My mother reminded me of the year I dressed up like a cat for Halloween. I remembered it well since I have the photograph of me as a cat that year. It was taken at my Grandparent’s old house, the one on the corner painted red, and I must have been six or seven years old. I stood in my black ballet leotard with the tail she sewed on the back along with the cat ears she slid on a headband. My arms were slightly pulled from my torso as if pulled up by strings. The signifier though, the one that rooted me to the actual time and place, was the cerulean blue Snoopy watch that circled my left wrist. My mother wore a matching one, though slightly larger and made of blue denim, of Snoopy playing tennis around the clock and I remembered how much I admired the way she could draw and how she wore a Snoopy watch with tied up wedge shoes and bell bottoms jeans and let me watch old school Hollywood movies on the weekend and how despite making asparagus and brussels sprouts for dinner, I hoped to be one day be just like her.