So I'm moving again. For someone who doesn't like change and drags her heels at the very idea, I move quite a lot. I remember every place I ever lived in and today, when I pass by the site of my childhood home, which has since been demolished to build something and then abandoned halfway, I feel responsible for its sad state. At the time, though, I was around eight and hardly in a position to object to moving and urgent arguments about how my pet for one day, a sick kitten named "Happy", had been buried in the garden of that particular house fell upon deaf ears.

No dead cats in the backyard this time, but I'll miss this place.