When I was a little girl, we lived in a semi-okay neighborhood. Well, it was at the time! I know now that it was the division between OSU and the Short North. I lived across the street from the Northside branch library, long before that even became a library and was an empty parking lot.
When I think of this place, a lot of memories come to me, of my first experience with a festival and one of those ferris wheels with the cars that rotate 360º. Tons of doctors visits (I was frequently coming down with something) the time I got a nail in my foot so deep it was inches from bone. The time I scribbled on my brother’s neat math homework possibly in jealousy of knowing what all those numbers were doing there. And the chug-a-lug game which if anyone else knew about, I would have been SO in my dad’s care by then by mandate of the court system.
And there was my first cat. I remember that someone had kittens. We went to see them, and mind you, I’m three to four years old so these memories are hazy at best. We ended up taking home a black cat. I think he was a tuxedo cat, but I can’t remember. I do however, remember that he had a small starry looking patch in the center of his forehead.
Mom was doing well enough for herself that we had cable. This is something I asertained later. I’m three or four so we’re still smack dab in the 80’s so that’s all new and fancy stuff. My mother’s favorite show at the time was a space western called BraveStar. Now what’s funny about this, is that thinking on it, bravestar was a cheesy retarded show. But I watched it with mom (I remember they would close the city with these iron gates when these tornado looking things would come through)
And oh man, did I love bravestar. I think we had to let him go when we moved, but I remember, and mom still to this day asks if I remember the cat. Sadly, my memories of him are long since forgotten, except for a fague, fuzzy memory of what he looked like as a kitten. But I think that early exposure to kittens is what sealed my fate as a crazy cat lady.