So I did the only logical thing - hopped on the next plane back to Beloeil and left the two cats with Mum and Dad. Spotty, as he came to be known, was the scourge of the neighbourhood, chasing away all other domesticated animals from my parents' yard, much to the delight of my father. Dooley, on the other hand, was content to sit on her throne in front of the living room window, getting fatter and fatter every day. They both lived long and, we think, happy lives.
From West 11th, I moved to Harwood Street in Vancouver's West End, just a couple of blocks from the beach at English Bay. It was a great location. My apartment was, again, a one-room bachelor, but when a vacancy arose in the same building, I moved to a one-bedroom apartment. I remember packing up everything I owned, stacking it by the doorway, and going away for the weekend while some friends moved my stuff from the 6th floor to the 3rd floor. Sadly, I don't remember who those friends were. (If you're reading this, many thanks again, and profound apologies for forgetting you.)
I was still working at Northwood, but had moved from inventory control to the accounting department. In the beginning I spent almost all day, every day, doing bank reconciliations. I got very fast using a calculator. One of my bosses encouraged me to become an accountant, so I started the RIA program (later CMA, and now CPA).
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Harwood Street |