Shengliver’s Note: Should Jack still be there, he should have sons and daughters.

I used to have a cat called Jack. Jack was a feral feline’s son. Our first encounter happened in a public toilet.

His mother gave birth to three kittens in the space between the ceiling and the roof of the toilet. Unluckily, Jack fell down through a crack one day. When I went to the toilet, I found him meowing curled up on the floor. The little thing was so adorable I could not help petting him. However, when I attempted to return the baby cat to his mother, the feline mother started to snarl. My mother told me that my smell was now on Jack, so his mother could not recognise him. As a result, I decided to adopt him as a pet.

Black with white spots, Jack was smart. I taught him to go and pee in a litter box only once, and he learned it. Jack was a wild cat in nature, however. Every Sunday, I would walk him like a puppy in the neighbourhood. On such walks, Jack got loose. He gambolled, climbed the hedges, and jumped to catch the birds. He had got amazing hunting skills.

As time went by, Jack grew bigger and fiercer. I thought he had outgrown the small space I could afford to provide for him in the house. I could no longer keep him inside a human home for the sake of his welfare. Therefore, I set him free on the slope behind our tower block one day, where there were trees and bushes and wildlife.

Every afternoon when I came back from school, Jack would be waiting for me there. We would fawn over each other for a while before we parted for the night. One day, Jack failed to turn up. And never did I see him again in the days and weeks after. A couple of years later, my family moved house.

These days I miss Jack a lot. Where are you, Jack?