As soon as I walked into the residential home I saw him lying there, stretched out on the floor, his long, grey lanky legs in everyone's way as they stepped over or manoeuvred round him. Looking back, it was right then and there that it happened - the instant that was to turn my life upside down.

I found myself walking over to him; he seemed so out of place in every respect. I knew nothing about dogs, but weren't they supposed to wag their tails or smile or react in some way when someone spoke to them or made some other gesture of interest? Not this one. He ignored me for a while, tolerating my advances before slowly getting up and walking away.

On my next visit I couldn't help looking out for him, finally finding him lying on his back while someone bandaged a bleeding paw; that same disinterested look in his eyes; suggesting that his thoughts were far away.

During the next few weeks I saw him regularly, and gradually he acknowledged me - in his own way. No wagging tail or over-excitement; well, no excitement whatsoever, but he did follow me round the building, patiently just hanging around and looking bored as I visited different residents. But I nevertheless felt honoured, privileged in some way.

Who was he? Where had he come from? The first five years of his life are a mystery, followed by six months with the RSPCA in North Wales, before being rescued and brought to Liverpool by the manageress of the residential home for the benefit of the residents who loved him. He was quiet and well-behaved - the ideal dog? He quickly learnt to follow the tea trolley round from room to room, collecting treats along the way, and before too long the skinny grey legs were supporting a much too rounded belly and walks appeared to be few and far between; staff were fully occupied and residents were dependent on staff for their own day-to-day needs.

One night I was working there until quite late. As usual Bo had followed me from room to room, but on this occasion he had brought his lead with him and kept dropping it at my feet. It was a late autumn night and the residence was on a dark road next to an even darker park, but we went there anyway. It wasn't sensible and it's not recommended, but we may have spent 10-15 minutes in that isolated place before making our way back. I went inside with him, gave him fresh water before making my way home, roughly a 10-15 minute walk as I didn't have my car that night. I was probably just over half-way home when I suddenly heard something behind me and turned round quickly to see Bo running towards me like only a greyhound cross can. I don't know how he knew which way to run and it became even more remarkable some time later when I discovered that amongst his many phobias was a fear of the dark. I took him back and made sure the automatic doors were closed for the night before once more heading home.

After this I started walking him whenever I could. It wasn't enough and his weight problem was getting worse. He loved to tear round in a huge circle then charge at me, only changing direction at the last minute and making me yell every time he did it. Yes, he thought that was funny.

But Bo wasn't well. After this splurge of energy he would gasp for breath and appeared to be having palpitations. I'd soon have a little group of disapproving dog-walkers around me, commenting on his weight problem as, feeling like Judas, I tried to assure them that he wasn't my dog! Before long he started to lose the fur from his underside, leaving a large expanse of pink flesh. He was being killed with kindness where he lived; he wasn't well and he wasn't happy. I complained.

He was taken to the vet and eventually diagnosed with an underactive thyroid. A decision was made to return him to the RSPCA unless he could be rehomed quickly. The staff loved him, but no-one was in a position to take him. I too was given the opportunity to provide a home for him, but he'd already met our cat and made his intentions clear. In turn, she hated him! Besides, I was working long hours and he'd be alone all day. I clearly couldn't take him, but I needed to know he was going to be alright. I asked to be kept informed and notified before he actually left. In the meantime I would help them to find a good home for him; that shouldn't have been too difficult. But I was overlooking the fact that he was, by then, seven and a half years old, overweight, balding and on permanent medication for his thyroid condition. He didn't help himself either. When he was feeling down he showed it. Who would take a dog that could look that miserable? He would even turn his back on people who tried to talk to him! I advertised and received lots of replies from well-wishers, but no-one offered to provide him with a loving home.

Then one morning I came downstairs and noticed the answer-phone flashing. The message had been left the previous day asking me to call the residential home. I felt sick. Why hadn't I remembered to keep checking for messages? I didn't phone I just jumped into my car and rushed in. It was barely 8 a.m. A staff member called me into the office and told me that Bo had to go within 48 hours. 'Go where?' I asked. 'Well, to you!' I was told.

Which part of No, unfortunately I can't take him had been misunderstood during those few weeks?

By 8.15 a.m. I was struggling through my front door with a large plastic dog-bed, one tin of cheap dog food - and Bo. My son was just coming down the stairs.

'Happy birthday Mum - what's he doing here?' Birthday? Oh yes, so it was! And it was time to leave for work!

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In November 2002 my life changed dramatically when a lonely, rough-haired lurcher called Bo moved into my home. It wasn't that I ever wanted a dog or even invited him in, but there seemed nowhere else for him to go. With a cat who hated him on sight, a full-time, often stressful career, and a degree of freedom that I had treasured since the children had grown up and left home, I admitted to feelings of resentment. I wasn't ready to join those robust, dedicated walkers, out in all weathers and managing to look as if they were having fun. But he moved in anyway.

I discovered very quickly that in my relatively confined 1930s semi the dog and cat must never meet. Doors had to be kept closed at all times to separate the feuding pair. My formerly docile feline friend displayed a side of her personality never seen before; but things were to get much, much worse.

After two days of leaving Bo 'home alone' while I went to work, all hell broke loose. He took out his frustration on my freshly ironed laundry, cushions from the sofa and beautiful new towels from the bathroom. I returned home to find them neatly shredded and displayed like trophies around the half of the house made available to him.

Day three saw me setting off to work; Bo smiling happily in the back of my car; and that's the way it's been for over two years now. Wherever I go, he goes. Social life in tatters like my laundry, foreign holidays a distant memory, my triumphant companion now enjoys long, muddy walks in the Liverpool suburbs, observed, I feel, by quizzical eyes looking out from the warm, cosy comfort of more orderly homes.

June 2003 found me loading the car and heading off, not to John Lennon Airport and distant sun-kissed shores, but to a farm cottage near the Preseli Hills in South Wales - accompanied by Bo.

Several hours later, 11.30 p.m. to be precise, I had given up hope of identifying the appropriate hillside and found myself totally lost and not a little unnerved, in a small parking area behind some shops, waiting for daylight. I had hoped to stop in the village, known locally as a town, to ask directions. Sadly though, (for us anyway), there appeared to have been some kind of celebration and, with street corners occupied by revellers, I kept on driving until I found a secluded spot to just hide away for a while.

Yes, we left Liverpool in good time and yes, the weather was good; but no-one can argue that Carmarthen and Caernarfon sound the same and, well anyway, the journey took longer than planned!

Bo doesn't travel all that well. He finds it stressful, so he was tired and ready to sleep. After an hour or so the last of the revellers had disappeared and everywhere was quiet. I let Bo out of the car for a comfort break but was glad to return and lock ourselves in for the remaining hours of darkness. Within two minutes my hound was snoring. Some protection! It was going to be a long night.

Then something caught my eye. It was a fox. I watched it walk swiftly in front of my car and a little way up the lane before disappearing into some bushes. It was clearly defined in the moonlight. About fifteen minutes later it returned, (I assumed it was the same fox), walking back in the direction from which it had come. Loud snores from the back reassured me that Bo hadn't seen anything.

Another hour or so passed, and then I saw it. Slightly taller and longer than Bo (he's 27 kg), black, rounded face, running effortlessly and gracefully down the lane, passing directly in front of me. There was no mistaking its cat-like gait. I hoped it would return, but it didn't.

By 5 a.m. it was light enough to move on. The farm was barely 10 minutes drive away; easy to find in the morning light. Later that day I described what I'd seen to the farmer and his family and it was confirmed that there had been several sightings of a black cat in the area. I also heard that one had been seen with its young not far from Fishguard. Local farmers had been out hunting for them, anxious to protect their livestock.

There have been reported sightings of big cats all over the UK, with numerous sightings on the Isle of Wight. They have even been linked with the paranormal. It would appear, however, that they're very much alive and clearly breeding in our countryside. It is believed that the number of these animals is running into many hundreds. They are able to thrive because of the abundance of food and lack of predators. Our countryside provides a perfect environment. Even areas close to Liverpool have had reported sightings, and the Runcorn Weekly News, 24th July 2003 gave an account of a black cat resembling a panther being spotted prowling the back streets of Halton. This animal was allegedly seen near Halton Castle near the church field and alarmed two witnesses when it turned and growled at them. Eighteen months prior to this a taxi driver was said to have witnessed a massive cat staring at him when he parked his car off Warrington Road in Runcorn. It was described as jet black, with big powerful shoulders and quite a small head. Its body was about four feet long with its tail adding at least another three feet to its length. About two years ago, a huge cat, known as the Beast of Widnes, was seen on the prowl at St. Michael's Golf Club in Widnes.

According to Ian Wickison, who has been tracking and researching the big cats in the U.K. for several years now, the black leopards found in the British Isles could be of either a leopard or jaguar species. Both leopard and jaguar can give birth to black offspring. Of the several species of big cats living and breeding in the British Isles, the largest members of the group are the black leopard, the puma and the lynx. Sightings increase in the months of August, September and October when harvesting takes place and essential cover is removed. Both the puma and the black leopard are slightly larger than a Labrador dog. Their main diet is rabbit, but Ian has also known them to eat snails and frogs for protein. Although there is no shortage of evidence to suggest they have been responsible for killing sheep, often the sheep have not been eaten, suggesting that they were killed in self-defence, possibly after alarming the big cats by walking up to them and showing no fear. Secretive and solitary, the black leopard has been described as the most aggressive and most feared animal in the world. It usually hunts in the night or the early hours of the morning. Although it has black fur, it is spotted and its spots can be seen in the right lighting conditions.

In a recent conversation with Ian Wickison I was advised that he has had many sightings of black leopards. Although they are quite capable of inflicting serious harm he believes they are likely to attack only when confronted, especially when protecting their young. However, the black leopard has a proven track record as a man killer and Ian is concerned that some action should be taken by our Government before someone is seriously hurt or even killed.

Some of the big cats living in our countryside are likely to be second, third and possibly even fourth generation offspring from animals originally brought into the country by our colonial forefathers who introduced them as exotic souvenirs from distant corners of the Empire. Some of these animals would have escaped from zoos or circuses over the years. However, most of the big cats originate from those illegally released into the countryside following the introduction of the Dangerous Wild Animal Act in 1976, when irresponsible owners set their animals free to avoid having to purchase expensive licences.

I'll keep an open mind about the Loch Ness Monster, the Yeti and even the Bodmin Big Cat, but I believe the animal I saw that night to have been a black leopard; enigmatic, mysterious, mystical - but very real and totally terrestrial. Let's hope the Government will step in before it's too late in order to afford some protection, both to the public and to these beautiful and potentially vulnerable animals.

For more information on big cats, please go to

http://www.scs.abelgratis.co.uk/bigcats2

http://www.britishbigcats.org

©Oct. 2004 Eileen Shaw

More to follow!