Attack, Dad once told me of a day, when he was a kid, when a guy who'd been squirrel hunting came stumbling into town looking like he'd lost a fight with a lumbermill bandsaw. Somebody took him to the doctor, and after he was stitched up and bandaged the "What'n hell happened to you?" question was asked.
He'd been sitting under a tree when he heard leaves being shuffled to his rear. Carefully turned his head to see, and there was a bobcat cub playing in the leaves, and getting closer. "I've always wanted a bobcat to raise as a pet," thinks he, and when it got close enough he grabbed it.
It grabbed back. And wouldn't stop grabbing.
His final words on the subject were "Somebody tells you he can lick his weight in wildcats, you call him a damn liar, I couldn't even whoop a little one."