A pigeon was eating bits of potato chips off of the cement floor of a smoke-filled outdoor café when he spied a fork on the ground. Slyly, with bandito eyes, he grabbed the silvery object prize and dashed behind a bush. The fork, you see, was now his. As he slicked back his greasy green pigeon hair, he let out a laugh so terrible it made his skin crawl like the downtown traffic of le Gai Paris.

As pigeon rejoiced in the kindness of Fate, a stray black cat slinked her way to the café. The starving felicitous feline was hoping to find a few breadcrumbs on the floor or maybe, if she was lucky, a few flakes of salmon spritzed with lemon and savory spiced. If only she knew what she was actually going to find! Truly, the hands of Fate were up to some strange handicraft this night.

Cat, as she usually did, attempted to sneak undetected into the café through a row of bushes conveniently placed against a brick wall as decor. Her bushy trip was suddenly interrupted, her left front paw left suspended in midair, frozen in time for a moment, when she saw him. Pigeon. Her first love, the first man she ever kissed. After obsessive-compulsively licking her paws clean, she approached pigeon. He was still laughing to himself, unaware of cat, lost in the glare of his indispensable utensil.

"Hello, pigeon," she said in the sultriest voice she could muster.

"Why h-h-h-hello, Mademoiselle. So nice to zee you zis night. Your eyes are like zee stars, still, yes?" he said, coolly, "Yes."

Man, pigeon was so cool. Cat blushed, but kept her resolve.

"You haven't talked to me in months, pigeon! You think you can just charm me, sweep me off my feet just like that? Like nothing happened?"

"Yes."

Cat's mouth opened, and she looked for all the world to start screaming until pigeon put his finger to her lips and started to explain himself in thoughtful tones.

"I am sorry, I cannot explain zis. Just that, we are star-crossed lovers, blessed children of the night. We don't know when zese things will happen, when the paths of our stars will cross. We do not control zis. But when they cross, the forces of the universe overwhelm us and, zen, we must kiss. I will kiss you sweetly, now, Madam."

Pigeon puckered his beak and all cat could do was allow pigeons tongue to caress her's. They made love in the bushes for hours that night. It was everything you could hope for: romantic, lustful, fast (then slow), hard (then soft), and all with that hint of uncontrollable physicality peculiar to bodily wanderlust. When it was over, pigeon held up his silver fork rather symbolically and spoke in a tender voice.

"You zee, we are now at a proverbial fork in the road. Again, we must go our zeparate ways. You left, I right. Will our stars cross again? I do not know, but I pray. Goodbye, my love."

As pigeon walked into the sunrise, cat's hair stood on end.

"I love that man," she said, as she must, and then she licked her lips.

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