by Carol Weston
“I don’t feel amazing,” I said. “I feel sad.” I told him I feel as sad as I felt on Tuesday.
“That’s only three days ago,” he said. “It would be weird if you didn’t still feel sad.” I nodded, and to be honest, that made me feel a tiny bit less sad.
Mrs. Lemons asked if I was okay. I shrugged because I couldn’t bear to tell her about Taco, and besides, I was pretty sure Zara already had.
“Ava, you’ll like this,” Mrs. Lemons said, and wrote this on the board:
“I love cooking
my pets and
my family.”
She asked our class, “What’s wrong with this sentence?”
Well, I could have blurted, “It needs commas!” because on the board, it looked like the confession of a cannibal. But I let Riley answer because I didn’t want to talk about pets or family.
After school, Dad said he wanted to try a recipe for “spaghetti and wheat balls.”
I said, “Please don’t,” and (this is embarrassing) my voice got wobbly. Dad hugged me, and I started crying a little.
He said he’d make me regular bow tie noodles, and I nodded into his chest, which got the front of his shirt damp.
Observation: When you feel sad, you want regular food, not fancy food or experimental food. Right now, if Jerry Valentino told me to write about something “warm and comforting,” I might even write about bow tie noodles.
I wish I’d never written “The Cat Who Wouldn’t Purr”!
Except…wait.
You know what?
That’s not totally true.
Confession: 1) I liked writing it, and 2) I liked that people liked reading it.
I guess what I wish is that Gretchen Guthrie had never seen Taco’s photo in the newspaper. I can’t believe I gave her back her cat—our cat.
She loves him, that’s true, but I love him too. Loved?
I wonder how Taco/Amber is doing.
Here’s how I’m doing: bad.
A
2/5
after dinner
Dear Diary,
I decided I had to do something, so I got out a piece of paper and wrote Gretchen a letter. After a few false starts and one really long, dumb practice letter, I finally settled with:
Dear Gretchen Guthrie,
I’ve been thinking about you and Amber (a.k.a. Taco). Can you tell him I say hi? And that my whole family misses him a lot?
Please write back. And please send a photo that I can frame. It doesn’t have to be new, but if possible, I would like it to be of him as a cat, not a kitten, because that’s how I will always think of him.
Thank you.
Ava Wren
I was going to draw a cat next to my name, but instead, I folded up my letter and tucked it into an envelope. Then I knocked on Pip’s door and asked her to draw Taco on the back. She did. I added a cat sticker on the front and knocked on Mom and Dad’s door. Mom took my decorated envelope and said she’d look up Gretchen’s address and mail the letter this weekend.
A
2/6
Saturday morning, still in bed
I dreamed we got a big friendly golden retriever. He fetched sticks and chased balls and went on walks and seemed like he would never leave our side! But then he went swimming in a dark pond, and he came out and started shaking off the water. He was shaking and shaking, and suddenly he started fading away and disappearing! I tried to hug him, but he wasn’t there.
I woke up crying! And now I’m the exact opposite of well rested.
A
2/6
Saturday afternoon
Dear Diary,
Dad is rereading a giant book called War and Peace. He says he “can’t put it down.” It’s so long and heavy, I don’t know how he can pick it up!
He said he wishes he spoke Russian because it “probably lost something in translation.”
I said, “Do books ever gain something in translation?”
He laughed and said he was going to have to think about that.
I was glad I made Dad laugh. And I wished I liked to read more because then I could be all involved in someone else’s up-and-down life instead of just my own.
But I’m more of a writer than a reader. So far, anyway.
How long will it be until I feel better? I’m glad I have you.
Ava, Still Moping
2/6
after dinner
Dear Diary,
Pip drove me crazy tonight. Every fifteen minutes, she said things like, “It’s vanilla, but it’s not chocolate.”
Or “It’s good, but it’s not great.”
Or “It’s silly, but it’s not clever.”
Or “It’s funny, but it’s not amusing.”
Or “It’s terrible, but it’s not awful.”
Or “It’s noodles, but it’s not pasta.”
Or “It’s speedy, but it’s not fast.”
Finally I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about and I was going to clobber her if she didn’t cut it out. She said, “It’s clobber, but it’s not hit, and it’s killing, but it’s not murdering.” Well, somehow, just like that, I figured out that she was doing a word game about double letters.
So I said, “It’s letters, but it’s not sounds, right?”
“That is indeed correct!” she said.
Not to be violent, but considering the gloomy mood I’ve been in, Pip is lucky I didn’t hack her up into itty bitty pieces.
Ava Elle Wren, Not in the Mood
P.S. I’m probably lucky Pip is even talking to me. If she’d given away our family’s first real pet, I’d have a hard time forgiving her. Sometimes I do stuff that’s well-meaning but boneheaded. Dad said that I’m “a little impulsive,” which I think means “not thinking enough.”
2/7
Sunday at 2
I asked Maybelle to come over and said she could even invite Zara if she wanted. I need to get out of my funk. These have been the longest days of my life. They’ve been like forty-eight-hour days!!
Ava, Trying
2/7
after dinner
Dear Diary,
Wait. Till. You. Hear. This.
Mom and Dad were running an errand, and Maybelle and Zara and Pip were playing Monopoly, and I was under a blanket on the sofa.
After her turn, Zara got up and peeked out the window. “You guys,” she said, “isn’t that Q-Tip Lady’s car?”
Maybelle and Zara and Pip smooshed against the window.
“It is! What the heck does she want now?” Zara said.
“Maybe to pay us for the vet bills?” Pip said.
“Why isn’t she getting out?” Maybelle said.
“Yeah. Why is she just sitting there? It’s like she’s thinking about getting out.” Zara kept narrating, so I went to look. “She opened the door but then she closed it again!” Zara made a face. “Wait, now she is getting out—but she’s still taking her time about it!”
Maybelle said, “Should we go to her?”
Zara said, “No way!” so we all just watched as Gretchen started heading up our front walk.
“Here she comes,” Pip said.
The doorbell rang, and we looked at each other, and I decided I’d be the one to let her in.
Well, get ready because here comes the Holy Moly part: Gretchen stepped inside, and instead of handing us a check, she unbuttoned her red coat. First, I heard a muffled mew. Next, I saw a furry snout. Then I saw soft whiskers and green eyes. And finally there was Taco/Amber!!!! Gretchen held him out (her eyes were a little puffy), and I stretched out my arms, and she pressed him against me, and I closed my arms around him, and she backed away. And Taco peered up at me as if to say, “Hi.”
“Ava,” Gretchen began, “I love this cat. I really do. But I’ve har
dly slept a wink all week, and Amber didn’t sleep through the nights either—”
“Me neither,” I said although I hadn’t meant to interrupt.
“I think he’s been sleeping all day while I’m at work. At night, he’s been running around and meowing and”—she looked at me—“asking about you.”
Was she saying what I hoped she was saying?
“Ava,” Gretchen continued, “I work long hours and I travel a lot for business. Even this week, I’ll be away three days.” She sighed. “I guess I’ve come to realize that I’m not around as much for…our cat as you and your family would be.”
I kept petting Taco and listening as hard as I could. I could feel Pip and Maybelle and Zara staring at me, but I didn’t want to look away from Taco and Gretchen.
“What I’m saying is: I’m glad he found a good home when he needed one, and that you love him as much as I do. So if you want to keep him, well, I want you to.” Her voice quavered. “I know you’ll take good care of him.”
I held Taco tight—he was the softest, sweetest, furriest feline in the world. “For real?” I squeaked. “You’re giving him back?” I wanted to be 100 percent sure before I let myself do a happy dance, even in my head.
She nodded, and I hugged Taco harder—but still gently, of course. “Yes. But if you let me, I would like to visit him from time to time.”
Zara lunged forward and gave Gretchen a big hug. “I’m sorry I lied and said he died,” she said. “Sometimes I just say stuff.”
Gretchen smiled. “You were trying to help your friend.”
Zara looked at me and I realized it was true, she was. Even when Zara bugged me, like when we were making paper mice, or when she talked to Chuck, or when she told Mr. Ramirez about our fish book, maybe, in her own way, she was trying to be helpful. And I couldn’t really blame her for wanting to be friends with Maybelle.
Pip, Maybelle, and Zara all started petting Taco, who was still in my arms. Pip turned to Gretchen and said, “You can visit him anytime. Just call. And if you ever want to, we could go with you to the rescue center and help you pick out a new kitten.”
“They have really cute ones,” I said.
“You could even get a pair of kittens,” Pip said. “That way, they could keep each other company during the day, chasing each other around and tiring each other out.”
“If you take two kittens, it’s free,” I added.
Gretchen smiled at us both. “Let’s take one day at a time.” She buttoned her red coat back up. “Please tell your parents that I would like to stop by from time to time,” she said. “And tell them they raised two very good kids.”
Well, we were thanking her and saying one last good-bye, when guess who came home? Mom and Dad!
We told them everything, and they thanked Gretchen too. After a little while, Dad suddenly said, “Would you like to stay for dinner? We’re having Irish stew. It’s one of my signature dishes.”
She hesitated for two seconds, then said, “You know what? I’d like that very much.”
Dad said, “Great,” so I asked if Maybelle and Zara could stay too. He said, “Sure.” Maybelle called her parents, Zara called her grandparents, and Mom and Pip and I set the table for seven. We even lit candles, which we hardly ever do. And we all had a really nice dinner, grown-ups at one end, and Pip, Maybelle, Zara, and I at the other. It felt a tiny bit like Thanksgiving, but without the turkey and cranberries and stress.
We talked about a lot of things, and I asked Gretchen if she got my letter. She said no, and Mom said, “That’s because I just mailed it. There’s no mail on Sunday.” Gretchen said she’d keep an eye out for it, and Pip mentioned that she drew a picture of Taco on the back.
Speaking of Taco, he stayed close by all during dinner. He was curled up on the sofa, fast asleep, one white paw over his face.
And I have to say: he looked right at home.
Ava Wren, Happy Again
2/7
bedtime
Dear Diary,
I was looking over these pages when Dad knocked on my door. “Come in,” I said, halfway under the covers.
“Special delivery,” Dad said and deposited Taco on my lap.
“Thank you!” I said.
“Can you believe how everything worked out?”
I nodded but didn’t answer because I didn’t want to scare Taco.
“You know,” Dad said, “not to play the Homonym Game or anything, but Ava, you did the write thing and the right thing.”
“Last year, I did the write thing and the wrong thing,” I whispered. It was always embarrassing to remember that I’d based “Sting of the Queen Bee” on our friend Bea.
“Well, tonight I think you should feel proud of yourself.”
“You know how you and I are both writers?” I replied.
“Yes,” he said and smiled.
“Someday I might want to write a book about a girl and a cat.”
“Why not?” Dad laughed.
I said “Shhh” and pointed to Taco. He was settling in by my shoulder, and for once, he was facing my face, not my feet.
“Someday,” Dad said, lowering his voice, “I can see you writing that book. But right now, it’s time to turn off the light.” He gave me a good-night kiss and gave Taco a good-night pat.
“Dad,” I said, showing him you, my diary. “Can you believe I’m almost out of pages?”
“Impressive! Maybe we can go to Bates Books tomorrow and get you a new one.”
“Okay if I write for a few more minutes?”
“Okay by me,” he said and left the door open a crack.
What I want to do now is scribble down a few notes for the book I might want to write someday. It could be about a girl who rescues a cat and doesn’t know that the cat has already been rescued. When she finds out, she’s very upset but also pretty mature for someone who just turned eleven, and she ends up offering the cat back to his first owner even though this makes her cry her eyes out. (She’s not thaaaat mature.) Five days later, the first owner says the girl can keep the cat after all. So the story has a happy ending, which is good, since it would be for kids my age.
Mom just came in to say good night. I’d been petting Taco and inching myself deeper under the blankets. Taco is still by my shoulder, so I pointed to him and put my finger to my lips. Mom smiled and whispered, “Sweet dreams.” I whispered, “You too.”
I’ve been thinking. If my story were a fable, it would need a moral. Maybe something like: When you’re generous, it comes back to you.
I wonder if that is true. I bet it usually is.
I also wonder how long it would take to write an entire book.
Rhymes and haiku (and sometimes rhyming haiku) come to me pretty fast. For instance:
I like my cat and
I like to write, but now it’s
time to say good night.
But a book? That would be a lot of work. Then again, it might be fun work—especially if I use my head and my heart and my senses.
Well, I’m going to turn off the light. I’m also going to try not to move a single solitary muscle—even if I get an itch—because I want Taco to stay with me as long as possible. Right now his eyes are closed, and he’s purring and kneading. It’s like he’s in a trance.
I love him so much! And he loves me back—in his own skittish, cattish way.
Will he stay with me until morning? I doubt it. But I hope that tonight at least, he’ll stick around long enough for me to fall asleep first.
Even if he doesn’t, Taco is my forever cat—I’m never letting him go again!
I love the sound of his purring and purring.
What a purrfect way to end this day!
H-U-H. Maybe it’s a good way to end a book too…
Palindromes and Bonus Palindromes
How many pa
lindromes and palindrome sentences are there? Tons! Especially if you look at other languages.
In Spanish, there’s YO SOY, which means “I am,” and LA RUTA NATURAL, which means “the natural route,” and ANITA LAVA LA TINA, which means “Anita washes the tub.”
In French, there’s ÉTÉ, which is “summer,” and ÉSOPE RESTE ICE ET SE REPOSE, which, believe it or not, means “Aesop stays here and rests.”
And that’s just for starters!
A total stickler might argue that true palindromes cannot have commas or colons or periods or apostrophes. But Ava Wren is more of a word nerd than a stickler. So here’s her current list, in alphabetical order:
ABLE WAS I ERE I SAW ELBA.
A DOG! A PANIC IN A PAGODA!
AH HA
A.K.A.
A MAN, A PLAN, A CANAL: PANAMA
A NUT FOR A JAR OF TUNA
ARE WE NOT DRAWN ONWARD, WE FEW, TO NEW ERA?
A SANTA AT NASA!
A SANTA LIVED AS A DEVIL AT NASA.
AS I PEE, SIR, I SEE PISA!
A TOYOTA
A TOYOTA’S A TOYOTA
ANNA
AVA
BIB
BOB
BOOB
BORROW OR ROB
CAIN: A MANIAC
DAD
DEED
DEIFIED
DENNIS SINNED.
DESSERTS, I STRESSED!
DID
DID I DO, O GOD, DID I AS I SAID I’D DO? GOOD, I DID!
DON’T NOD.
DUD
DOG DOO? GOOD GOD!
DO GEESE SEE GOD?
DRAB BARD
DRAWN ONWARD
DRAW, O COWARD!
DUD
DUMB MOBS BOMB MUD.
DUMB MUD
ED IS ON NO SIDE.
ELLE
ENID AND EDNA DINE.
EVA, CAN I STAB BATS IN A CAVE?
EVADE ME, DAVE!
EVE
EVIL OLIVE