Cats stare at the corners, watching the unseen. Brush it off, walk away, it's how it always acts. However, whispers of memory fill their minds. Memories that the ones with two legs and trivial objects have long forgotten, their feeble memory capacity being scoffed at by the most ancient beings.

Dogs remember them too, but not as well. Occassionally, they'll see the faintest flicker of silver hair or long, nimble fingers, and the'll remember. But just like that, the memory is gone, like a swift summer breeze, and the canines will go back to their humans.

Cats, however. They remember from the tips of the ancient's toes to the way their hair spun, silver moved in a way that was not quite of this realm. "The ancients" they'd say, "The anicients were the Fae, their old family, masters, children, lovers. Fae could take many form, but they always had to return to their own." Often the Fae giggled in teh corners of the houses, dashing through the halls, rousing memories of love, memories of hatred.

They were just memroies. Memories that haunted every feline from the quiver of their whiskers to the twitch of their tails. Who said memories didn't stay longer than they were supposed to?