Button--1969-1985
Button lived with my grandmother in Chicago Heights. He seemed to like the house quite a bit, even if I did show my face every now and then. Button liked to play Yahtzee, although he wasn't very good at it. His less-than-successful strategy was to plant himself in the box in which the dice were to be rolled. Button did not, however, like me a whole lot. The hypothesis about that is that when I was at his house, my grandmother seemed to think I was more interesting. Personally, I don't know that I agree with that assessment, but nonetheless Button did not care too much for me. Button was a normal cat (i.e. with a full complement of claws and a hall pass to the outside of the house), and he enjoyed wandering about the neighborhood, often to the minor distress of my grandmother, who would wonder where he went. Button assumed, however, that he could leave my grandmother alone and she would not get lost, and so he went exploring at his leisure, making sure to return when he would be fed. In the last year or so of his life, Button seemed to make a bit of an effort to make peace with me. I think had he had more time, he could have been nice to me a bit longer. As it was, though, I don't think he died with any unresolved issues towards me.

Sylvester--1979-1994
Sylvester used to live with Gerry Stewart in Springfield, Illinois. Then Gerry married my aunt, and Sylvester moved into a different house. After some years in Springfield, however, he decided to come and live with me. I was not told of this decision until after he arrived--I was merely told he was to be visiting. His visit lasted over six years. Like Button, Sylvester was a normal cat. This fact presented a problem for him when he moved to Downers Grove. At first, I, being a little stupid, didn't let him out of the house. Sylvester understandably revolted, and elected to disappear for 10 days. He was discovered by a neighbor and returned to my house under little duress, but he had made his point, and in the future he came and went as he pleased via the front door, the back door, and on a few occasions in Naperville, my bedroom window. Sylvester's initial reaction upon moving in with me was nonpositive; apparently he had not been informed that the previous resident, Chance, was still very much in residence. Sylvester's protest involved refusing to eat within 50 feet of the other cat; this caused us a slight hardship in having to feed him at the front door. Slowly he moved through the house, making his point, until finally he was eating on the floor next to the shelf on which Chance ate. Sylvester's favorite activities included hunting (Okay, I caught that, it's mine, I'll play with it later. Leave it...there.), board games (I want that hotel...there. I want this token...on the floor. How much is Tennessee Avenue with a cat's foot?), tug-of-war (Where's the towel? Come on, where is it? There it is! Wait, no, that's a hand. Oh well, I'll pull on it anyway!), and malicious wounding (Hi, Jason. THHWACK! Oops, didn't mean to draw blood there.). Sylvester may have died in 1994 at age 15, but his memory lives on in our hearts, in his picture on the wall, and in that little 3cm long scar on my right forearm.

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