Free Ava and Taco Cat by Carol Weston Page B

friend. And that’s a much bigger deal.”
    Ava, A #1

1/15
before school
Dear Diary,
    I’m glad Maybelle and I talked yesterday. And maybe Zara really did need a friend. Like Taco did. And maybe Maybelle needed someone to talk to about bras and growing-up stuff, especially since she doesn’t have a sister and it’s possible that I have been a teeny tiny itty bitty eensy weensy bit cat-consumed.
    Zara doesn’t have sisters or brothers either. She never even talks about her parents—just her grandparents.
    I am trying to be mature about everything—which is not particularly easy. (Maturity may not be my strong suit.)
    By the way, Pip got jealous that Taco purred for Maybelle, and not her, so I told her that next time Taco settles under a lamp or by the fire or in a spot of sunshine, she should tiptoe over and brush him softly. (Usually, Pip and Taco play runaround games. She chases him around the living room or they play a game we call Bat and Bite. It’s when Pip jiggles a ribbon and Taco bats it and bites it!)
    Last night, I let Pip feed Taco. We’d gone to the Great Wall for dinner (the squid came with tentacles, yuck!), and when we came home, I forgot to feed Taco. It was the first time that ever happened! Well, he rubbed my shins and also gently bit my ankle to remind me, but by then I was upstairs and about to get in bed, so I told Pip she could feed him. Pip was happy, and this morning, she told me that when Taco heard her open the bag, he came running!
    Here are three sounds Taco loves:
    1. A can of cat food being opened
    2. A bag of cat food being shaken
    3. A bag of cat treats coming out of the R-E-W-A-R-D-D-R-A-W-E-R
    Here are four sounds Taco hates:
    1. Dad grinding coffee
    2. Mom using her hair dryer
    3. Me using the blender
    4. Mom or Dad vacuuming
    Ava, Aware and Observant
    P.S. We got fortune cookies after dinner. Pip’s said, “You have a yearning for perfection.” Mine said… well, I’ll tape it here:
    Declare peace every day.

1/15
after school
Dear Diary,
    In the library, Mr. Ramirez said he liked my cat and moon haiku, and that when Jerry Valentino comes to our school in ten days, a reporter from the town newspaper, the Misty Oaks Monitor , is going to “cover” the workshop.
    â€œCover?”
    â€œWrite about it,” he explained, then added, “Zara said you and your sister have been working on a picture book called Something Fishy .”
    â€œ Alphabet Fish ,” I corrected, only half-surprised that Zara had blabbed about—and retitled—our book.
    But for once, maybe it was good that Zara had meddled, because I blurted, “Do you think Mr. Valentino could critique it?” I’d never used that word, but it was a bonus word on today’s spelling test. It means to “evaluate or read critically.”
    â€œMaybe…” Mr. Ramirez said, taken aback. “Is it short?”
    That was funny because that’s always the first thing I want to know about a book. “It’s mostly pictures,” I said.
    â€œI don’t see why not,” he said. “It wouldn’t be fair to ask him to read a student novel, but a short book, sure.”
    â€œWe haven’t quite finished.”
    â€œCan you have it ready by next Friday?”
    â€œYes,” I said even though I didn’t know how Pip would react to a deadline.
    â€œDon’t sacrifice quality for speed,” he cautioned.
    â€œWe won’t,” I said. And then, even though I haven’t been all that into Alphabet Fish lately, I started daydreaming. I was giving the book to Mr. Ramirez, who was giving it to Mr. Valentino, who was giving it to an agent, who was giving it to an editor, who was giving it to a publisher, who was giving it to the factory people who turn floppy pages into hardcover books, who were giving it to librarians and bookstore owners and reviewers and bloggers who were all telling regular readers