Ava and Taco Cat Read Online Free PDF Page A

in his little brother’s little seed and says, “It won’t come up.”
    â€œYou should be more optimistic,” I said.
    â€œYou should be less annoying,” she said.
    But here’s the thing: she’s getting dressed, so I think she is willing to give my plan a try.
    Ava, Full of Plans

12/31
1:30 p.m.
at the Rescue Center!
Dear Diary,
    At Taco Time, Dad asked if I knew how to spell “quesadilla” and “guacamole.” I spelled both words, no peeking and no problema . So far in fifth grade, I’ve gotten nothing but 100s on all my spelling tests. English is by far my best subject. (I stink at math, which is Maybelle’s best subject, and I’m only okay at gym, which is Chuck’s best subject.)
    After lunch, Pip told Dad that we wanted to take him “on a field trip.” Dad looked suspicious, and I stayed quiet (M-U-M). Pip was saying everything exactly as we’d planned. “The rescue center is really nearby,” she casually remarked.
    â€œThe rescue center?” Dad made a face, then said, “Oh, why not?”
    Pip gave me a little kick under the table, so I gave her a little kick back. We both know that deep down, Dad is a mushball when it comes to us kids. And deep down, maybe he likes cats as much as we do.
    While we were walking the three blocks, Dad started rambling about how writers and cats are natural companions. He said that James Joyce wrote about cats, and so did Charles Dickens and Mark Twain. He said Ernest Hemingway left money in his will for his cats in Key West, Florida, “and some were polydactyl.”
    â€œPolywhat?” I said.
    â€œPolydactyl. It means having extra toes.” Dad said that most cats have five toes on their front feet and four on their back, but “mitten kittens” are born with extras.
    â€œH-U-H,” I said, because our family likes spelling out palindromes. I was trying to picture “mitten kittens” and trying to picture myself as a famous writer known for her children’s books and her faithful furry feline friend, Taco.
    â€œT. S. Eliot,” Dad added, “wrote cat poems that got turned into the Broadway musical.”
    â€œ Cats ,” Pip said.
    I thought about T. S. Eliot and said, “If you take the S away, his name backward is T O I L E T.”
    Dad laughed. Pip said, “Dad, it’s mostly your fault we’re word nerds!” (which is true, even though Mom must have agreed to name us P-I-P H-A-N-N-A-H and A-V-A E-L-L-E).
    Anyway, we’re now at the rescue center. Ponytail Lady said that before we could go upstairs, Dad had to fill out a form. So when Dad started writing, I did too.
    Gotta go! Here comes Nostril Ring Lady!
    Ava, About to See Animals

12/31
an hour later
Dear Diary,
    Nostril Ring Lady escorted us upstairs, past the barking dogs, and into the cat rooms. Then the short lady with the long braid came in and said, “I remember you girls!” I asked if our cat was still there, and she winked and said, “He’s been asking about you.” She was carrying a cage with a kindle of kittens.
    Dad and Pip and I stayed in the room with the older cats, and at first, I didn’t see Taco anywhere. I looked and looked, but…no Taco. What if she was wrong? What if someone had adopted my yellow tabby? We kept searching and searching.
    Suddenly I noticed a cage on the floor in the corner. And there he was! I saw his green eyes and taco-colored fur and jagged ear and white leg and little zigzag. He was looking right at me! It was like he was waiting —just waiting —for me to recognize him. Our eyes met and my heart melted!
    I sat on the floor, put my face near his cage, reached in, and tried to pet him with my fingertips. He seemed nervous and was still skinny, but not as skinny as when I first saw him.
    â€œDad,” I said. “I found him! He neeeeeeds us.” I reminded Dad for the quintillionth time that Taco