Cat Fight

Here, kitty kitty.

In the land of Panthers and Bobcats, a different kind of feline is stalking its prey. Watch as the elder female observes from afar, a twinkle in her eye, a slight crook in the corner of her mouth as her pulse quickens with the sight of perhaps the night’s first kill.

She attacks not with her claws; she’s armed with her checkbook.

In the dating game’s latest ironic twist, it’s the women getting the last laugh as the sophisticated, forty-something gal, either fresh off her divorce or buried in her career, is scooping up the twenty-something male for a little no-strings fun.

Adopting the phrase “cougar hunting,” its origins appear to be purring in the Manhattan bar scene, perhaps influenced by the ladies of “Sex and the City” fresh off its recent series finale.

Think: “Samantha, I’d like to introduce you to the cast of ‘Entourage.’” Or Demi’s playful assault on Ashton.

What used to be reserved for the silvery-haired gentleman, trading up his significant other for the younger model, is a confident lass who’s showing a little age, often surgically enhanced. She’s sporting that cleavage-bearing leopard skin top, a reward for the two hours a day she’s recently spent in the gym.

And she’s not interested in a relationship, thank you very much. She’s doing just fine, and as a cougar, hunting big game is her sport. The young cub, intrigued by the opportunity to experiment with experience, finds her maturity a refreshing alternative to the exhausting effort of peer dating. She just offered to buy him a drink, to boot.

The web has embraced the concept; a sponsored link on Google, www.idateacougar.com, runs its own message board tribute. Other sites like http://www.urbancougar.com/ even “scientifically” catalog the species into a phylum and a genus that equates the girl to a specific make of car.

Even her prey usually meets stereotypical classifications: The Junior Banker, The Frat Boy, The Friend’s Younger Brother, and in a classy appreciation of our understaffed border patrol, The Latino Gardner.

The cougars stalk our streets. They take prisoners. Welcome!

Without further adieu, several stops on the Urban Crawl offer the opportunity to stalk the respective parties, usually huddled in the masses for safety. Best bet? Go alone. And be afraid. Be very afraid.

Zink. This Harper’s-based concept, usually hosting the proverbial “girls’ night out,” tucks a respectable bar area behind its outdoor Tryon Street side patio. Even lazy weeknights bring out the after-work crowd, already dressed to impress. There are no bachelorette parties here—remember the age requirements—these girls come to play.

Village Tavern. SouthPark’s legendary outdoor concrete deck, oblivious to time, still puts hundreds on the terrace for weekly live acoustic, contemporary cuisine, and martinis. The safe, corporate crowd alone is an easy mix of the age gap primed for a cougar’s delicacy.

Capital Grille. Adjacent to Zink, the home of the best filet mignon in Charlotte also boasts one of the most exclusive bars in the city. Expect vice president-quality cougar and the junior exec that has no idea that his loosened tie and crumpled sleeve cuffs just made the pack squirm.

Mac’s Speed Shop. This lunchtime barbecue joint near South End makes no mistake after hours with a biker bar appeal just tawdry enough to attract even the “Trans Am;” urbancougar.com’s cataloging of the cigarette smoking, stone-washed Monday night barfly. Or, to borrow a buddy’s phrase, “trailer park hot.”

Blue. The hands-down frontrunner, accentuated by its weekend jazz, is quite simply the cougar mecca. There might as well be a room full of gazelles with Buckhead Saloon’s overflow potential. Owner Alex Myrick’s refined appeal, and his mean harmonica skills, create the perfect harmonious environment for the catty pursuits.

I’m in my thirties; although not immune to their pounce, I’d like to think this column passes the torch. Good luck, boys.

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