Rest in peace, Polyphemus

Polly passed away on May 23, 2025, just over a week after her 10th birthday. Not as long as many of us had hoped — but a remarkable life by any standard. In the wild, manuls rarely live beyond six years. Even in captivity, few reach double digits. Polly lived a long, full life, and it was one that stood out even among the famous manuls of her generation.

According to Nasu Animal Kingdom, she had been receiving veterinary care since March, when keepers noticed she was having trouble breathing. A tumor was discovered in her larynx and monitored closely. Her condition had stabilized, and she was still eating normally the day before her passing. It was sudden, and came as a shock to her countless fans worldwide.

She was born at Nordens Ark in Sweden to parents Pabu and Micha, and named Polyphemus after the one-eyed Cyclops from Homer’s Odyssey. Her siblings, too, bore mythological names: Charybdis, Aeolus, and Calypso. It’s not just poetic, it’s fitting. These are not gentle names, and manuls are not gentle cats. Like their namesakes, the sibling embodied elemental wildness: whirlpools, winds, enchantment, and solitude.

And like the scattered islands of the ancient myths, these manul siblings ended up in far-flung places — from the Baltics to Germany, even Japan. Polyphemus’s journey took her eastward, to Nasu Animal Kingdom, where her name softened (and she became known as Polly), and a new legend began.

At Nasu, Polly was paired with the equally beloved Bol, a stoic male with a famously grumpy and expressive face. Together, they formed one of the most iconic duos in the global manul community: the royalty of Nasu. Just a couple years after being paired, they had a litter. Two kittens survived: Az and El.

Az, in particular, carries forward both Bol’s calm stateliness and Polly’s hidden warmth. With her striking blue eyes and gentle presence, she became a living tribute to both her parents’ soft sides, and in 2024, she gave birth to her own litter at Kobe Animal Kingdom. Polly, the prickly warrior, had become a grandmother.

Polly shared her world not only with Bol, her long-standing mate, but also with Lev, another one of Japan’s most beloved manuls. Lev joined Nasu Animal Kingdom in 2022, spending his final years rotating through the same exhibit space with Polly. And while Polly ultimately stuck close to Bol as her companion, Lev’s presence rounded out a kind of legendary trio, each with their own personalities, their own lore.

Sadly, Lev passed away earlier this year from chronic kidney disease. But many fans will be comforted by the company Polly will have in manulhalla.

The name Polyphemus conjures images of a violent, blinded giant. He was solitary. Ruthless. A man-eater.

Polly, ironically, was probably one of the least solitary manuls ever. For nearly her entire life, she shared her world — first with Bol, then later alternating with Lev. Even when she wasn’t interacting with them directly, she lived with near constant company. And she often kept them at paw’s length, sure, but she wasn’t alone.

Also, and we must acknowledge this, Polyphemus was a literal man-eater. Polly, as far as we know, wasn’t. But she looked like she might be. She almost certainly thought about it. She had a reputation. Online, she was known (half-jokingly) as the destroyer of worlds. Her fur, stiff and bristling like the spines of a cactus. She was rumored (by certain fans) to escape her enclosure at night and feast on tourists akin to the legend of the chupacabra. But behind the legend, something gentler lingered.

I saw it myself last year at Nasu. Polly had spotted a Japanese rat snake near her favorite rocky nook. She crept up, gave it a sniff, and reached out with what I can only describe as a curious paw. The snake fled (wisely). Polly gave brief chase, but didn’t press. It wasn’t mercy, necessarily. But it wasn’t malice either.

Though, Polly had perfected the art of disdain, often directing it at Bol and Lev with explosive hisses. Her responses to their romantic overtures weren’t gentle refusals — they were acts of war. But in her fury, there was something magnetic. That intensity was part of what made her so beloved.

One moment stood out to me. Polly was perched at the end of a long, suspended branch, intently grooming herself. Bol crept up behind her, trying to summon suave confidence — only to be betrayed by a sneeze. He lost his balance and nearly fell. Polly, startled and deeply unimpressed, whipped around with a hiss that could curdle milk. Bol retreated in defeat and humiliation. It was hilarious, and peak Polly.

And yet, it wasn’t all bluster. Despite the drama, Polly and Bol shared nearly a decade of companionship. There were the occasional tender scenes: Polly grooming Bol, resting close, even enjoying each others presence. For a species known for solitude, it was quite remarkable.

She also formed a bond with at least one of her keepers. Polly wasn’t the kind of cat to bother much with visitors, but for those she trusted, something deeper shone through.

Then there were the bleps.

Polly may have been the most prolific blepper in manul history. Her tongue was a near-constant presence — poking out while she waited impatiently for food, groomed herself, or stared down her enemies. And even when it disappeared, you knew it was only biding its time. Combined with her prickly and volatile temperament she was somehow the most ferocious and the most silly manul at once. In fact she was known as the Queen of silly.

And at times, she moved with a jittery, twitchy energy. It’s a phenomenon not altogether uncommon in manuls, and something I highlighted about Tashi a couple weeks ago. With Polly, it felt like these were sudden bursts of curious energy and excitement.

Polly was many things: fierce, curious, loving, silly beyond reason. She was a cactus with a heart, a strong monarch. In a somewhat remote area in the hills of Tochigi, Japan, she lived a life that was far larger than her enclosure — broadcast by loyal manul creators and consumed across continents.

For the manul fans who made the pilgrimage to see her. For the keepers who earned her trust. For the photographers who waited hours to get the photos we all enjoy. For the incredible online community who kept up with her daily: thank you, from all of us that loved her.

Goodbye, Polyphemus.
Rest well in Manulhalla, and be nice to Lev…