For years I’ve wanted to say something about P-22, formerly the world’s most famous mountain lion (RIP-22).

And, well, I finally got around to it—albeit in the form of a deranged 3 minute Instagram Reel, created largely in the hopes of improving my numbers on social media so that I might eventually attract a literary agent to sell my next book, an agent search now being a regrettable necessity as I foolishly fired my previous representation some years ago after he proved unable to seize the moment, i.e. that week Kim Kardashian started Tweeting about her discovery of the nuclear meltdown site hiding behind her mansion in Hidden Hills, a site whose radioactive fallout the Woolsey Fire was then in the process, possibly, of seeding all across Southern California.

Anyways, Santa Susana is safe now for people and mountain lions—if you would believe the glossy brochures produced by the Boeing Corporation.

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Of course, P-22 is hardly hidden history. I’m not sharing anything new. And yet, as my Reel makes clear, and perhaps the below paragraph… I’m constantly astonished how few people—even Angelenos—know the improbable true story of the Mad King of Griffith Park.

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One of my favorite experiences bartending at Angel City Brewery has always been educating people about mountain lion habitat in Southern California… “Give me a P-22, people will say.” “P-22?” “Yeah,” they’ll say, “the mountain lion one.” I’ll pour it and come back, a twinkle in my eye, voice a soft purr. “Do you know who P-22 is?” They’ll say, “Uh. Who? It’s like some kind of hop,” they declare, an educated guess. And say, “No, bro. It’s not a hop. P-22 is the world’s most famous mountain lion. He lives alone on an island.” And when they look at me like I’m crazy, I’ll say: “He’s the most sexually frustrated cat on earth.” And when they’re starting to look afraid, I’ll say: “He lives alone on an island at the center of Los Angeles, and he’s never had sex.” And when they’re trying to rapidly complete the transaction and move away as quickly as possible, I say: “He crossed like six freeways. Most mountain lions get obliterated by a semi-truck trying to cross like one. But he’s tough. He crossed like six. All to eventually maroon himself friendless and sexless at the center of Los Angeles. Most thought he’d move on in search of a mate, but instead he stayed.” “An island?” they’ll say. “Yes,” I say, “Griffith Park, a figurative island surrounded by the wasteland of like 50 freeways, the largest urban-wilderness preserve in the United States at 4,300 acres.” Most people, even if they’re from LA, still haven’t heard of P-22. “Is this, like, a myth?” they’ll say, and I say, “No, bro. It’s P-22. P stands for puma. He’s numbered and has a radio collar. There’s some scientist somewhere who can look on a computer and see where he’s chilling all the time. But he just stays on his island at the center of Los Angeles, not bothering anybody, never seeking a mate, just feasting on mule deer, jack rabbits, and recently, a chihuahua until...”

P-22 passed away near the end of his natural life cycle in 2022. Angel City Brewery began brewing the beer in honor of the boy in the Fall of 2018.

October 25, 2025, is P-22 Day in Los Angeles. To learn about events and help protect SoCal cougars go to SAVELACOUGARS.ORG.

Hiking in Griffith Park just isn’t the same anymore…

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