Catalina Incognito

The picture on the puzzle box shows three gray kittens peeking out of a picnic basket. Kittens. Of course.
If Mami and Papi didn’t give me a kitten puzzle for my birthday, they would give me a kitten sticker collection. And if they didn’t give me a kitten sticker collection, they would give me a kitten coloring book.
Even though they know I am getting too old for all this kitten stuff. And even though I have told them to quit calling me “Kitty-Cat” and start using my real name, Catalina.
Everyone in my family- Mami and Papi; Baby Carlos in his high chair; my big sister, Coco; and Tía Abuela–is sitting around the kitchen table. They all lean forward, watching me.
“Well, Kitty-Cat,” Papi asks, “what do you think?”
The first thing I think is, Quit calling me “Kitty-Cat.”
But that’s not what I say, because the second thing I think is that even though I don’t love kittens as much as I used to, I still love puzzles. You get to figure out exactly where each piece belongs, and when you’re finished, you know you haven’t made any mistakes “It’s perfect,” I say.
“Maybe we can work on it together,” Mami suggests. Carlos claps. A droplet of drool drips off his lip and onto the high chair tray. I picture it landing on my puzzle. I fold my arms over the box to protect it from even the idea of Carlos’s baby slobber.
“Hmm,” I reply. Not quite a yes, and not exactly a no.
Luckily, Coco slides her gift across the table before I have to give a real answer.
She has wrapped it in this morning’s newspaper.
And lots and lots of tape. I don’t have to open it to know what’s inside–her old skateboard helmet.
“I’ll even let you borrow my board.” Coco says. She pulls the brim of her baseball cap lower down on her forehead. It hides her eyes, but not her smirk.”Unless you’re still too scared after what happened the first time.”
“I am not scared,” I say, but my cheeks go warm as I remember last summer’s wipeout. Papi slaps his hands on the table. “Bravo, Coco!” Only, most people know her as
“La Chispa,” the spark, one of the rottenest villains in telenovela history. Before she retired, the characters she played on TV were awfully, monstrously, fabulously bad.
The rich but cruel stepmother. The beautiful but wicked duchess. The evil twin. Fans say her acting he says.
“Did you hear that, Kitty-Cat? Your sister is going to teach you to skateboard.”
I don’t need Coco to teach me, I think. This year I am ready. This year I will be perfect.
“Thank you, Consuelo,” I say. I make my voice as sweet as a sip of horchata on a sunny afternoon.
“You are too generous.”
At last it is time to open Tía Abuela’s gift. Tía Abuela’s gifts are always the best.
Tía Abuela is Papi’s aunt–my great-aunt-and her name is Catalina Castaneda too.
Only, most people know her as “La Chispa,” the was so amazing, it was as if she transformed into every character.
Tía Abuela doesn’t visit our house on the hill in Valle Grande very often. She’s too busy traveling the world. But she always sends souvenirs home to my brother and sister and me.
Tía Abuela is only in town for the grand opening of the Catalina Castañeda Children’s Room at the Valle Grande Central Library. The library was her favorite place to visit when she was growing up. It’s where she first learned all about heroes and villains and adventures.
She’s also here to celebrate my birthday, of course.
She has just returned from exploring the ancient Mayan city of Palenque in Mexico. Her gift comes in a box, wrapped in shimmering gold paper and a purple ribbon. I try to imagine what’s inside. “Anarchaeologist’s hand shovel?” I guess. “Ooh! I know, a map of the jungle!”
But when I untie the ribbon, tear apart the paper, and open the box, I don’t find either of those things.
What I find instead is a red velvet pouch. It isn’t new. Not even almost new. In fact, the pouch is so ancient, the cloth is worn bald in places.
It reminds me a little of an old dog with patchy fur. I try not to wrinkle my nose.
I know I should smile.
I know I should say “Thank you.”
I know I should say something.
But I worry that if I so much as twitch, the groan I am trying to swallow will come tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Not what you were expecting?” Tía Abuela says with a snort.
Not even close.
But it would be rude to just say so. So I don’t. I open the pouch and peer inside. There is a little brass thimble, a spool of silver thread, and a needle poking out of a strawberry-shaped pincushion. Nope. Definitely not what I was expecting.
“Catalina…” Mami nudges me with her voice.
It’s my name, but it is also a warning.
I try to think of something polite to say. “Thank you, Tía Abuela. It is so… so… so different.”
Tía Abuela cackles. “Do you even know what it is, Kitty Cat?”
I shake my head.
“It is a sewing kit. I’ve had it since I was your age. I thought it was the perfect gift for someone with your… How shall I put this?” She pauses. She taps a flamingo-pink fingernail against her lips as she thinks of the right thing to say. “Someone with your attention to detail. Attention to detail is very important when it comes to sewing.”
“Hmm” is all I say.