‘She’s been missing for nine days now.’

The constable, too straight-faced for my comfort, scratched his chin. His black beard looked out of place on his puny face.

‘Why are you reporting this so late?’

He had a point. But my point was stronger.

‘I thought she’d come back. She always does.’

We were even now and could proceed forward.

‘She’s usually back by the seventh day. But I waited for two more.’

Black beard wrote something down. His handwriting was terrible.

‘What does she look like?’

Okay. We were getting somewhere now.

Her picture was clear in my mind. She was beautiful.

‘Black hair, green eyes, a little plump, but fast as hell.’

The constable’s face could well be cast in cement. No movement. Zero expression.

His pen moved on paper expelling blue, unreadable creatures.

‘What’s her name?’

‘Laila.’

I used to say that name a hundred times in a day.

Black beard was scratching his cheek now. Maybe it was the stifling heat inside the police station. My Laila itched in the summers too.

‘How’s she related to you?’

No words could explain this. But I did my best.

‘She’s my everything. My soulmate.’

The constable scratched and scribbled some more.

‘Her age?’

I counted on my fingers and did the math in my head.

‘Five.’

I showed him five fingers. In case, he had missed what I said.

He stopped scratching and writing. His face still blank.

Assuming he had ran out of questions, I offered answers of my own.

‘She has a white spot on her back, and a cute bell around her neck.’

Black beard’s face lost its motionless stance, quickly filling with anger.

His shouts faded as I hurried out the door.

So what if Laila’s a cat! Does that make her less important?!

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