I just remembered my most vivid childhood memory.
I used to have a cat named Puff, after the cat in Dick&Jane. She was sort of an orange tabby, but her fur was sort of apricot, and long. I loved that cat so much. She belonged to both me and Lydia, but then we got Cinders, and Lydia loved Cinders, so I traded Lydia my share of Cinders for her share of Puff. So Puff was my cat. She loved me best, anyway. I used to dress her up in doll clothes and push her in a doll stroller, and she never complained.
And then we moved from New Orleans to Baton Rouge. The moving men came and packed everything up in the moving van, and drove away. The kitties didn't like the noise, and the strange men, and went outside. My mother said, we should put them in our bedroom so they wouldn't run away. And Lydia got Cinders, but I couldn't find Puff.
And then it was time for all the children and the parents and the kitties to get in the car and move to Baton Rouge. And there was no Puff.
We looked everywhere, and we called and called, but no Puff. And we walked all around the neighborhood, and called, but still no Puff. And my mother asked the neighbors to look for her, and if they found her to call us, and promised me we'd come back for her.
And we drove off and left her.
I cried, all the way to Baton Rouge. My seven-year-old heart was broken. I knew that once she came back to the house, and cried at the door, and no one let her in, she'd be scared, and miserable, and run away, and the dogs would get her.
So, we got to Baton Rouge, and the movers brought in all the furniture (not all that much, really, we were kinda poor) and put it where my mother said, brought in all the boxes, and then drove off.
And then Puff came out, from under the sofa, where she'd crawled in to hide from the movers.
Now do you see why I think I'm lucky? |
