The Passing of a Leader of the Pack

This platform interrupts its regular publishing to note the death of a rare northern Michigan cougar: Miss Bernice Whidbey Bingham, age 75, of the Leelanau peninsula.

Cougars are common on the Leelanau, a thirty-three mile finger poking out into Lake Michigan, sparsely-populated, and known for its vast cherry orchards and scenic beauty.

Though not the tawny kind: Puma concolor couguar, which averages 7 feet in length and 110 pounds, leaves tracks with a large palm pad and four unconnected toes, and is only rarely glimpsed in the forests near to Sleeping Bear Dunes.

No, we’re referring to the cougars which average 140 pounds and five-eight in heels. Range in age from the mid-forties to the mid-sixties. Yet don’t look it, courtesy of creams and concealers which hide their wrinkles; blush which softens their cheeks; gloss and liner to make their lips look lush; mascara which lengthens lashes; mousse to thicken hair; foundation garments which shore up parts that would otherwise sag; and clothing which, while age-appropriate, permits tantalizing displays of thigh and décolletage. Unlike the feline kind, these cougars may be seen every Saturday night, prowling Leelanau bars in search of prey.

That prey was single young men. They had various backgrounds: tradesmen, farm hands, mechanics, truck drivers, clerks, cops, and short order cooks. But they had a few things in common: fit; attractive; reasonably intelligent; gainfully employed; didn’t live with their parents. Most important, they were fairly mature, but not worldly; and though used to pursuing women, unused to being pursued. They were thus particularly vulnerable to the feminine wiles of mature women.

The cougars, too, had varying backgrounds: secretaries, realtors, Tupperware hostesses, teachers, Avon Ladies, bookkeepers, dental hygienists, librarians, shop clerks, nurses, and church ladies. Taxonomically, however, they fell into four categories.

• The Alpha cougar: sexually dominant; a man who toyed with her was liable to get neutered.
• The Beta cougar: wants companionship with a “side” of validation; basically, a cuddle cat.
• The Sugar Mama: pays to play.
• The One-Night-Stand Cat: every man was just a scratching post.

Miss Bingham was unique in that could be any of these, when the situation called for it. But she stood apart for two reasons.

One was her representation of cougars. The popular view (that is, with men prone to salacious fantasizing) was that cougars were “bad girls” in mature women’s bodies. They wore provocative clothing. Were governed by primitive impulses. Weren’t interested in commitments. Didn’t need contraceptives. That their intentions couldn’t be clearer if they wore “Sex Wanted” signs.

Miss Bingham sprayed cold water on that fantasy. Her attire, actions, and words all sent the same message: she had what it takes and didn’t give it away. But she didn’t hesitate to use it to achieve her goal: to seduce single young men who were attractive, malleable, and easily rendered stupid by the ego boost from being pursued by sophisticated older women. As for her reasons, there was nothing primitive about them; she simply preferred the perks of schooling young men to the tedium of catering to older ones.

Miss Bingham was also noteworthy for technique.

Most cougars are ambush predators. They ply their quarry with drinks, wait for the alcohol to take effect, then sink their claws into them. Or use camouflage to look harmless, get close, and strike when their prey least expects it. (Popular disguises are Elementary School Teacher, Librarian, and Church Lady, on account of many cougars actually are teachers, librarians, and church ladies.)

Miss Bingham, however, systematically stalked her prey. Typically, she’d sidle up to a prospective cub, so as not to spook him. Casually strike up a conversation. Laugh at his jokes, compliment his attire, ask his advice. Use hair tosses and engaging smiles and to make him drop his guard. Rest her hand on his forearm and nudge his thigh with hers to signal her attraction. Finally, she’d lean in close, and whisper a suggestion in his ear. If he leapt up and called for the check, she had a new trophy to mount on her wall (among other less gravity-challenging parts of her home). If was an effective strategy. And it allowed to her to avoid mistakes. Such as catching a cub in a dimly-lit bar, only to find, where the lighting was better, that he was too old, and had to be thrown back.

True, things didn’t always go smoothly. Though not for the reason one might expect: running afoul of young ladies trying to bag the same prey. Rather, they stood back and watched when Miss Bingham was on the prowl, knowing they were being treated to a master’s class in seduction.

No, kerfuffles occurred only when Miss Bingham tried to claim a lad whose female relations were nearby. Whether mother, grandmother, sister, or aunt, they’d intervene to prevent her from taking the boy to her den of iniquity. Miss Bingham would back off, of course — if she could. If she couldn’t, the fur would fly.

Miss Bingham was remarkable in one more way, in that she was a practicing cougar into her seventies. The reasons were summed up by the Latin mottoes on her pickup truck’s bumper stickers: “Non est substitutus experientia” (“There’s no substitute for experience”); and “Resistere futilis” (“Resistance is futile”).