Full circle in Sioux Falls
With Tashi, the kitten taking the manul world by storm
When I heard that Kaz and Salkhi at Great Plains Zoo (Sioux Falls, South Dakota) had welcomed a new manul kitten last year, I knew I had to visit. I’d wanted to go for a while anyway — after all, this is the birthplace of Pazi, the little dude who sparked all this manul madness for me. And, I’d always hoped to meet his parents in person and get a sense of their personalities, just to see where Pazi’s charisma might have come from.
Tashi, the new arrival, quickly became a star. Great Plains Zoo shared a handful of photos and videos — and he was a huge hit: a round, twitchy ball of curiosity and chaos. His energy was immediate and unmistakable.
But my visit began on a bittersweet note. I learned that Salkhi had recently passed away due to illness — a painful loss that’s, sadly, not uncommon in manuls, who have notoriously fragile immune systems.
I felt that loss more than I expected. Salkhi wasn’t just a manul — she was Pazi’s mother. I’d always hoped to meet her, to see for myself the the mamanul that raised the little gremlin who turned my life upside down and got me chasing manuls across the globe.
I never got to see her in person. But her presence lingered, especially as I watched her youngest kitten storm around the enclosure, bursting with energy. Some legacy.
Now, I was fortunate to meet Kaz briefly. True to manul form, he kept his head down and remained suspicious of my presence in the behind-the-scenes area. He’s known to be a bit timid and reclusive, which makes it all the more remarkable that his sons — Pazi and now Tashi — have grown into such bold, social little things.
Tashi is still young, so who knows what kind of manul he’ll become. But right now? He’s a total tweaker. He moves in unpredictable, glitchy bursts of motion. One second he’s staring at a bird; the next he’s flipped upside down, only to pop upright again and chatter at a passing visitor. A gust of wind or a fluttering leaf is enough to send him into a playful frenzy. He pounces at the fence, chatters through the mesh, and glares at you like you’re the one being weird.
His social curiosity is especially unusual for a manul — most are quite wary of people. But Tashi? He’s unfazed. His keepers think this might be due to some early intervention: as a kitten, he became sick and required more human contact than usual. That experience may have reshaped how he sees people — not as threats, but as interesting (and perhaps entertaining) features of his world. His keepers hope that easy confidence stays with him, as he’s just as fun for them as they are to him.
For me, photographing Tashi was no small challenge. His movements were unpredictable, his energy relentless. He liked to stay close to the fence, trying to paw at anything just out of reach — rubbing his cheeks against the mesh, charging toward me in bursts of snarling enthusiasm before stopping short and feigning cuteness. From the high perches in his enclosure, he’d track the movements of children with laser focus, just waiting for someone interesting to pass by.
Spending time with Tashi, I kept noticing uncanny similarities to his older brother. Like Pazi, Tashi was a solo kitten — which is uncommon in a species that usually has litters of 3–6. He’s also incredibly chittery, constantly chattering at visitors (and photographers). And while I didn’t manage to capture a clip, I can confirm: Tashi honks. Just like his big bro. I suspect he’ll grow into the role of family orator soon enough. Oh, and they’re both snotty things! Pazi and Tashi alike tend to be found with runny noses, even blowing snot bubbles — and this accompanied by the occasional sneezing fit.
And like his brother, he has a thing for snow leopards. His next-door neighbors are Strut and Denali, and Tashi is always watching them — just as Pazi keeps tabs on his own neighbor, Taza. Maybe it runs in the family.
Of course, Tashi has his own quirks too. One keeper mentioned (with exasperated fondness) that he has a habit of turning food into toys. As long as a mouse stays in his designated food bowl, he’ll eat it. But the second it touches the ground? Game on. I watched him drag a mouse across the enclosure, batting it around like it had come back to life. At one point, a meatball fell out of his mouth and instantly became a soccer ball — eventually getting stuck between some logs, where he spent a solid five minutes trying to claw it free, tail twitching with glee.
His favorite enrichment items? Feathers, of course. But when he's tired of those, he makes his own. Browse, branches, even shadows — if it moves, he’s playing with it.
As I wrapped up my visit, I found myself thinking about where this all began. Two years ago, Pazi pulled me into this hobby. And now here I was, finally standing in Sioux Falls — his birthplace — watching his tiny sibling wreak havoc.
It really did feel like a full-circle moment. A true pilgrimage.
Oh — and one last mystery solved: I finally got confirmation on something I’d long suspected. His name is pronounced by his original keepers as Paezi [ˈpeɪ.zi], not PawZee [ˈpɑ.zi]. But I’ll probably keep saying it the wrong way. PawZee reminds me of how he always parks his little paws right on top of his tail. It just fits.
So many additions to the lore here. Great one.
Very sad news about Salkhi, but her legacy continues in the best possible way <3