Grandpa went to bed early. Grandma, as appropriate for a monarch, would not retire until she had inspected her realm and its subjects: tables, chairs, pots, vases.

They lived as before, now without the red-cheeked porcelain doll.

Previously, the beautiful figurine had stood atop an antique wooden chest from Bali. The chest was placed in the living room as a centrepiece. On it they put souvenirs from abroad. A model windmill from Holland, an engraved cup from Thailand and Yin Yin, the porcelain doll with rosy cheeks from China.

The windmill was a gift from a former boss of Grandpa’s who frequently went abroad. Music sounded when the blades turned. The cup had been given by neighbours – fellow pensioners, but with many children, one of whom worked in a travel agency. Their house could no longer accommodate all the mementoes from different countries. Grandpa assumed the neighbour kept giving them only to show off, but Grandma gratefully accepted a cup that could embellish their home.

As for Yin Yin, she was a gift from their nephew, Ardi. When Ardi was small, his mother, Grandpa’s younger sister, was so busy that Ardi was often deposited with the childless couple. Ardi had never forgotten Grandma and Grandpa’s kindness and often stopped by with keepsakes.

Yin Yin was the best. Her fingers were delicate, dainty. Perhaps equally as beautiful as her bound feet – small, white, immaculate. Beautiful. Fragile.

Anyone would admire her beauty. The doll had tiny almond eyes. Smooth skin, rosy cheeks, heart-shaped lips. Her smile was so sweet that Grandpa and Grandma never sought comparisons. A perfect smile. A porcelain smile.

But one day, Grandma discovered Yin Yin toppled from the antique chest. She was shattered in pieces. And so was Grandma.

Sweetie was the culprit. Cats are ingrates.

Near the chest, Grandma spotted woollen yarn, a plaything of Sweetie’s. She must have been trying to make off with it so eagerly that Yin Yin became a casualty. Cats are the same everywhere.

What cut Grandma and Grandpa to the quick was the fact that Yin Yin was shattered. If she’d been stolen, maybe they wouldn’t have been wounded so deeply. At least her body would have remained intact. Perhaps someone rich would have bought her from the thief and she could have decorated a mansion with marble floors. At least that would have been more comforting than to see her violated, ruined, destroyed. Grandma found her lying decapitated on the floor, her pretty little feet in their velvet shoes detached from the body.