If I discovered them so occupied and tried to remove the bottle, the cat would growl in what I judged to be a threatening manner. We have had them with ravens, a wolf, and a coyote. Mostly each goes his own way. Our oldest son Peter once had a small box turtle living with him which did lead a dubious life, as the bobcat liked to carry it around in his mouth. The turtle did not fancy this at all, becoming even more withdrawn than I think a turtle is supposed to be.
Bobcats sleep in an abandoned and disorderly fashion compared to domestic cats.
We had one who liked the crack between the two seat cushions of the sofa where he would lie on his back with his head hanging over the edge. Buddha pose common to house cats. Sometimes I am asked what this is like, to live with a wild animal, and then I think of those black tufted ears and the large golden eyes that turn to look at me, and I think it is keeping lordly company. I thin of those peculiar pulsating moments when we confront each other, eye to eye, and I feel in her tensed muscles and twitching tail a flow of life quite independent of my own and yet akin to it. To watch a bobcat and a small boy climbing around in a tree together, to sit by the edge of a stream and share a sandwich with a raven, to shiver beside a coyote because the night is wet and cold, is to be reminded that we are all entangled in the long dark sigh of life, which is at once a wonder and a comfort.