by Sylvia Olsen
MURPHY and mousetrap
Sylvia Olsen
Copyright © 2005 Sylvia Olsen
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data:
Olsen, Sylvia, 1955-
Murphy and Mousetrap / Sylvia Olsen.
(Orca young readers)
ISBN 1-55143-344-3
I. Title. II. Series.
PS8579.L728M87 2005 jC813’.6 C2005-901127-0
First published in the United States 2005
Library of Congress Control Number: 2005922035
Summary: When Murphy, his mother and their cat Mousetrap move back to the reserve, Murphy is sure that both he and the cat are going to be miserable.
Free teachers’ guide available. www.orcabook.com
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Department of Canadian Heritage’s Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), the Canada Council for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.
Cover Design and typesetting: Lynn O’Rourke
Cover & interior illustrations by Darlene Gait
In Canada:
Orca Book Publishers
Box 5626 Stn. B
Victoria, BC Canada
V8R 6S4
In the United States:
Orca Book Publishers
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98240-0468
08 07 06 05 • 5 4 3 2 1
Printed and bound in Canada
For Adam
1
Murphy plunked his schoolbag on the hall floor and stuck his hand in his pocket. He rummaged through the stones he had picked up on the way home from school until he felt the apartment key on its loop of string. Mom had made him promise to wear the key around his neck so it wouldn’t get lost, but it tickled when it hung against his body. And it strangled him when he pulled his sweatshirt over his head, so he had stuffed the key in his pocket.
He slid the key into the lock and jiggled it back and forth until the door opened.
“Hey, Mousetrap, I’m home,” Murphy called.
He walked through the living room to his bedroom and threw his coat and bag on the bed.
“Mousetrap, where are you?” Murphy said. He placed his hands on his hips like Mom did when she really meant what she was saying.
“I’m coming,” he called.
He kicked off his shoes and walked softly on his toes.
“I’ll find you.”
Each afternoon after school Murphy and Mousetrap played the same game. As soon as Mousetrap heard Murphy open the door he ran to one of his favorite hiding spots. When Murphy called, the cat stayed perfectly still. Every afternoon Murphy stood in the living room, hands on his hips, acting as mad as he could muster. Then he tiptoed from room to room, peeking in corners and closets and cupboards.
“I’m coming, ready or not,” Murphy said in his sternest voice. He slipped into the bathroom, pulled back the shower curtain and peeked into the bathtub. It was empty.
He tiptoed back into his bedroom, lifted the corner of his bedspread and peeked under the bed. He checked around the books stacked under the computer table and glanced behind the computer monitor: that was Mousetrap’s favorite sleeping spot. He loved to lie next to the warm screen, but Murphy had a feeling he wouldn’t be there when the computer was turned off.
“You little sneak,” Murphy called out. Sometimes, like today, Mousetrap picked such a good hiding spot that Murphy had trouble finding him. Although Murphy liked the game, he got a lump in his throat when, after a few minutes, he couldn’t find his cat. He worried that one day Mousetrap might not be there. Could Mousetrap have found a way out of the apartment? Could he have climbed out the window and wandered off?
“Come on, Mousetrap!” Murphy called. This time he had a quiver in his voice. “I know you’re here.”
Mom’s room was next. As he entered, he thought he saw the edge of the bedspread twitch slightly. Murphy tiptoed across the floor and lifted the bedspread. Mousetrap’s thick fluffy white tail sprang out from under the bed. Murphy dropped to his knees and gathered up his cat.
“I got you,” he said. He buried his face in the furry ball. “Good hiding spot.”
Mousetrap was just as happy as Murphy when he was finally found. He rubbed his soft face against Murphy’s cheek and climbed up onto his shoulders. He curled around Murphy’s neck and hung on as Murphy went into the kitchen and made a peanut-butter-and-jam sandwich. When Murphy was finished he sat down at his computer to scan the Internet for Web sites that would describe the stone he had found on the way home from school. Mousetrap stepped off his shoulders, crept across the keyboard and tucked himself into his favorite spot beside the computer screen.
Murphy dug in his pockets and pulled out a handful of stones. Dirt, leaves and sand spilled onto the floor as he laid the stones in a row on the computer desk. Most of the stones were gray, or gray and black or white. But when he had passed the park that afternoon he had wandered up the path instead of staying right on the sidewalk as he had promised. Out of the corner of his eye, Murphy had glimpsed a dark green stone unlike anything he had ever seen. It was wedged in tight next to a rock outcropping. After he pried it out, spat on it and rubbed it against his pant leg, the stone glistened like a marble.
Mousetrap lay in a sleepy pile with his eyes open just enough to watch Murphy place the stones into a pile.
“So, Mousetrap,” Murphy said, passing the small green stone in front of his cat’s half-open eyes. “What kind of stone do you think this is?”
Mousetrap’s ears shot up and he opened his blue eyes wide. His tail was curled around his body, and the tip rested under his chin. It twitched as he examined the stone.
Murphy waited patiently as if Mousetrap would identify the stone, before he placed it next to others. Soon Murphy had three piles. Each pile contained similar stones. Mousetrap and Murphy examined the stones and the Web sites until they heard the key turn in the front door. Then Murphy grabbed Mousetrap and ran into the bathroom. He jumped into the bathtub and pulled the shower curtain around them. He tucked his cat onto his lap, took a deep breath and held on until he heard the door open.
“Murphy, I’m home,” Mom called.
She shut the door and walked through the hall to the kitchen. Murphy heard plastic bags drop on to the kitchen floor and then a shuffle, which was probably Mom taking off her coat and throwing it over a kitchen chair.
“Mousetrap,” Mom called. “Where are you?”
Murphy didn’t move, and Mousetrap stayed perfectly still. Murphy imagined Mom standing in the living room with her hands on her hips.
The living room floor creaked as she stepped toward Murphy’s bedroom.
“Murphy, I know you’re here.”
Her steps moved into her own bedroom, and Murphy heard her open the closet and say, “Where are you two?”
Her footsteps got louder and louder. Murphy caught another breath and squeezed Mousetrap. Just as he was about to jump out to surprise her, Mom pulled back the shower curtain.
“Gotcha!” she cried. She pulled Murphy and Mousetrap out of the bathtub, hugged her son and stroked Mousetrap on the head.
“You scared me,” Murphy said.
“You scared me too,” Mom said with a laugh.
Murphy had lived with Mom and Mousetrap in the apartment for as long as he co
uld remember. His dad lived in another city in another province. Murphy didn’t know much about his dad except that Mom said Dad left him three things: his blue eyes, which weren’t like Mom’s at all, his blond hair and his name, Murphy. Mom had decided to call her son Murphy Jones: Dad’s last name first, Murphy, and Mom’s last name second, Jones. That was just about all Murphy knew about his dad.
His dad had left before he was born, so it had always just been the three of them. Mom said Murphy was only two months old when neighbors down the hall moved out and left Mousetrap behind. When Mom came home from work, Mousetrap, who was just a little kitten at the time, was wandering up and down the hall. Mom picked him up and took him home. He was a tiny ball of white fluff. Mom said he looked like a snowball, his hair sparkled so much. Mom figured Mousetrap and Murphy must have been almost the same age, so they both celebrated their ninth birthday on October 30.
Murphy knew that cat years made Mousetrap much older even though they were both born at the same time. That didn’t make much sense to Murphy, but most of the time Mousetrap did act like an old cat. He preferred to lie around the house curled into a tight ball fast asleep. Sometimes Mousetrap played with Murphy, games like hide-and-seek. But he didn’t run around like he did when he was younger or play with invisible things or jump at things that Murphy couldn’t see.
“Murphy, come and set the table,” Mom called.
Supper was hot and steamy on the stove and smelled like fried salmon, Murphy and Mousetrap’s favorite. Mousetrap stayed at Murphy’s heels as Murphy walked back and forth with plates and knives and forks. Then the cat jumped up onto a chair and watched expectantly as Mom placed fish and potatoes next to the butter and salt and pepper.
“Mmmm,” Murphy said as he sat down. “Supper looks good.”
2
“How was your day at school?” Mom asked. She sat at one end of the table, and Murphy sat at the other. The window was between them on one side, and Mousetrap sat on the chair opposite the window.
“Good,” Murphy said. He plopped a pile of mashed potatoes next to his fish. “Real good.”
After he smoothed out a gully in the top of the potatoes and filled it with soft butter, he said, “I found a really cool green stone on the way home.”
Mom said, “Great,” and then she added, “I got a new job today.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Murphy didn’t know much about the work Mom did. He knew Mom left early in the morning and arrived home in time to make supper. Except Saturday and Sunday. Those days they spent together. The other thing Murphy knew was Mom’s job never paid quite enough money to buy everything they needed. Sometimes Mom couldn’t afford to pay the phone bill if she talked too much long distance. Other times she didn’t have enough money to buy milk for the whole week, and by Friday Murphy had to eat toast and jam instead of cereal for breakfast.
“I’ll make a lot more money, and we’ll get to move home.”
“That’s good,” Murphy said. Mom would be happy if she had enough money to take him to a movie or out for lunch.
He pulled a strip of salmon off his plate, checked for bones and tossed it on the chair in front of Mousetrap. Mousetrap rubbed his pink nose into the fish and lapped it happily into his mouth.
“What do you mean, we’ll get to move home?” Murphy asked.
“With Grandma.” Murphy could tell from the look on Mom’s face that she was happy about moving and her new job. “We’re going to move back to the reserve. To Grandma’s place up island where I lived when I was a kid.”
Murphy remembered Grandma’s house. He had visited in the summer. When he got there his cousins had chased him around the field and up the street until he ran into the house and hid in the bathroom. He ended up sitting next to Mom almost the whole day while she talked to Grandma, Auntie Jean and Uncle Charlie.
When Mom told him to go out and play with Albert and Danny, he said he wasn’t feeling well. It was true. He wasn’t feeling well, and the more he thought about playing with the boys, the worse he felt. They came in once or twice and said, “Come on, Murphy. We’re gonna play soccer,” but he could tell from the sound of their voices that playing soccer with them wouldn’t be safe.
Mom called Grandma’s place the Indian reserve. Sometimes she called it the First Nation, but she never called it home. Grandma’s place wasn’t home. Not for Murphy.
“This is our home,” Murphy said.
“But we’ll get to live with my family,” Mom said. “You’ll love it.”
“We’re family,” Murphy said. “You, me and Mousetrap.”
Mom wasn’t thinking the same way as Murphy, and he didn’t like what she said.
“There’ll be other boys around. You won’t be so lonely, all on your own. And there’ll be your aunties and uncles.”
“I’m not lonely,” Murphy said. “This is home. I have you and Mousetrap.”
Why did Mom have to talk about moving home? They had a perfectly good home.
He looked around the kitchen. His drawings and paintings covered one wall—some he had done as long ago as kindergarten. Fridge magnets held up photos of Mom and Mousetrap and Murphy and photos of the camping trip with Bernie and Chas, Mom’s best friends. Murphy thought about when he helped Mom cut the curtain to fit the kitchen window, and how he had chosen the kitchen wallpaper himself—colorful blue and green airplanes.
Grandma’s place wasn’t anything like the apartment. When Murphy traveled up the island to visit Grandma there were always a lot of people around the house. They might be his aunties and uncles, but he didn’t know them.
Murphy only talked to Grandma on the phone once in a while. Whenever Murphy overheard phone conversations between Mom and her sisters, who lived on the reserve, Mom always said she liked being in the city and living in the apartment.
“You said you didn’t want to live on the Indian reserve,” Murphy said. “You don’t even talk to your family. Hardly ever.”
“I’ve been talking to Grandma a lot lately. She wants me to move home. And our First Nation offered me a good job,” Mom said.
Mousetrap had curled up in a ball on the chair and tucked his face under the tip of his tail. He was full of salmon and pleased as he could be.
“We’ll have an apartment in Grandma’s basement. Just for us. It’s all ready.”
Murphy didn’t know what the Indian reserve was except that’s where Grandma lived. All the houses around Grandma’s place belonged to his aunties and uncles, and Mom said all the kids were his cousins. There were no apartment buildings, gas stations, streetlights or sidewalks. There was no McDonalds. There wasn’t even a school nearby. There were plenty of houses. Most of them looked old and were placed higgledypiggledy off to the side of the road, not lined up straight like they were in the city. There were fields and bushes and mountains that were far too high for Murphy to climb. And there was a long sandy beach with millions of brightly colored stones.
When Murphy thought about the stones he felt a little bit excited. There would be more than stones for his collection. Murphy remembered Mom telling him that if he turned the stones over he could find glass trade beads and arrowheads that his great-grandparents had used.
Everyone around Grandma’s house was First Nation. That was the part that worried Murphy. He didn’t look anything like the people on the reserve. Mom said if someone looked closely they could tell Murphy was First Nation. At least half-First Nation. She said he looked like her. They had the same big round eyes and thick hair, except everything about Murphy was light, and everything about Mom was dark. Especially Murphy’s skin. It was so white it burned beet-red in the summer if he wasn’t careful. “Pale skin. That’s another thing his dad left him,” Murphy had overheard Mom say to Chas.
Murphy put down his fork and squished his fists into his eyes. They felt hot and stingy like tears would burst out if he didn’t stop them. Finally he looked up at Mom.
He rubbed the tickle out of his nose and asked, “What about Mouset
rap?”
“He’ll come with us,” Mom said. “Of course. We wouldn’t leave him behind.” She reached over and stroked Mousetrap’s head.
It wasn’t the idea of leaving Mousetrap behind that worried Murphy; it was the memory of the cats he had seen around Grandma’s place. Cats on the reserve didn’t look like Mousetrap. They weren’t fat and fluffy like they slept on velvet pillows. They were lean, with hungry looks on their faces. They didn’t seem like they were stuffed with salmon. There wasn’t one pure white cat, not one with silky white hair and not a spot of another color on its body, not on the reserve.
“What if Mousetrap doesn’t want to move?” Murphy asked.
Mom laughed.
It wasn’t funny. Murphy knew that given the choice Mousetrap would stay right where they were. And Murphy agreed with his cat.
“Mousetrap will love it,” Mom said. “You wait, Murphy, both of you will love it.”
After supper, Murphy loaded the dishwasher and went into his bedroom. He gathered the piles of stones he had left by his computer and put them away neatly into the cardboard boxes he used to store his collection. He shut down his computer and climbed into bed. Mousetrap jumped up beside him. Murphy shut his eyes tight and listened for the low rumbling purr from deep in Mousetrap’s belly.
3
“February first,” Mom said. “Only four weeks until we have to be out of this apartment.”
She dragged boxes home from the grocery store and piled them in each room. She pulled blankets, old clothes and books from shelves and closets and folded them neatly in the boxes. When a box was full, she taped it closed and wrote boldly with felt pen on the top: MURPHY’S CLOTHES or BOOKS or BLANKETS or SHOES.
The apartment didn’t feel like home after Mom started packing. Mousetrap crept around the giant cardboard towers, and Murphy tried to ignore them. He didn’t want to play hide-and-seek after school anymore, and Mom didn’t have time to play anything. One week before they had to leave the apartment, Bernie and Chas drove into the parking lot in a big green pickup truck.