When my sister had her starter marriage.. the one that prepared her for her real one with Frank.. She went to Paris on her honeymoon and asked, my then boyfriend, Victor, to watch her beloved cat Fergus. Victor, wanting to please my family, agreed. Fergus was not a nice cat. He was not very happy with people in general.. and when he was taken from the only place he had ever really known (my sisters home) and thrust into Victor's bachelor pad, he freaked! During this freak out, he bolted.. Little Fergus must have been planning his escape the moment he arrived at Victor's. As soon as the coast was clear, he took off. I was mortified. This was my sister's CAT.. Her baby.. ugh.. We tried unsuccessfully luring him back.. we even tried jumping him.. but their was hissing so I backed off.. Needless to say, my sister was devestated.
Fast forward to this very night, 7 years (or so) later, I open the front door and their stands Fergus. He looks right at me.. saunters past the gate and then slinks off. This must mean something. BUT WHAT?
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