I climbed the worn and weathered wooden stairs to the ancient shed’s second floor. Three of my neighborhood cousins who were the closest to my age followed. Bright morning sunshine peeked in between the building’s aged wall boards. We sat down on out-of-date equipment, the sort that accumulates in long-time family-run farm sheds.

Gray shadows inside the shed hid the bright colors of the summer shorts and tops our mothers had sewn for us, while the bright shafts of sunlight highlighted narrow strips of blazing color. Filled with a poorly thought-out kid-club fantasy, I suggested, “Let’s start a club. We could call it…” After stopping to think for a moment, I said, “The Cat’s Eye Club! This is such a cool shed. We could hold our meetings here.”

Barb, a year older than me, nodded and agreed, “That sounds like fun.”

Alice, a year younger than me, brushed dust off her leg, commenting, “Mom doesn’t like having us play in this shed.”

Donna, who was the same age as me, asked, “What would we do as a club?”

She had me there. I couldn’t think of a single activity for Cat’s Eye Club members to do. It didn’t matter. Our meeting place, the dangerously interesting shed, was torn down later that summer.  

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