The Five Lives of Our Cat Zook Read Free Page A

practice water conservation whenever we can. For example, not running the water while we brush our teeth.
    â€œYes, it sure is a pretty day today,” the woman says.
    â€œMy brother and I are talking about cats. How many lives would you say they have?” I ask, hoping she’ll say the right thing.
    â€œNine, of course.”
    BINGO!
    â€œAnd you wouldn’t believe the scrapes my cats have bounced back from!” the woman says. The bus arrives before she can tell us about those scrapes. She waves from a window of the bus, and we wave back.
    â€œSee?” I say to Fred. “Just ask anyone.”

ere are some things about me:
    I am a ten-year-old girl. I like to dip my french fries in vinegar. I love when the sun shines through spiderwebs. My best friend is Riya. I love my little brother so much, my heart hurts. I like dancing and drawing.
    I am easily spotted in a crowd because I’m the girl wearing the black Oakland Raiders sweatshirt that’s way too big for her because it used to belong to her dad. I pulled it out of a box of old clothes on its way to Goodwill a few months ago. Everywhere I go, people usually yell out “Go Raiders!” I’m not that up on football, but “Go Raiders” can often be a good conversation starter for other topics.
    Also, I need to wear glasses, but I am a good noticer, as Imentioned. Being a noticer helps you come up with inventions and theories and stories. For instance, I noticed that people use a drinking straw only once and then they throw it away. Very wasteful. So one day I invented the Family Straw. Everyone has their own straw permanently attached to a bigger one which would be hooked up to the pitcher of juice or beverage of the family’s choice. An excellent water-saving idea, because you wouldn’t have to wash all those drinking glasses. And good for the environment because it’s just one big straw that you don’t have to throw away. I’m still working out the details on how to build it, the materials needed, etc., etc.
    My dad used to tell me I have an inventive mind, but I actually prefer thinking up theories and stories rather than inventions. You don’t have to build theories and stories, just make them up.
    For instance, my Rainbow Whopper Theory.
    That’s another important thing about me, and I have to admit it, even though it doesn’t sound so great. I tell whoppers. Whoppers are lies, plain and simple. Some whoppers are worse than other whoppers, and those are nothing to be proud of. But some whoppers are stories. Those are the good kind. Thinking about different kinds of whoppers can getvery complicated and make your brain jump around in your skull, so it helps if you attach colors to them. That’s where my Rainbow Whopper Theory comes in.
    BLUE whoppers save your scaredy skin, or someone else’s, to smooth things over for a while. When I told Mom that Fred didn’t flush the goldfish down the toilet (he wanted it to join other fish in the ocean), that was a blue whopper. I told her I did it myself, accidentally.
    RED whoppers are the kind that make other people think you’re greater than you are. For a long time (OK, up until a year ago), I enjoyed telling everyone that Neil Armstrong, the first man to bounce around on the moon, was my father’s second cousin. It just seemed very cool to be related to him.
    BLACK whoppers have only one purpose: They are meant to hurt someone. I don’t think I’ve ever told one of these during my lifetime. WHITE ones do the opposite—they make someone feel better. For instance when I was in second grade, I told Sam that, no, he didn’t smell like pee like everyone said. Telling someone that cats have nine lives (when you’ve just made your cat’s vet angry) is half blue, half white. Sky blue, maybe.
    But then there are the whoppers you don’t tell. The kindwhen you leave something out and keep the secret all to