Seeing is believing: Mike Unwin takes a closer look at the African wildcat
Shhh! There’s a predator approaching the waterhole. Through binoculars you can just make out see-saw shoulders in the grass and two ears trained on the drinking birds. Then the animal – whatever it is – flattens into invisibility. You brace yourself.
A pounce. An explosion of wings. The predator turns to face you, a Namaqua dove flapping feebly in its jaws. But what’s this? It’s just a cat. A common or garden moggie. What on earth is it doing here? Shouldn’t it be curled up on a sofa somewhere?
Think again. There are no domestic cats in this neck of the woods. This, clearly, is a wild animal. But you’re not far wrong. It’s an African wildcat, which means it has, if you like, a paw in both camps. First, it is one of Africa’s ten species of feline: a widespread and completely wild predator that hunts rodents, birds, reptiles and other small prey. It is also, however, the ancestor of the domestic cat – an animal so successful in adapting to life alongside humans that some now estimate the planet’s population at 600 million.
To scientists, the African wildcat is Felis lybica. This makes it a distinct species from Felis cattus, its domestic descendant, and also from Felis sylvestris, the European wildcat, which is a larger (5–7kg, rather than 3–4kg), furrier relative found in central and eastern Europe, and which has never been domesticated.
People probably first domesticated the African wildcat some 10,000 years ago in the Near East; remains found inside a Neolithic burial site in Cyprus date back 9,500 years. Why? Pest control, of course. It turned out that the very qualities – stealth, agility, versatility – that make the African wildcat such an effective wild predator serve equally well for controlling rodents around settlements and grain stores. Tom and Jerry is an age-old story.
Over the centuries, these newly domesticated animals insinuated their way into our homes and culture, exploiting human hospitality in the way that only cats know how. Nobody could have anticipated back then that they would spread worldwide, spawning at least 60 different breeds, and that many of their descendants would one day lead lives of pampered indolence, eating from tins and never laying eyes on a mouse.
But back to that waterhole. How do you know you’re seeing an African wildcat and not its domestic cousin? Well, there’s the location, of course: you’re in the middle of the Kalahari, miles from any kind of human habitation. But scrutinise the animal’s appearance and you’ll also see distinctions. It appears slimmer and longer-legged than your average domestic cat, and its grey/brown coat has dark bands on the limbs, dark stripes on the face and a black tail tip, but is plainer on the flanks than any tabby’s. Its coat shows no white, and its large ears are rufous with – if you train those binoculars carefully – tiny lynx-like tufts on the tips.
Today, the African wildcat is Africa’s commonest feline, frequenting pretty much every habitat except dense rainforest and deepest desert, and occurring in every sub-Saharan African country. It is also found in west and North Africa, around the fringes of the Sahara, and through the Middle East into southern Asia, as far as India and China.
Largely nocturnal and solitary, this species lies up by day in thick cover or an old burrow – typically a disused aardvark’s – then ventures out at dusk to hunt. Burrows also offer a safe retreat in which to raise a family. A female’s litter typically comprises 1–3 kittens. They are born blind, and spend 5–6 months with their mother – but of course you know all this from your darling Tibbles.
Super predator it may be, but the African wildcat has predators of its own, from leopards to eagles, and is thus extremely wary. This makes it an uncommon safari sighting, despite its relative abundance. Encounters tend to be brief and unexpected – I have several times seen a wild cat trot across the road in broad daylight, but never had time for a photo. A few places offer more reliable daylight viewing, however. One such is South Africa’s Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park, where wildcats often stake out the waterholes for birds.
Generally, your best bet is on a night drive. Don’t forget your binoculars, which work perfectly well down the spotlight beam after dark. In my experience, the central region of South Africa’s Kruger Park is particularly productive for night drive wild cats. Indeed, at Satara Rest Camp you may not even need to leave your rondavel: in recent years, the enterprising felines have bred inside camp. Check out the remarkable videos online.
This last point introduces another quandary. African wildcats have such close genetic links to domestic cats that the two may interbreed. In the long term, this poses a threat to the integrity of the African wildcat as a wild animal – a fate that has already befallen the European wildcat in Scotland, where the species may no longer be viable. Staff in most African parks are thus forbidden from keeping pet cats.
Spot a moggie in the heart of the African bush, however, and you can be pretty certain that what you’re seeing is an African wildcat. Unless, of course, it starts purring and rubbing against your leg. In which case, resist the urge to get out a tin of tuna, and just leave it to the local leopards. This may sound a harsh approach, but eight out of ten conservationists prefer it.
PHOTO CAPTION AND CREDIT: African wildcat above photographed by James Gifford on a night drive at Dinaka Camp, Central Kalahari Game Reserve ©Ker & Downey Botswana
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