountain lion.
It certainly seems plausible that there is interbreeding between the central american mountain lions and the north american ones, especially around Texas. It also seems plausible that the hybrids may tend to enjoy some amount of hybrid vigor. On the other hand, I don't think it's terribly likely that cross-subspecies would create a mule. Generally you only get infertile hybrids when you're breeding across species with different numbers of chromosomes (horses have 64 while donkeys have 62, for example) because the mismatch causes problems in the potential offspring. I suspect the infertility part might just be a bit of folk lore, especially since it's not even clear how you would go about determining it.
The core of the story seems pretty reasonable - that there is a hybrid mountain lion which displays increased aggression and power. Some of the details strike me as possible embellishments though.
Quote from italofocaSome crazy stories here guys. Here comes my scary story...
I've deleted my story cause i'm too scare to write it on the net =/
Quote from melkor7Here's my story, although it is scary in a different way from the others so far. It is not creepy but still terrifying and absolutely true (though I may have forgotten/mixed up some details as is common with human memory).
Warning: Squeemish Need Not Apply
Some years ago (2006 or 2007) I went on a long trip through Europe with some college friends. There were 4 of us in total, a couple (who had been apart for a year because one was studying abroad in Sweden) and me and another friend who had been studying abroad in Copenhagen. We started in Copenhagen right after my friend finished his study abroad term. From there we went through the Netherlands, to Utrecht and Amsterdam enjoying the night life and museums and getting used to culture shock (at least I was). Then Paris, where we enjoyed the crazy party on the lawn/park? in front of the Eiffel Tower. From there, to Spain and Barcelona, where we stayed right off of Las Ramblas and one night walked high above the city and drank cheap wine and smoked American Jeans cigarettes. We traveled through Spain some more, down to Cadiz, and then headed back north on our way to Italy. On the way to Rome we got stopped on the rails of an Italian train for 5-6 hours, it was an utter nightmare, no explanation whatsoever, just sitting there waiting for the train to move again. When we got to Rome, we had been travelling for about 4 weeks and were running out of money. One friend bowed out after a couple of days in Rome and headed back to Copenhagen to wait stay with friends until his plane back to the states. From there the 3 of us, the couple and myself, headed to Munich. When we arrived at Munich, the couple bowed out immediately (like 4 hours after we got there!) and headed back to Sweden, so I was by myself with about 2 weeks until my flight back to the states. My plan was to travel to Czech, Poland, back to Germany and then fly back to the states. On my way to Czech I stopped at Heidelberg, DE.
In Heidelberg, I found a hostel relatively quickly. It was a school, right next to a zoo, that they rented out in the summer as a hostel. I was a little worried at first, about being on my own, but it wasn't too bad. I checked in and then went about the town. There is/was an American military base at Heidelberg, so I met some Americans and Germans who showed me around and we had a grand night out, drinking and bar-hopping, and ending up very thoroughly drunk. The highlight being finding a divey/punk bar where when the Dead Kennedy's "Nazi Punks F*** Off!" came on, and the whole bar joined in screaming and singing at the top of their drunken lungs. I go to bed very drunk and contented at having a great time by myself and looking forward to my next 1-2 weeks of travelling.
In the morning, I woke up in a very bad way. I was extremely bleary, hungry, hung-over, and generally feeling poorly. My room had 8-10 beds and was filled to capacity, though, I was alone when I awoke, everyone had went to breakfast. I stumbled out of bed and threw some clothes on, and stumbled down to the cafeteria to get some breakfast. Since the breakfast was included in the room fee it was all cold: cereal, granola, fruit, etc. I get myself some cereal and coffee and wearily begin to eat, hoping to kill this god-awful hang-over. The meal was uninspired and about half-way through my stomach wasn't feeling so good. It was one of those hang-overs where you are hungry but absolutely no food is appealing and when you do eat you have to force it down. So I get up and bus my table, with plans to go to the bathroom immediately thereafter. As I leave the cafeteria I see a sign in German that looks like a restroom (male/female symbols included), so I saunter in that direction, which is away from my room. The signs lead me down some stairs into a hallway, with a sea of lockers on each side. I walk down the hallway a bit, and things start getting serious. I've really got to go, I walk further and no bathroom. My stomach subsides a little, so I decide to go back to the room. I go up the stairs and I get hit with stomach cramps full force, I've really got to go now. One more flight of stairs and I am full out running to my room, sweat breaking out all over me. By the time I get to the room door things are very desperate and I am ready to explode. The room key was a magnetic thing like hotels, I had it in a back pocket of my jeans. I was shuffling so much trying to keep everything in, that I had trouble getting it out of my pocket. I am in a very bad way by now. I get it out and swipe it, red light, door won't open, must've swiped it backwards. Before I can try again I can't hold it anymore and let go. The feeling of relief, for 1-2 seconds was amazing, then the horror set in. I had let go of what felt like a gallon of post-drinking diarrhea, in a hallway of a hostel, standing outside my room. It flowed down my leg, filled up my shoe, overflowed onto the floor and left a good 12" diarrhea-pancake batter pool on the floor directly in front of the door. I stood there paralyzed, going clammy, in shock. I finally got my senses about me and opened the door with the card that was still in my hand. I walk in tracking large brown streaks on the linoleum-tiled floor. When the door shuts I freeze again, unsure of what to do. After maybe 10-15 seconds, I hear activity outside the door, the other roomies are coming back from breakfast! This is one of the most terrifying moments of my life. I waddle over to the shower, turn the water on and jump in right when the door opens, and then begin to silently cry. This moment was my lowest, standing in the shower fully clothed, alone in a place far from home and friends, with diarrhea tracks everywhere. The guy who came into the room, left right quick, and I started going to work. I cleaned my shoes as best I could in the shower (they were all I had so I had to keep them), then balled up everything I was wearing. Luckily the room stayed empty for a while. I tried my best to clean up the streaks and the pool outside the door with toilet paper, but it really just smeared it around everywhere. So, I carried my soiled clothes and walked all the way out to the front door and threw them out in the trash outside. It had to be around 8-9 in the morning at this time. I spent the rest of the day aimlessly wandering around the city thoroughly depressed and alone and with wet shoes (it was cloudy and rainy as well). I quietly came back to my room late, late at night and woke up early and left to more European adventures.
Quote from incarnaA little prologue before I begin my story. I am both an atheist and a skeptic. When people tell me their personal ghost/demon stories, I don’t necessarily believe they are lying, I simply believe that if you strip away embellishment and take into account possible hallucinations/substance abuse/lucid dreams, there is a perfectly rational explanation for whatever it is they experienced. I give this prologue every time I tell this story to illustrate that I am NOT the: “OMG! Look at the orbs! Spirits are everywhere!” type of person. Tell me one million “true” ghost stories and I’ll give you one million rational explanations. I even have a rational explanation for this experience, but there is still that tiny little voice in the back of my head that asks; “what if your ‘rational’ explanation is wrong?”
Anyway, it was fall of 1997. My first college quarter (my school was on the quarter system, not semester system) was winding down making it November/December. I lived in school sponsored housing at Allegheny Center, building 7, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania – a studio apartment with a roommate Lance. Lance had dropped out, moved back to Ohio, and I had the place to myself although a few of his effects remained – his bed, some furniture, the heavy crap you grab with one final U-Haul trip after you’ve car-loaded all your clothes and other junk out.
Let me take a detour here to describe Allegheny Center building 7. Although it was technically a 10-story apartment building, it was basically a college dorm. It’s not super old by any means but, in its time it’s seen its share of death – during my two-year stay two students fell to their deaths (one accidental, one deliberate), but those deaths happened after the event I will describe. Also, Allegheny Center is on Pittsburgh’s North Side, the oldest part of a very old city. Because of the number of deaths, the building’s location, as well as the ample substance abuse that comes with any college dorm, there is NO shortage of “ghost” or “demon” stories that come from anyone who has ever lived in Allegheny Center. Get ten college kids sitting around the bong, one-upping one another’s “creepy” experiences, and you’d think Allegheny Center was Cthulhu’s personal back yard. I was not into drugs or alcohol during my time there (having long since satisfied my wild-child days in high school up in Michigan where I grew up), and I was a very serious and dedicated student who put his schooling first. I never shared this story with anyone until years later, not because I felt people would not believe me, but because I knew they WOULD believe me just like they believed all the crap “supernatural” stories that kids tell each other. My experience was not to be lumped into other people’s embellishments and drunken hallucinations. My experience was genuine.
Ok, back to my story. On some nights, before I went to sleep, I would take one of my dumbbells and crack the door to my studio apartment. While I was a dedicated student, I was NOT above using nonverbal communication to tell whatever female I was interested in at the time that her company was welcome at any hour. The dumbbell in the door was my 19-year-old mind’s idea of being smooth. This practice would send a long shaft of yellow hallway light down a short corridor into my studio apartment across my roommate Lance’s bed. It would be the only light in an otherwise pitch-black room. I was (and still am) an extremely light sleeper, so I was never worried about someone coming in while I was asleep without me being aware.
My bed was on the opposite side of the room, and I was trying to get to sleep, when my studio door swung open. The shaft of light from the hallway abruptly widened before narrowing again as the door slammed closed against my dumbbell. A silhouette walked into my room and sat upright, feet on the floor, facing me on my roommate’s bed with the thin shaft of hallway light behind it.
This was odd because, a girl would have come over to my bed and made her presence known. So, after a moment of strange stillness I called out “Carolyn?” Carolyn was a female friend of mine who would not have slipped into bed with me, but might visit me at an odd hour of the night to chat or hang out.
There was no answer and the shadow just continued to sit on Lance’s bed, staring at me, in silence.
“Lance?” I called out again thinking perhaps Lance had come back to Pittsburgh for some odd reason. He technically still had access to the building until he was completely moved out and, although it would be strange, it was not outside the realm of possibility that he had simply arrived super late.
The silhouette answered back in a strange hollow, completely androgynous voice that absolutely did NOT belong to Carolyn or Lance; “Maybe I am.”
I shot upright, and turned on the lamp on my night stand. I looked back to where the shadow had been sitting, and there was nothing.
There was no way anyone could have moved an inch, let alone left the room in the time it took me to take my eyes off the figure to turn on the lamp, and back again. Regardless I sprang out of bed checked the hallway, removed the dumbbell, and closed my apartment door. I quickly scoured my apartment for person-sized hiding places (of which there was only beneath the beds and in the bathroom).
Nothing. Unnerved, I got dressed and decided to leave my apartment and try and find some friends who might be hanging out late somewhere. Until the end of the quarter I could not get to sleep in that apartment and I immediately requested to be consolidated into a different apartment when a spot opened up.
That may be a lot of lead-up to a very brief experience. My rational explanation is that I was having a lucid dream – the hope for unexpected company manifesting unconsciously as the perception of actual company in my pre-REM twilight sleep. I have never experienced a lucid dream before, or since, but that is the only explanation I can come up with… that, or it’s a creepy shadow monster lurking in Allegheny Center who just decided to scare the crap out of a 19-year-old kid.
Take my story as you will, but it is absolutely true and devoid of embellishment – diluted only by the erosion of sixteen years of memory. I am not easily frightened and, perhaps because of my inability to be phased, this experience will always be with me as one of the very few times I have ever been scared in my adult life.
Quote from Wraith223Wow. Your issue is hereditable cause it runs in the genes.
That story may fall under depressing or psychological. Interesting read nonetheless.