I remember next, that I was about six or seven. My dad and I had just moved into our new house. It was a one story, two bedroom house. I found out in subsequent years that I could stand in the hallway and give everyone the grand tour by rorating them around in one spot. It wasn’t a big house, but for two people it was just enough. There was a decent backyard with a swing set I would drag around the yard. The dizzying scary aluminum kind that with enough force would pull itself out of the ground and send you sprawling across the grass.
There was a yard, which had a dip that went down to the street, with the tree my dad planted from some arbor day website. Ahh, home, the place of many childhood memories.
This is the setting for the rest of my stories, well until my early adult years, if this isn’t obvious. That is, if I don’t mention my mother’s house as this is where I lived with my dad on weekends until I was eight when I moved in permanently.
I remember mentioning to my dad about getting a cat, the house was empty to me without the presence of an animal. That is how my dad ended up with Buttons. She was the sweetest thing, but because I only lived there on weekends, she was my dad’s cat. He learned a lot with Buttons, on how to take care of cats. I was envious of him for that.
The only pictures of Buttons that I have, are blurry shots taken with my dad’s old kodak SANS flash. One of me around christmas the only time my dad hosted it at the house, and one of her in a box, my dad just shot quickly. I’ll try to find them.