Ava and Taco Cat (12 page)

The big news today was that Dad made his famous Irish breakfast.

Will the big news tomorrow be me me me? Will
I
wake up famous?

Ava, Anonymous (a bonus word that means when people don't know who you are)

Dad woke me with a giant smile on his face and handed me the newspaper. He never hands me the newspaper. He and Mom sometimes hand it to each other, but it's not like I care about town hall meetings or grocery store coupons.

“Take a look,” Dad said.

Well, my eyes almost popped out of my head (gross metaphor) because Taco and I were on the front page!!! In color!!! And GIANT!!! There was a big photo of me with my red blouse and Taco with his white zigzag. And we looked pretty cute, if I do say so myself. (I hope that doesn't sound conceited.)

“Whoa, Dad, I had no idea—” I started to read the article about Jerry Valentino, when I saw, right next to it, “The Cat Who Wouldn't Purr”! There they were, my very own words (minus “Once upon a time”)!

Our phone, which rarely rings unless there's an emergency or, like, an election, started ringing and ringing. Maybelle called and both her parents got on. Even Mr. Ramirez called! Mom called Nana Ethel, and she said, “Congratulations!” And Dad emailed Uncle Patrick the link to the article, photo, story, and haiku, and he said it was “the cat's pajamas” (which Dad said is a compliment).

And okay, I know the
Misty
Oaks
Monitor
is not
The
New
York
Times
or whatever, but it is all very exciting!

Bea called too. She said her mom had thumbtacked the article to the bulletin board in Bates Books and scribbled, “a young writer to watch.”

“Really?” I asked because last fall, Bea's mom had said I was a “young writer with a lot to learn.”

“Really,” Bea said. “She even tacked up one of your snowflakes next to it.”

“Cool,” I said because it
was
cool. So cool!

Ava Wren, Young Writer to Watch

The newspaper article was posted on the bulletin board outside Principal Gupta's office with two thumbtacks, one yellow, one green. A lot of people, from the nurse to the custodian to the lunch lady, said nice things to me. Even scary Miss Hamshire, with her googly glasses. And even Alex Gladstone, the fourth-grader who got first prize in last year's library contest for his story about Ernie the Earthworm.

Monday
scrambled is
dynamo
, and I guess today was very dynamic.

It was fun to have so many people come up to me. Embarrassing too—but mostly fun.

Chuck said, “I can't believe I have a famous friend! I thought you had to rob a bank to get your picture in the paper!” He told me two jokes, one about spelling and one about cats.

Joke One:

Question: Why is Old MacDonald a bad speller?

Answer: Because he adds E I E I O to every word.

Joke Two:

Question: When is it bad luck to see a black cat?

Answer: When you're a mouse.

I thought both jokes were L-O-L—but Chuck can make me laugh just by flapping his arm and making farty noises. (Which is
sophomoric
, I know.)

Anyway, all this attention made me remember a story I wrote before vacation. It was called “Invisible Girl,” and Dad and Mrs. Lemons had both liked it. “Invisible Girl” was about a girl who could disappear at will. At first, she thinks it's a fun trick. Then she gets lonely and realizes she'd much rather be visible than invisible.

Ava Wren, the Opposite of Invisible

Tonight Mom put beets in the salad. I don't usually like colorful things in my salad; I like my salad green. But the beets were surprisingly okay. I even tried a brussels sprout. It was
bitter
, but
better
than I thought.

At dinner, Mom said Dr. Gross's entire staff got a kick out of seeing Taco in the paper. “And seeing
you
too!” she added. “Bob, we should frame the newspaper story, don't you think?”

Dad said, “Absolutely.” (They've already framed three of Pip's drawings. Not that I've counted.)

After dinner, the phone rang and I picked up. A lady named Gretchen said she'd read the article and wanted to “drop by.” She said she lived in Vernon Valley, which is “twenty minutes to the north.” She sounded nervous, which was weird, but said that if tomorrow at 4:30 worked for me, it worked for her.

“Will one of your parents be there?” she asked.

“Probably my dad,” I said.

After we hung up, a tiny part of me wondered if she was a scout for
The
Today
Show
. Or if she ran a publishing company and needed a book about cats. Maybe a happy book about a girl and her cat.

I mean, there are plenty of books out there about a boy and his dog. Pip went through a pile of them.
Old
Yeller
and
Where
the
Red
Fern
Grows
and
The
Call
of
the
Wild
and
Beautiful
Joe
. Most had unhappy endings, and when Pip would turn the last page, she'd be in a puddle on the sofa.

Pip galloped through horse books too, like
Black
Beauty
and
National
Velvet
and
The
Red
Pony
and
Misty
of
Chincoteague
. And
Seabiscuit
, which is for grown-ups
.
They had sad or scary parts too.

Anyway, there was something strange in the lady's tone. Why had she sounded nervous when
she's
the grown-up? Kids get nervous talking to grown-ups, not the other way around. And why had I told her she could come over? What if she's a…kidnapper??

I guess I could have mentioned this to Mom or Dad, but so many people called that I forgot.

Ava, a little Apprehensive (which means worried)

I've never had a day like this and I never want to again!!

At school this morning, I mentioned to Maybelle that a stranger was dropping by and that she had sounded nervous on the phone. Maybelle offered to come over, but said she was supposed to hang out with Zara, so could they both come? I said sure. And for once, I didn't even mind.

At 4:30 sharp, the doorbell rang. Mom was at work, Dad was running errands, and Pip, Maybelle, Zara, and I were in the living room. I peeked through the keyhole and saw a tall, skinny woman with short, fluffy, white hair standing in a red coat. She looked basically normal, so I opened the door.

I wish I hadn't!!!

She said she was Gretchen Guthrie and started complimenting my “nice story” about the “nice cat.” I said thank you and noticed she kept looking all around. Suddenly Taco came bounding down the stairs, his white-tipped tail high in the air. He rubbed his zigzag against her shin and began weaving in and out of her legs.

“This is Taco,” I said. I didn't get why Taco was being so friendly. Did the lady have catnip in her pockets?

She stooped down to pet him.

“May I pick him up?”

“He doesn't like being picked up,” I said, but she scooped him up anyway and held him close and breathed him in. And Taco didn't mind! He didn't wriggle away or bite her nose or scratch her cheek or anything.

“What a cat,” she said, and her voice caught. Pip and Maybelle and Zara stood up and walked over.

“This is my sister, Pip,” I said. “And these are my friends, Maybelle and Zara.” The word “friends” popped right out, which Zara probably appreciated.

Gretchen introduced herself while still holding on to Taco. Pip leaned in and scratched Taco behind the ears and under his chin.

“He likes that,” the lady said, which was odd. Then she asked, “Are your parents here?”

“Our dad will be back soon,” Pip replied. “He's buying groceries.” I'd totally forgotten to tell Dad that she was coming by.

“I'll come back.” She gave Taco a kiss on his head, which bothered me (though it didn't bother Taco), and put him down.

She left, and I shut the door behind her, glad it was just us kids again.

“She's a little weird,” Zara pronounced. “Don't you think?”

None of us said anything, but none of us disagreed.

Zara marched to the living room window and pulled back the curtain. “She got back into her car, but she's just sitting there,” she reported. “I changed my mind: she's not
a
little
weird; she's
a
lot
weird.”

“
Dangerous
weird?” Pip asked. “Like, Stranger Danger, let's call nine-one-one, weird?”

“I don't think so,” I answered. “She was sweet to Taco.”

“Too sweet,” Zara pronounced. “All snuggly-wuggly.” (Note: Zara wasn't bugging me as much as usual, probably because I was agreeing with what she was saying.) “Why isn't she leaving?” she asked. “Does she have a flat tire? Is she out of gas?”

“Is her battery dead?” Pip added.

“Is
she
dead?” Zara said.

Maybelle joined Zara by the window. After a minute, Maybelle said, “Hey, Ava, your dad just pulled into the driveway.”

When Dad walked in with a bag of groceries, Zara announced, “Mr. Wren, a lady came while you were gone, and she's just sitting in her car out front, across the street. She hasn't left.”

“A lady?” Dad said.

Zara pointed out the window and said, “A lady who looks like a Q-Tip.” Now all five of us were peeking out at Gretchen. She must have seen us because she got out of her car and came walking toward our door.

“Who is she?” Dad asked, still holding the groceries.

“You know how people kept calling yesterday?” I said. “I forgot to tell you that—”

The doorbell rang.

“Do we have to let her back in?” Zara asked. “I have a bad feeling.” Zara grabbed Taco and handed him to Maybelle. Taco started squirming, but Zara said, “Maybelle, take him to Ava's room. Go! Now! NOW!”

Maybelle looked confused, but she slung Taco over her shoulder and ran upstairs, two steps at a time, following orders. Dad looked confused too, but he put down his groceries and opened the door.

A gust of wintery air blew in, and so did Q-Tip Lady. She introduced herself, and Dad said, “What can we do for you?”

She said, “Hello, Mr. Wren. I'm afraid we have a situation.”

“A situation?” Dad repeated.

“I'm afraid you have my cat.”

I swear, I thought I was going to faint on the floor right then and there! Pip and I stared at each other, and Zara started giving the lady the evil eye.

“My sister brought me a copy of the
Monitor
because she recognized Amber on the front page. She knew my cat had gotten lost over Christmas, and that I'd posted photos on Facebook and put flyers in stores. She knew I was
beside
myself! Well, my sister recognized Amber's coloring and his little lightning rod”—she touched her own forehead—“and when she read your daughter's story, she had no doubt.” She turned to me, maybe expecting me to say something. But I just stood there in total, utter shock.

“Amber was standoffish with me at first too,” she continued. “He's not a natural nuzzler. But you're right. He does like to be brushed, and he likes TV.” She smiled at me.

I did not smile back. It was like I'd died inside. I was hoping Dad would ask Gretchen to do an about-face and march out the door. And what was in her hand? Was it a… cat carrier??

“I'm sorry to upset you,” she concluded, “but Amber is mine. He belongs to me.” She was looking all around for him, expecting him to race over again. “I adopted him four years ago last November, shortly after my husband died. He was just a kitten. Well, last month, my niece came to cat-sit over the holidays, and I guess she left a window open—”

“If you're talking about the cat who was just here,” Zara interrupted, “he's dead. It just happened. It's terrible. It's…tragic. We're all, um,
beside
ourselves.”

I wondered if Zara had gone nuts, but apparently she was just getting warmed up. “I'm sorry to, um, upset you, but he jumped out another window. I guess he likes windows—
liked
. Only this time he didn't land on his feet, the way cats are supposed to. He landed on his…head, and he died. He's…dead.”

I thought for sure Dad was going to say something, but maybe he got distracted by Zara's “improv” skills. (Dad says every actor needs improvisational skills.)

“He's dead,” Zara repeated. “
Deceased
. So it doesn't even matter whose cat he was.”

Dad put his hand up to shoosh Zara and turned to the lady. “Mrs. Guthrie,” he began—but then we all heard a loud strange pounding from above.
Thump. Thump thump! Thump THUMP THUMP!
At first I didn't know what it was. Then I realized it was Taco hurling himself against my bedroom door! He wanted out—probably because he sensed that his “owners” were both downstairs. Gretchen looked up toward the noise, and Taco started yowling and howling. I heard my door open, and we all watched as Taco came flying downstairs.

“Oh, my mistake,” Zara mumbled. “I guess he survived.” She took a small step back.

“Amber!” Gretchen said. She picked him up and threw him over her shoulder like a scarf.

Taco didn't resist, but he shot me a glance, and I wondered what he was thinking.

“His name isn't Amber,” Pip piped up bravely. “It's Taco.”

“Taco Cat,” I heard myself say. “T-A-C-O-C-A-T. It's a palindrome. Like Ava, A-V-A. And Pip, P-I-P.” I gestured toward Dad. “And D-A-D, or, well, B-O-B.”

Gretchen nodded. “I'm sorry, Ava.” She was looking right at me. “Really, I am.”

“I'm sorry too,” Maybelle whispered to Zara and me. “I couldn't hold on to him. He was going crazy. He even scratched me a little, though I know he didn't mean it.”

“I want to thank all of you very much,” Gretchen said, “but now I am going to go ahead and take Amber home. My niece has been feeling terrible. She's going to be so relieved—”

“You can't just
take
him!” Zara practically shouted.

“Mrs. Guthrie,” Dad said very calmly, “we adopted this cat on New Year's Eve from the Misty Oaks Rescue Center. We rescued him and he is ours.”

“Yes, but I rescued him first,” she said. “I got Amber at the ASPCA. I have papers. He was my cat. He was my
kitten
!”

I tried to picture Taco as a playful kitty with matching ears.

“I don't doubt that,” Dad replied matter-of-factly. “And clearly Taco is comfortable with you. But we have papers too.”

“That's right,” Pip said softly.

“I'm sorry,” Dad added.

I was grateful to Dad and Pip and even Zara and Maybelle, because mostly I was trying not to faint. Was this really happening? My insides were cramping up.

Gretchen said, “May I sit down?” and sat in Dad's big brown chair before Dad even said “Sure.” Her whole body seemed to crumple into it.

Taco (Amber?) rubbed against her legs and jumped onto her lap. He was facing her, and she was stroking him, and watching them gave me a lump in my throat
and
a knot in my stomach. I couldn't believe everything was going so wrong so fast.

“I have years of photos right here on my cell phone.” Gretchen started fumbling with her phone to prove it, then realized we weren't doubting her. “And I'm very grateful to you all for taking care of him. Really. I can see he had a rough time.” She was rubbing his left ear and examining the jagged part. Taco/Amber was not even objecting.

“Our mom works for a vet,” I said, speaking up at last. “He's the one who stitched Taco up. Last week, Taco had another emergency—he couldn't pee—and Dr. Gross took care of him again. And it was on a
Sunday
!” I wanted her to know that we got VIP treatment for his UTI, and we were an excellent…
foster
family?

Gretchen gave me a sad smile, stood up with Taco/Amber, and started heading toward the front door. “I'll just put him in the cat carrier,” she said. “And I'll reimburse you for the veterinary expenses. I know how expensive that can be.”

I didn't know whether to cry or run to my room. It didn't help that I knew we were both right: Taco was mine…but Amber was hers. I mean, I could say that Gretchen reminded me of Cruella de Vil, but she wasn't really a monster. She was a lonely widow whose cat got lost. And she loved Amber. But
I
loved Taco!!!

Gretchen started lowering Taco/Amber into her cat carrier, and again said that she was “going to take him home.”

Dad and I looked at each other. Zara took a step forward and said, “Over our dead bodies!”

Dad said, “Zara, that's enough.”

Zara shouted, “It's
not
enough!” and placed herself between Gretchen and our front door. For a second, I thought Zara was going to challenge Gretchen to a duel or something.

Dad ignored Zara, but then he said, “Mrs. Guthrie, you cannot just come into our home and take our cat. He was Ava's birthday present—and he's our family's first pet.”

“Not counting Goldy Lox,” Pip said, and I nodded.

Dad continued and said very clearly, “So I'm afraid
that
is the ‘situation.' The cat belongs to us now.” We all watched as Gretchen tried to stuff Taco/Amber into her cat carrier, but he wouldn't go in. He kept sticking out his nose and paws. Soon Gretchen was seeming less sure of herself. Dad softened a little and said, “If you would like to visit him from time to time, you're welcome to.”

“Joint custody?!” Zara muttered.

Dad gave Zara a stern look and turned back to Gretchen, “Perhaps you could take care of him when we go on vacation…”

“We never go on vacation,” I said. It just slipped out.

Taco/Amber started meowing and was shoving out his paws more and more frantically, and finally Gretchen unzipped the zipper, and he jumped out and raced off. But he came right back and started weaving between her legs
and
my legs. I was glad she didn't try to pick him up again. I didn't either.

“I need some air,” Gretchen said, leaning against the wall. Maybe
she
was trying not to faint too. “But this matter has not been settled,” she added softly.

“Yes, it has!” Zara said.

“Zara, be quiet!” Dad scolded. He doesn't usually criticize kids unless he's tutoring them (and that doesn't count because parents
pay
him to be critical).

Gretchen kneeled down to pet Taco/Amber and said, “I'm glad you found such a good family when you needed one.” She looked at Dad, then Pip, then me, then back at her cat. “I was so very worried about you,” she whispered. “I really, really missed you.” She sort of buried her face in his fur, as if she wanted to remember how he smelled.

Well, that got me feeling bad for
her
. Her eyes were all shiny, and she looked as if she might have a breakdown right in our living room, which I hoped she wouldn't.

After that, she didn't say another word. She just gave Amber/Taco a giant last squeeze and left our house really fast. The door clicked behind her.

“Wow,” said Dad.

“Can you believe the nerve of some people?” Zara said.

“I know!” Pip agreed.

“That was crazy!” Maybelle said.

“She's crazy!” Zara said.

I looked at Taco and took a breath. “I don't know,” I began. “If I went on vacation, and my niece was supposed to feed my cat, but instead she opened a window, and the cat got out, and someone
adopted
him and renamed him…I'd be upset too.”