It was a fine Sunday morning in September 1995. When I opened the door, I found a small kitten standing. He did not run away on seeing me and so I took him inside and gave some milk in a bowl. His looks seemed to suggest to me that he wanted a place in my house, and I took pity on the little one and kept him in my house. I named him Duncee as he was unusually quiet and did not mew much. He was very weak although he could drink and eat. Rice mixed with milk was its favorite meal. We took him to the vet who told us that he was dumb, but despite this handicap, he was extremely shrewd. If somebody knocked the door, he would come running and stand in between my feet. He had always had a nap in one particular cushioned cane chair. Soon everybody in the neighborhood starting loving him. Everybody was surprised to know that this kitten never drank milk unless it was presented to him in a particular designer plate, which adhered it to every one of our friends in our area.
But alas! One day while it was raining heavily, Duncee somehow happened to go out never to return. A great loss indeed. What happened to him is still a mystery even after 15 years, but memories of Duncee still linger on. An affectionate bond for all of us in the family. And the vacuum created by Duncee still persists in the home and in our minds.