It feels almost indecent to be at a zoo at midnight. This is the quiet, spooky time that animals are supposed to have to themselves, to get on with their solitary activities. For the same reason, there’s something thrilling about the prospect: Most of us rarely see animals at night, except for the occasional deer, or guilty-looking raccoon. Having been on a number of nighttime safaris — in India, for example — I was eager to experience Singapore Night Safari at the Singapore Zoo, one of the most popular animal attractions in Southeast Asia. Arriving at the zoo, visitors enter a world that seems somewhat contrived but is, nonetheless, an enthralling expedition into the secret lives of beasts.

On a real safari you would set out at dusk, riding in a battered Land Rover, keeping an eye out for elephants, rhinos and tigers. You would feel a sharp tingle of anticipation and a pang of fright; there is, after all, a slight chance you could be eaten.

No chance of that in Singapore, where the 920 resident animals (there are 130 species in the park, 39 of which are threatened) have been conditioned to treat humans as casual guests. Exploring the grounds either by electric tram or on one of three easy-to-navigate footpaths that twist through the jungle, one encounters dozens of nocturnal animals. Sometimes, when the sounds of the night take over, it’s possible to imagine one really is in Africa, or India, or the Amazonian rainforest — just three of the eight wildlife regions represented.

Halim is a stocky keeper who has worked at the Singapore Zoo for 10 years. We set off together down the Leopard Trail, walking quietly through the balmy darkness. If we’re lucky, we’ll spot one of the night safari’s most mysterious gems: the clouded leopard (Neofelis nebulosa), a notoriously elusive cat.

Asian porcupines and tarsier — small, wide-eyed primates — go about their business under the subdued lighting. More than 30 miles of hidden cables power some 2,000 lamps designed to create the “spirit of twilight” while allowing excellent visibility. It works; I can even count the quills on the porcupines.

We detour into a netted aviary where flying squirrels and fruit bats (known here as flying foxes) hang from tree limbs right in front of our noses. They’re so close that one can easily reach out and stroke their rubbery, dexterous wings — each of which, Halim explains, contains five finger-like bones.

Further along, Malayan civets, cat-like creatures, stalk through low grass. They mark their territory with discharges from their anal glands; the scent is extracted and used in perfumes. I ask Halim which brands use this ingredient. “Many do,” he laughs. “But none will admit it.”

After a 15-minute walk, we come upon a glass-fronted habitat — unusual in this zoo — and find the trail’s namesake. It’s one of the most beautiful cats I’ve ever seen.

“The clouded leopard is so shy,” whispers Halim, “that we had this one nearly a year before anyone saw her. She’d hide as soon as she heard or sensed footsteps. But now she’s not bothered by people.”

Clouded leopards are listed as endangered, but it’s a guess; they’re so secretive that very little about their life in the wild is known. The feline yawns, showing enormous teeth. “Their canines can be four centimeters long,” nods Halim. “Scientists believe the clouded leopard is related to the saber-toothed tiger; that it is the link between the big and small cats.”

There’s something addictive about encountering animals this way, in the muggy Singapore night. Cicada chirps fill the air, and owls hoot. Golden jackals howl in tandem, a celebration of their monogamy (or perhaps the opposite). We pass two hippopotami in a lake, gleaming like polished bratwurst. There’s even a family of capybara: the world’s largest living rodent. They look like mutant guinea pigs or cast rejects from The Incredible Shrinking Man.

On the taxi ride back to the wonderful Scarlet, a boutique hotel, the driver strikes up a conversation. “Singapore must be the safest city in Asia,” he informs me. “No crime, no garbage, no kidnappings. But also, I think, a little boring. No danger — and no adventure!”

The cabbie is right; cities are more thrilling when there’s a little bit of risk. Safaris, too. But what Singapore Night Safari lacks in peril, it makes up for in animal encounters. If I’d gotten that close to the wildlife during my India adventure, I would have been fertilizing a patch of the Indian jungle.