Last summer I found out something unbelievable about my Grandpa. I went to stay with Grandpa for the summer. I found out that Grandpa likes a lot of things. But last summer I also found out that Grandpa doesn't like cats.

One day I found Grandpa sitting in his easy chair. He was reading the newspaper.

"Look at this Grandpa," I said as I pointed to an advertisement in the newspaper. "Free Kittens! Can we please get one?"

"Nope," replied Grandpa. "No cats. Cats are worthless."

I found out that Grandpa likes to sit in his easy chair and read the latest happenings in the news, but I also found out that Grandpa doesn't like cats.

Early one morning Grandpa was in his garden. "What are you doing, Grandpa?" I asked.

"Digging up some fishin' bait," he said.

"Fishing bait?" I asked. "What kind?"

"Worms. I thought we'd go fishin' this morning."

I wrinkled up my nose, "Yuk! Can't we just use corn?"

"Well, I suppose so," said Grandpa. "We'll go to the corner store and pick up a can of corn."

"Hey Grandpa!" I exclaimed as we reached the grocery store, "a box filled with kittens!"

Scrawled on the side of the box were the words "Free Kittens."

"Oh Grandpa, can we get a kitten?" I begged. "Just a teeny, tiny, small one?"

"Nope," said Grandpa.

Out on the lake in Grandpa's fishing boat I asked, "Grandpa, why can't we get a kitten?"

"No cats," said Grandpa. "They're good for nothin."

Grandpa likes to dig up fishing worms. Grandpa likes to row his boat out to the middle of the lake. Grandpa likes to let out his fishing line and soak up the sun while wearing his old straw hat. But Grandpa doesn't like cats.

Another morning Grandpa was in the kitchen fixing breakfast.

"What are you cooking?" I asked.

"Scrambled eggs," Grandpa answered just as the most horrific noise came from the back yard.

"What's that noise?" I asked Grandpa as we ran outside in time to see an old tomcat chasing Grandpa's banty hens around the chicken yard. Feathers flew and chickens squawked as Grandpa chased the cat out of the yard with an old straw broom.

"They're awfully loud," I said as I watched the hens scurry around the yard, "and messy!"

"Yup, but they're good for eggs," he replied. "And that cat is good for nothing but trouble. I don't like cats!"

Grandpa likes his banty hens and he likes scrambled eggs, but Grandpa doesn't like cats.

Grandpa planted a small vegetable garden beside his house.

"What are these plants?" I asked.

"Well, there are corn, beans, tomatoes, and all kinds of things," Grandpa replied.

"What are these yellow flowers?" I asked as I picked one.

"They're marigolds."

"Why do you plant marigolds in a vegetable garden?"

"They're good for keepin' out the bugs," Grandpa answered.

Just then we saw the old tomcat sneaking out from under a tomato plant.

"That varmint!" exclaimed Grandpa. "He's probably digging up some more of my plants. I caught him once before. Cats are worthless!"

Grandpa likes working in his garden, and he likes his marigolds, but Grandpa doesn't like cats.

Weeks later, we loaded up in Grandpa's pickup truck and took a special trip into Dallas. On the way home it started pouring down rain.

"Stop!" I cried. Beside the road was a sopping wet cat.

"Oh Grandpa, it's the old tomcat! He looks like he's been hurt. Can't we take him home?"

"Nope," said Grandpa. "Cats are good for nothin."

"Oh please," I pled. "He's drenched to the bone and he might be injured. If we don't take care of him, he'll die!"

"Well, all right," said Grandpa reluctantly," But you take care of him and keep him away from me….

"…and keep him away from my chickens. I don't like cats."

"I will," I promised. I got out of the truck, picked up the cat, and dashed back with him snuggled under my shirt.

At home I suggested, "How about the name Tom? Can I name him Tom?"

Grandpa leaned down and lifted the cat in the air. He inspected his undersides and said, "Well, sure. You can name him Tom – but Tom's a mom."

So Tom wasn't a boy after all. Tom's injured paw healed up in a few days. We kept Tom outside and I fed and watered her as I had promised.

Sometimes I would peek around the tool shed and see Grandpa lean down and scratch Tom under the chin.

It wasn't long before Tom had a litter of kittens. Three little kittens. I named the black and gray striped kitten Cricket, the fluffy yellow kitten Buttercup, and the shorthaired yellow kitten Cookie.

Not long after, Grandpa headed out to the lake with his fishing pole while wearing his old straw hat. "Goin' fishin,'" he announced.

He returned sooner than usual. He was carrying a large brown sack.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Oh, nothin' much. Just a burlap sack," he replied.

"What's in it?" I asked.

Just then I heard a faint sound, "Mew."

Grandpa opened the sack and a little kitten tumbled out.

"I found this sack out in the water," he explained. "I heard the meows and thought maybe one of your kittens were stuck out there in the sack."

"Sure you did," I teased. "Some horrible person must have been trying to get rid of him," I said as I scooped up the little kitten.

I named the little calico cat Tigger. I took care of all five cats for the rest of the summer.

This summer I'm staying with Grandpa again.

He still likes to wear his old straw hat and soak up the sun in his fishing boat.

And he still likes his vegetable garden and marigolds.

He also has a tall sturdy fence around his chickens.

I go over to Grandpa. He's sitting in his easy chair reading his newspaper.

Yup, Grandpa still doesn't like cats…