The Leopard Cub Who Stole My Heart: A Sri Lankan Childhood Tale

About the Author:

Dianne Lockhart was born in Kandy and grew up in Kurunegala, in idyllic surroundings, in the 1950s. Here she reminiscences about bringing up a leopard cub she named Poppaea. The rescue of this leopard cub at about the time as zoologist Paulus Edward Pieris Deraniyagala delineated the taxonomic uniqueness of Sri Lanka’s leopard population in 1956, is interestingly coincidental. Equally importantly, the salutary effect that Dianne’s relationship with this animal had on the family, friends and all contacts that witnessed it, is worth recording. She recalls not just hers but their heightened awareness and appreciation of wild creatures, which has percolated down the generations. Dianne was impelled to record this human closeness with an apex predator which has, over the intervening decades now become an iconic symbol of Sri Lanka’s wildlife.

A rumour buzzed through my school like the kachan winds that a family in Kurunegala had leopard cubs. The son and their man servant when walking through the jungle that adjoined their property, found the cubs in a cave and hurried away grabbing all three intending to sell them. Having a birthday approaching in June I promptly asked for the cubs instead of the birthday party which was planned. I was allowed just one, so I chose the strongest in the litter and walked away reluctantly. Poppaea was given as much freedom and latitude as we could safely allow. Raising her to sub adulthood wasn’t easy—she was a wildcat at heart.

We gave her milk, and meat processed at first through very hot water to mitigate the taste of fresh blood, let her roam our garden, and laughed as she pounced on laundry blowing in the wind. Yet her instincts always simmered beneath the surface. Woe betides any monitor lizard that crossed her path! She was not always biddable and often recalcitrant but her attachment to me was evident. Unfortunately, she attacked the son of a family friend who trustingly bent to pet her. She leapt at him sinking her teeth into his thigh. I hurled a basin of milk over them both. Poppaea released him instantly, lapping up the spillage—proof that as a cub she had greedy preferences.

As Poppaea grew, so did the challenges. Our home wasn’t a jungle, and her claws weren’t meant for sofa cushions. Aubrey Weinman, director of Colombo’s Dehiwala Zoo and well known to us, finally intervened. “She’ll turn on you one day,” he warned. My protests fell on deaf ears. At 14, I said goodbye as Poppaea left for the Zoo. No tantrums on my part could prevail against the decision and so I was parted from her. She was later sent to a private collector in UK and from there, to America.

Poppaea’s story became a local legend. Back then, Sri Lanka started to increasingly protect its wildlife. Friends who’d feared leopards started marvelling at their grace. Even the parents of my friends initially wary, grew fond of our “spotted houseguest.” Indeed, Dr T S U de Zylva, a past President of the Wildlife and Nature Protection Society who used to photograph birds in our garden knew this history well.

Years later, I composed a poem about Poppaea. It wasn’t just about loss—it was about how loving one wild creature can make you care for all of them. The poem, I hope illustrates what the wildlife conservation stands for as well. After all, Poppaea was protected from certain death, indeed the rest of the litter perished. Even after she left our care, she was sent to wildlife sanctuaries where she could roam freely.

Poppaea’s tale isn’t just nostalgia. It’s a reminder that conservation begins with connection. Modern science confirms what I felt as a child: Sri Lanka’s leopards (*Panthera pardus kotiya*) are unique to our island, and worth protecting. Sometimes, a girl and a cub are proof enough.

Dianne with her pet

A personal twist to the concluding verses of the poem, is of course of another dimension. Poetic licence perhaps! Personal experience of the natural world is always rewarding. It is to be hoped that we the public, especially the young record their experience of Nature in its infinite variety as much for their own edification, as for historic record. Wildlife isn’t just something “out there.” It’s in our backyards, our stories, and yes, even our birthday wishes. So next time you spot a chameleon change colour or a monkey in a tree, pause. Look closer. You might just find a friend.

Ode to Poppaea

Rescued from hands that robbed you of a mother

And the furry warmth of siblings,

You came into my eager care.

We named you Poppaea

Roman Empress of Antiquity

Seen to keep your kind for pomp and pageantry.

But with incipient instincts of maternity

I held you close, let you crawl

My body; held in thrawl

At your need, while stricken with pity

That we could not save

A mother from return to an empty cave.

That empathy foreshadowed emptiness.

Robbed now of all sibling warmth, and childless,

Parallels and ironies commingle in reflecting

Till self-pity is pierced by positive thinking,

When memory turns pages, each one fraught

With bittersweet complexities of thought.

Bonding with this wild creature

Sharpened my affinity with the world of Nature

A saving grace at this surreal time

When one’s spirit seeks solace in the sublime.

Life whether long or of short duration,

Is empowered with experience which rewards exploration

-Dianne Lockhart

Postscript:

The story of Poppaea, the pet leopard of the Roman Empress Poppaea Sabina, is a fascinating blend of historical context and likely fictional elaboration. Empress Poppaea Sabina was the second wife of Emperor Nero (reigned 54–68 CE), known for her beauty, ambition, and influence. Exotic animals were status symbols among the Roman elite. Leopards, imported from Africa and Asia, symbolized luxury and power. While primary sources detail Poppaea Sabina’s life and Nero’s excesses, they do not mention her owning a leopard. The story likely arises from later interpretations or fictional accounts that amplify the decadence of Nero’s court. The leopard, both elegant and dangerous, mirrors Poppaea’s historical portrayal—a beautiful yet manipulative figure. The story persists as a metaphor for the opulence and volatility of her era. It reflects historical practices of keeping exotic animals and the enduring fascination with Nero’s court.

By Dianne Lockhart