Walking back from the pharmacy with my nephew David, a drizzle began, urging us to hurry. But David froze, pointing at a cat under a shop window, declaring, “That’s Nunu.” Nunu, our family cat, had vanished years ago when David was a baby and was found dead, buried under our apple tree. Yet this cat was identical—same crooked tail, scar, and purr. She followed us home, acting like she’d never left, sleeping in Nunu’s old spot and responding to familiar cues.
Neighbors noticed, and my sister grew uneasy, questioning how this could be Nunu. Then David found a dirt-stained “NUNU” collar tag under the apple tree, deepening the mystery. At the vet, the cat’s microchip matched Nunu’s, listed as deceased for six years. We let her stay, filling our home with warmth.
Months later, Arthur, from three towns over, claimed she was his cat, adopted five years ago. Torn, we let the cat choose. She picked David, curling up in his lap. Arthur conceded, sensing she belonged with us. Nunu’s return taught us love can defy logic, reminding us to keep hope alive—sometimes, what’s lost returns in unexpected ways.
