Illegal zoos, caged lives and blistering heat: The silent suffering of Bangladesh’s Fishing Cats

At Meherun Children’s Park and Mini Zoo at Damurhuda upazila, a Fishing Cat and a German Shepherd were kept in adjoining cages. Photo taken recently. PHOTO: MUNTASIR AKASH

The midday sun scorched the earth as we rode along the roads of Chuadanga and Meherpur. I was in the field with local conservationists from Pankauri Conservation Club, visiting wetland-dotted villages to study and raise awareness about the Fishing Cat — a shy, elusive wild feline that often falls victim to fear, misinformation and neglect.

Fishing Cats (Prionailurus viverrinus) are small wild cats native to the wetlands of South and Southeast Asia. They are built low and muscular, with stocky limbs and short tails, patterned with dark spots on a yellowish-grey coat. Their aquatic lifestyle and exceptional fishing skills earn them their name. But ironically, it's this very appearance that spells their doom. 

Many villagers mistake them for tigers and kill them on sight. In Chuadanga-Meherpur, this misidentification, coupled with growing human-wildlife conflict, has made the Fishing Cat increasingly vulnerable.

But the story here differs from places like Sylhet, where conflict with fishers and shrimp farmers dominates the narrative. In these southwestern districts, locals — from fishers and farmers to everyday villagers are more familiar with the animal. 

Still, fear persists. 

Bakhtiar Hamid, my companion on this trip, explained that Fishing Cats are not just killed out of fear; many are illegally confined in makeshift zoos or mini-parks without any understanding of their needs.

At midday, we reached the Manorama Park and Zoo at Mujibnagar upazila. There, in a cramped enclosure, we found a Fishing Cat in critical condition. The animal, likely dehydrated and starving, was panting heavily, its body reduced to skin and bones under the brutal heat. Without intravenous fluids, it would not survive long. But veterinary care for wild animals is practically nonexistent here.

The nearest rescue centre is hundreds of kilometres away, and the national facility in Sreemangal is already overwhelmed. Other enclosures held animals like Rhesus Monkeys, Capped Langurs, Crested Serpent Eagles, and even a porcupine with its quills plucked. Many lay motionless on the concrete floor. Surrounded by this quiet suffering, the punishing heat seemed suddenly bearable.

Later in the day, we arrived at Meherun Children's Park and Mini Zoo at Damurhuda upazila. What we saw there was astonishing: a Fishing Cat and a German Shepherd were kept in adjoining cages, both gasping for air in the oppressive heat. The German Shepherd, clearly bred for cooler climates, had not been groomed in months. Neither did it have access to water. 

The female Fishing Cat appeared slightly healthier than the one we had seen earlier but was still clearly malnourished. Visitors had thrown sticks, bottles and stones into the cages. In another enclosure, a monkey was desperately licking moisture off a discarded plastic bottle. I noticed Bakhtiar's eyes silently welling with tears.

Despite these grim scenes, there are glimmers of hope. The Pankauri Conservation Club is working hard to change local perceptions. With recent support from the Arannayk Foundation, they have launched new initiatives that connect the Forest Department with local communities.

In one instance, a farmer in Gangni upazila, once indifferent to wildlife, has become a vocal advocate for the Fishing Cat. In another, swift government response to a brutal killing in Damurhuda's Raisar Beel brought much-needed visibility to the issue. Posters bearing Fishing Cat awareness messages were spotted in many wetlands, small signs of growing public consciousness.

Still, the situation is fragile. As one volunteer told me, "Even if Fishing Cats disappear everywhere else, they will still survive here — if we act now." 

There is much left to do. We need more wildlife rescue and rehabilitation centres, trained vets who understand the physiology of wild species, and region-specific conservation initiatives modeled after the Fishing Cat work in Moulvibazar.

It is time we moved beyond token 'Wildlife Days' and designed long-term, inclusive plans for the species' survival. Engaging local youth, citizen scientists, and grassroots volunteers will be key — because conservation is not a race; it is a shared responsibility.

After covering over 250 kilometres in two days across wetlands, villages, and forest patches, I kept thinking back to those two Fishing Cats wilting in their cages, gasping for breath under the sun. Have we really done enough? 

Weeks have passed since the visit, yet no concrete steps have been taken, only a few formal phone calls and vague assurances. Meanwhile, the cages remain, the heat persists, and the cats continue to suffer in silence.