照片是2001年，我還窩在台北縣某棟舊公寓的頂樓加蓋裡。
有時返家快爬到頂樓的時候，會看到一雙眼睛直勾勾盯著。不知道這隻小花貓從何而來，或許是哪戶頂樓鄰居散養的吧。牠總是保持著絕對的安全距離，有時蜷縮有時又拉長身子，用那雙透徹的瞳孔，靜靜窺視著我在屋頂上一切活動。然而這貓也非常有個性。牠從不發出一點聲更別說喵喵叫，也絕不乞食。我曾試著拿點食物接近牠，但牠總是看都不看一眼，或甚至高傲地轉身離去，更別說能摸摸牠的頭。
就這樣相安無事了幾個月。某個記不得的日子當我要出門還是回家的時候，牠竟悄悄躺在門口的拖鞋上沒有離開。沒有食物的羈絆，沒有主從的關係，一份無聲且最純粹的陪伴，也是生活在悶熱的鐵皮空間時光裡的青春回憶。
The Rooftop Cat, 2001
The photo was taken in 2001, back when I was living in a rooftop add-on above an old apartment building in what was then Taipei County.
Sometimes, just as I was about to reach the top floor after coming home, I would suddenly notice a pair of eyes staring straight at me. I never knew where this little calico cat had come from—perhaps it belonged to one of the rooftop neighbors and was simply allowed to roam free.
It always kept a perfectly safe distance. Sometimes it curled itself up; other times it stretched out long and still. With those crystal-clear pupils, it quietly observed everything I did on the rooftop. Yet this cat had a strong personality of its own. It never made a sound—not even a single meow—and it never begged for food.
I once tried approaching it with something to eat, hoping it might come closer. But it wouldn’t even spare the food a glance. Sometimes it would turn away with quiet pride and walk off, as if my gesture wasn’t worth acknowledging. Needless to say, touching its head was never an option.
And so we remained like that for several months—peacefully distant, sharing the same rooftop without ever crossing the line.
Then one day—whether I was heading out or returning home, I can no longer remember—it quietly lay down on the slippers by my door and didn’t move away.
There was no bond built through food, no sense of ownership or obedience. Only a silent, pure kind of companionship. And it became one of the clearest memories of my youth, lived out in those stifling tin-roofed days above the city.