Pazi hits 100k followers

I never meant to become a social media person.

I wasn’t interested in filming. I didn’t care to be on camera. I had zero ambitions of becoming an “influencer.” And when I started this project, I genuinely didn’t know if my camera would even be able to focus through the mesh fence of Pazi’s enclosure.

But I didn’t care. I just needed to try. Because Pazi was too incredible not to share.

From the moment I saw him, I was obsessed (still am). He was so charismatic and chattery, marching around his enclosure like he was on security patrol. I had so much fun watching him, and could tell the other visitors were too. So naturally, I joked to some friends that I wanted to make him famous.

So I started an Instagram account. No plan. No followers. No real clue what I was doing. Just a feeling: that maybe if people met Pazi, they might fall for him too.

A couple weeks ago, Pazi’s account hit 100,000 followers. It’s still a little surreal.

"Wait… I’m famous? Does that come with snacks, or…?"

What started with Pazi quickly grew into something much bigger. I began to wonder: who else was out there? Why did some manuls appear online frequently, while others seemed relegated to obscurity? Why did certain individuals get attention while others remained completely off the radar?

So I started tracking them. I mapped names and locations. I built spreadsheets. I reached out to keepers and zoos. And I traveled across North America, Europe, and Japan, trying to learn as much as I could about every manul I met.

The more I looked, the more I found. There were the already famous manuls — Lev, Bol, Polly. Then there were the “relative” unknowns: Kai, Eva, Yeshi — and honestly, most of the manuls in the U.S., many of whom had almost no online presence at all. At the time, the only real exception seemed to be Petenka at Utah’s Hogle Zoo, who was probably the most well-known American manul. Though, even his reach paled in comparison to the celebrity status of the Japanese manuls.

Petenka was only the third manul I ever met, and I was especially excited to see him as he was Pazi’s grandfather. He passed away last year at the impressive age of 13

Some of my trips were quick: a day trip or a weekend on the road. Others were long patchworks of planes, trains, trams, and buses stitched together across unfamiliar cities. I remember racing to Wrocław Zoo to see Zarina and Kubi, two manuls I’d long wanted to meet. I’d arrived late in the day, after a maze of transit connections and a frantic tram ride from the city center. The manul enclosure wasn’t where I thought it was, and I found myself rushing through the zoo with the light fading fast.

I managed to glimpse Kubi just before sunset. He was a handsome, elusive figure. But no sign of Zarina. The next day, I staked out their enclosure from open to close, save for brief detours to admire the family of snow leopards and a new litter of Sumatran tiger cubs. Still no Zarina. I kept wondering: what if I hadn’t stepped away? Would I have seen her?

That fleeting moment with Kubi, after a particularly hectic afternoon

That’s the thing about this project… it’s part research, part pilgrimage, part gamble. But even when things don’t go to plan, I never regret the journey.

At one point, I even started making maps, helping people find their nearest manul so they could plan a visit of their own. And today, thanks to an amazing community of manul-loving internet sleuths, almost all the blanks have been filled: names, genealogies, locations. If you’re curious, manulization.com now makes it easier than ever to explore the global world of manuls.

My first manul map lacked color, but it was a true labor of love

Along the way, I started to get the hang of Instagram, what made a reel pop, what kind of music matched a moment. I tested other platforms (TikTok / YouTube), but they weren’t quite right for me. Maybe that’ll change if I branch out. But for now, I really like the community on Instagram.

And I’ve appreciated having this Substack. A place where I can slow down, focus on individual stories, and share more of each cat. It’s also where I get to talk about science and conservation, things that don’t always fit well in the fast-paced world of social media.

What’s moved me most, though, is how people have responded. Yes, some just come for the cute cat videos (and honestly, fair!). But many others stay for the stories. They remember names. They notice personalities. They become involved.

They write in from all over the world to say they’re rooting for a manul they’d never heard of before. That’s how awareness starts. That’s how empathy grows.

This began as a passion project about one cat. Pazi was the reason I started, the spark that lit everything. Over time, it’s become something much bigger: a growing collection of stories. A celebration of manuls everywhere. I don’t know exactly what the future holds, but I’m proud of what this has become. And I hope it might serve as a blueprint — not just for manuls, but for other small cats, too.

Fishing cats, sand cats, black-footed cats. So many species live in relative obscurity, deserving of attention they rarely receive online. Maybe, just maybe, projects like this can inspire others to help change that. And as for me? I’ll keep sharing Pazi’s story, at whatever pace I can manage.

Pazi, of course, has no concept of Instagram, Substack, or large integers. But I imagine he would take all of this attention in stride and demand tribute accordingly

He’s the reason I started. He’s the face I think of when I remember what sparked all of this. And nothing makes me happier than seeing how much love he’s received — from people who may never see a manul in real life, but who now know his name, recognize his face, and care.

So thank you.

To everyone who’s reached out by sharing stories, sending fanart, dropping zoo tips. To those who’ve made manul pilgrimages and shared their experience. And to everyone who takes a moment to like, comment, or share my Instagram posts: thank you. Those little actions really do help the algorithm push this content to new people — people who might still be blissfully unaware of Pazi, or even manuls in general.

Here’s to Pazi. And here’s to the next 100,000.