What would she even say? That a cub had returned twice? That she’d heard something large moving through the brush, something that made her blood run cold? She almost hung up before the call connected. “Wildlife Services, morning.”
“Hi, this is Catherine Morrison from the southern edge of the reserve road,” she said, clutching the phone a little too tightly. “The cub you picked up yesterday… it came back last night.” There was a pause and then a low voice replied, “That’s not possible, ma’am. We’ve still got that one. He’s at the rehab center eating and resting. Are you sure you saw another one?”