by Carol Weston
She motioned for her sister to come over.
The older sister tiptoed over and began to pet the cat.
She pet his fur slowly and gently, slowly and gently.
And she heard the same sound coming from deep inside the cat:
rumble bumble rumble bumble rumble bumble
The two sisters smiled at each other,
The cat stayed in the sunshine and did not scamper off.
He let the girls brush him and pet him.
He even let them put their ears on his soft fur to listen to his
rumble bumble rumble bumble rumble bumble
rumble bumble rumble bumble rumble bumble
And he kept right on purring and purring and purring—
Safe and sound and snug in his brand-new home.
Ava Wren, Author for Real
1/29
Friday night
Dear Diary,
Today was ridiculously exciting!
Not only was the author Jerry Valentino in our class, but so were both librarians—Mr. Ramirez and Mrs. (Bright) White—as well as a reporter (Rebecca) and a photographer (Rafael) from the Misty Oaks Monitor! We were supposed to act like everything was normal, but that was impossible with so many grown-ups around.
I kept watching them watching us and observing them observing us. They were looking at our classroom walls with the stapled-up drawings and handwritten compositions and posters about good habits and how to be a model middle school kid. I wondered what they thought of Mrs. Lemons’s poster of a dog with glasses saying, “Bad spelling! Poor grammar! I cannot eat this homework!” And what they thought of our nutrition poster with its pea pods saying, “Peas try me,” and cheese saying, “Choose cheese.” Did they think it was cheesy?
I also observed the reporter reading the sign on Mrs. Lemons’s desk that says, “Teachers touch tomorrow.”
Today’s first prompt was “playground accident,” and we all wrote for five minutes. I wrote about the time I fell off the monkey bars, but I confess, I was distracted because I’d given Jerry Valentino my “manuscript,” and while we were writing, he was reading!
Soon, we were sharing our playground accident stories out loud. Chuck’s was the funniest. His was about when he was in kindergarten and he had an accident during recess. He actually peed on the slide because he hadn’t realized he’d needed to go to the boys’ room!
The second prompt was “frostbite or sunburn.” Everyone wrote and wrote, and then we shared our stories. Today’s stories were even better than Tuesday’s because we’ve learned new techniques, and as Jerry Valentino put it, we were “digging deeper.”
At the end of class, Jerry Valentino asked if I’d mind if he read my picture book out loud. I said no, but to be honest, inside I felt a little shaky. I never imagined that he’d read my words aloud with his deep author voice and with grown-up strangers in the room. But he did. And you know what? I thought my words sounded good. I hoped others thought so too.
“Any comments?” he asked.
Zara was the first to say she liked it, and I saw the photographer, Rafael, take a few pictures.
I looked at Chuck and he gave me a thumbs-up.
Maybelle said she liked “the rhythm of the words.”
Riley said she liked the “specific details,” and that it reminded her of a cat in her barn who likes to groom himself and how afterward, the tip of his tongue sometimes sticks out. Emily Sherman said, “I liked your story too, and that’s saying a lot because I’m a dog person. I have a bichon frisé and a maltipoo. Cats give me hives.”
Jerry Valentino jumped in and said he admired my “vivid verbs” and “colorful details” and “suspenseful buildup,” and his only suggestion was for me to cut the opening “Once upon a time,” because those words were cliché and not needed.
“You can cross them out,” I said. He smiled and said, “May I?” I said, “Yes. You may. Please do. Thank you.” He took his pencil and crossed out the four words.
At the end of the workshop, he told us all to be aware of how much “original and evocative” writing we could do in just five minutes. He said that whether we became authors or not, everybody writes messages and emails and reports and thank-you notes, so we should always strive to “have something to say and to say it well.” He also gave us bonus pointers like “Avoid repetition,” adding, “Unless you’re repeating specific words or phrases on purpose, as Ava did so effectively.”
After class, I didn’t want anyone to think I was a teacher’s pet, so I started to zoom out the door. But Jerry Valentino asked me to stay for a moment. So I did. Then he asked what inspired me. That was funny because last time he’d asked was in October in the Misty Oaks Library. This time, instead of talking to a big audience, I told my answer just to him, Mrs. Lemons, the reporter, and the photographer.
“Taco Cat!” I said and explained that I’d convinced my parents to let me rescue a cat, but that, at first, he’d done nothing but hide.
The reporter took notes, and the photographer asked if it would be okay to take a photo of me and my cat.
I was surprised but said, “I guess.”
“Are you free today after school?”
“This could be a human interest story for the Sunday paper,” Rafael explained and handed me his cell phone. “Do you want to call your parents?”
I looked at Mrs. Lemons, and she was sort of beaming, so I said, “Okay.” I was hoping Dad was home and would say, “Sure.”
And he was. And he did.
Next thing you know, the reporter, the photographer, and I were in our living room. Taco was mostly keeping his distance while Dad was helping us get ready for the “photo shoot.” Dad was moving stacks of newspapers and plumping up cushions while I changed into a red blouse and brushed my hair. When Rafael said he was all set, I picked up Taco and sat on the sofa, and for way over a minute, Taco didn’t even wriggle. It was like he was posing too. And even though nobody did my makeup or adjusted lights or said, “Action!” the whole experience made me feel kind of like a movie star. So it was easy to smile for the camera. (When Rafael said, “Say ‘Cheese!’” I thought of how, when Chuck takes pictures, he says, “Say ‘Boogies!’”)
Rebecca called her editor at the Misty Oaks Monitor, and said that if the paper had our permission and “enough space,” they might want to run not just the photo, but also my cat book and cat haiku.
I said, “Okay,” and Dad smiled. It was exciting that everything was happening so fast!
“This will be a feel-good story, if you will,” Rebecca added.
“I will,” I said, because it was all making me feel good.
Pip might never want her picture in the paper. But me, I love attention. The more, the merrier!
Ava Wren Does It Again!
1/30
Saturday afternoon
Dear Diary,
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)
1/31
Sunday morning
Dear Diary,
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
2/1 after dinner
(which was couscous with bok choy
and sun-dried tomatoes)
Dear Diary,
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
2/1
in bed
Dear Diary,
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)
2/2 Groundhog Day
(well, Groundhog Night)
Dear Diary,
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.
