Cats.
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My family had this grey burmese cat by the name of Pierre (pee-air). It ruled the neighborhood jungle. It fought off imposture cats and brought home trophies to our doorstep. This cat was around before I was born and left for heaven just before I graduated. It survived well past nine lives and most likely passed on his seed to fellow strangers in the hood.
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One day he was gone.
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Though, sometimes he would disappear like a lion for days on end. Summer nights, me and my rugrat friends would be spying on the neighbors when Pierre would pop out of the bushes to say ‘what’s up.’ The beast was a true wild nomad.
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This time was different. Pierre went missing. We thought maybe he’d ran away. Jumped on a bus to freedom and never return. Days, weeks, and then months passed. No Pierre. I always thought, “maybe he’d find his way back to the hood and write a novel about his experiences.”
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One night, my family was eating a TV dinner when we heard this loud scratching and moaning outside our house, “meow...MEOW...ME-OWW”. My dad ran over to the window to investigate.
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He opened up the door and this cat fled inside. It ran in the house like it was caught on fire. It sprinted in circles then clawed its way up the curtain drapes holding on for its dear life.
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“Meow.”
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It was Pierre! It was freakin wild.
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Whatever mystical journey that cat was on changed Pierre forever. We couldn’t figure out what happened. How this cat vanished and then returned as a snuggle master? We thought maybe he got caught by a neighbor. Snuck food outside and tricked the wise bastard inside to become their new pet. Pierre then pulled a Sean Connery and escaped prison to join the Kesto family again...or something.