THE ESCAPED JAGUAR
The zoo is lit by blue flashes. Birds squawk, monkeys scamper and howl, not used to crowds this late in the evening. My breath forms vapour clouds. The police wear padded fluorescent jackets, stamp their feet, and rub their hands. Their radios chatter and hiss. There’s been an escape. My jaguar has gone.
“No damage to the lock,” a policewoman says. “Sure you locked up properly?”
“I’ve been a zookeeper for twelve years. I know how to lock a gate,” I say.
My jaguar’s name is Sombra, Portuguese for shadow, rescued as an abandoned cub in the Amazon. Through his oil-slick black coat, you can see the same patchwork markings of his non-black relatives. His fur is thick
