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FISHER CATS ARE SO ANNOYING. THEY MAKE ANNOYING SOUNDS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. DON’T THEY EVER SLEEP AND DON’T THEY KNOW THAT PEOPLE ARE SLEEPING? I MEAN OH MY GOSH!!!!!!!!!!!!
Terratorial calling, young calling a parent, mating call. Pick one. The Fisher is mostly a nocturnal( active at nighttime) hunter. Remember you invaded their homeland. If it really is a life threatening issue; call your local Wildlife, Fish and Game office or Animal Control to capture and relocate the Fisher.
It’s called nocturnal and also my best assumption is that the last thing they are thinking about when screeching is waking someone up
Fisher cats are around in Maine and have seen one kill my neighbors cat on their porch early in the morning.My neighbors tried to save the cat but were to late.The fisher tried a couple times to take its prey off the porch even thou it was at the feet of my neighbors finally it left back to woods leaving my neighbors very scared and upset.
” A FISHER SAVED MY LIFE!”
After my mother’s death in 1987 I was very depressed. I had lost faith in myself and in life and ended up farming my 2 teenage kids out to friends and going homeless myself. “Home,” as it were, became the woods of Phippsburg, Maine, where I pitched a tent and furnished it with a cot, a lantern and a camping stove. I kept my clothes in plastic bags.
Well, I had been there through the summer and fall, and now it was late November. It was getting very cold and icy rains were falling hard. In fact, I was woken up about midnight one night and the rain was coming down so hard I thought it would flatten the tent. I thought I’d better get up and check the tent poles. So I flung my foot over the side of my cot and, to my utter shock, it plunged into frigid water about half way up my calf! So I yanked it back and grabbed my flashlight. When I swept the inside of the tent with the beam I saw a strange site–all of my plastic bags of clothes were floating here and there. The tent was filling with water! I burst into tears and probably added another few inches of water to the flood.
But–incredibly–despite how awful things were, the next day I STILL couldn’t bring myself to rent an apartment–even though I had $10,000 in the bank! That’s how messed up I was. It was going to take something even worse to motivate me. Here’s what finally levered me out of my emotional morass: it was the middle of the night, just a few nights later–Thanksgiving eve I recall–and I was jerked awake by the most god-awful sound. It sounded like a women being murdered and shrieking in the most utter agony! Could it really be that? But then I remembered that there was a local legend about “The Phippsburg Shrieker,” which was described as a yeti-like monster. And that scared me even more!
In any case, it sounded so close that I thought for sure it–whether it was a murderer or a monster–was going to rip my tent open and kill me! I lay wide awake and shaking, huddled in my sleeping bag, clutching my open jack knife, all night.
But that did it. I had finally had enough. So when, the dawn eventually broke–an eternity later– I took a cautious peek outside, and seeing that the coast was clear, I dove into action: broke camp; threw my gear in my truck; barreled to the nearby town of Bath and rented the first place I looked at–which was a half of a duplex on Elm Street. Then I got my stuff out of storage and my kids from friends and we moved in.
The place was a dump (but with “good-bones”) and my kids dubbed it “The Nightmare on Elm Street.” But I was so happy to be inside where it was warm and dry, and to have my children with me again that I didn’t care. And besides, I love to do extreme make-overs. (This turned out to be very extreme–but worth it.) So, on the wings of my new found gratitude and abundance attitude I… #1 turned the dump into into a palace, #2 started a new successful business, and #3 transformed my nightmare life into a dream.
However, it wasn’t until the following June, when I went back to Phippsburg for my birthday celebration, that I discovered exactly what it was that I had heard that terrifying night the November before. My family and I were seated in Spinney’s restaurant ordering a lobster dinner and looking out at the sunset over the water. While we were waiting for our meal to come I got talking with some folks at the next table. They were local people I knew slightly. And in the course of conversation I shared the story of my encounter with the “Phippsburg Shrieker.” As I wrapped it up, I noticed the family exchanging knowing glances and grins. Then, after hemming and hawing a bit the father explained, “Ayuh, we git rid of a lot of folks-from-away with thet monst-ah myth. But since you ahn’t from too-o-o far away, I’ll let you in on the truth. “The Shriek-ah” is really just a FISH-AH. Ayuh, ayuh, ayuh.”
Well, we all had a good laugh about that and ever since I have loved fishers, because if it hadn’t been for “The Phippsburg Shrieker ” they’d have probably have found my frozen body in that tent come spring.