Every time he crossed neighbor’s threshold, there was this old cat lying there supine, half asleep, half awake. Dozing in and out of this world and cat’s dream world. Seeing her asleep cozily on her smooth mat, bought a certain calm and quietude to his heart. And three little ceramic ducks, led by the duck with a broken beak were the constant in cat’s life, like the Trinity guarding her.
Sometime when he woke up at wee hours of the morning, the cat would be up, for she was a diurnal sleeper and a nocturnal creature. She would calmly cry, probably for the food or making conversation with the ceramic ducks. The one with broken beak always had the best stories of its adventure, one time when he swam across Malacca straits, and another time when he got into a fight with monitor lizard at Pulau Bin. They never grew tired of these repetitive stories. And when the cat cried at those hours, it was joined by a background band of chirping crickets, and together they tried to wove a sad opera, lamenting love lost together. Chopin would have felt challenged probably?