Where do little kittens go when it rains? Far bigger issues in the world but that is what I have been preoccupied with. I sidestep puddles as I make my way through the hidden park above the city looking under the benches and into the bushes. I listen for mewing amidst the shrill whistle of crickets in the background. There is none, otherwise too far and too soft to make out. I come to the pond with the large but sad looking lilies, like old childless widows gathered together in this forgotten corner. A tortoise peeks out of the murky brown water. "Have you seen my cat?" No reply. Mr tortoise disappears underwater with a shrug.

On monday I played with a friendly little white tiger kitten which had appeared seemingly from nowhere. I had come back to the carpark from the travel agent's to find the fearless little tyke sharpening its claws against the back tyre of my bike. With orange eyes, snow white fur and faded grey stripes, it really looked like a miniature white tiger. I was surprised that the little fella did not run off as I approached, instead, it bounded towards me. I bent to pat its head and scratched around its ears. It turned on its back to allow me to scratch under its belly. I played with it by swinging the strap of my bag. I was aware of my parents' objection to cats and dogs after Candy, but it felt like fate. There was no way for me to bring it home though, because while I was able to fit the little fella into my bike, the rumble of the engine frightened it so and I wasn't willing to take the risk that it might jump out while I was on the highway. I would have to come back again.

But playful little kittens don't stay put.