Murphy & Mousetrap

by Sylvia Olsen

  Murphy stood at the door of the apartment with Mousetrap wrapped in his arms watching Mom and Bernie and Chas carry out box after box after box.

  “We’re just leaving the stuff we’ll need in the next week,” Mom said.

  They left the beds, the sofa and the kitchen table and chairs. The bathroom closet was empty except for the toothbrushes and a few containers of Mom’s things. Two plates, two glasses and two bowls sat in the kitchen cabinet. The only thing left in Murphy’s room was a laundry hamper next to his bed with a few pairs of socks, underwear, jeans and a couple of T-shirts. Even his dresser had been packed in the truck.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Chas said to Mom once the truck was loaded. Chas and Bernie lived in the apartment across the street from Mom and Murphy. They had been Mom’s best friends for as long as Murphy could remember.

  Mom slumped forward. “It’s kind of late to be asking that now, don’t you think?” she said. Chas put her arms around Mom’s shoulders.

  “But we’re going to miss you,” Chas said.

  “I have to go,” Mom insisted. “Don’t make me cry. It’s an opportunity for me. I won’t get a job offer like this again.”

  “I know, I know,” Chas said.

  “I have to, Chas,” Mom threw her arms around her friend.

  “Quit it, you girls,” Bernie said. “We’re only going up for the day. We’ll be right back.”

  Mom checked the boxes piled in the back of the truck, nodded and said, “We’ll follow behind in my car and meet you there.”

  “Come on, Murphy,” Mom said. “Time to go.”

  Murphy’s chin drooped. His hands gripped Mousetrap firmly.

  “You better put Mousetrap back in the apartment,” Mom said. “He won’t want to drive all that way.”

  Murphy turned back to the empty apartment. “He doesn’t want to stay home,” Murphy said. “How about if I stay home with him?”

  “Grandma’s expecting us,” Mom said. “She’s cooking supper.”

  Mousetrap curled his paws around Murphy’s wrists. Murphy knew Mousetrap didn’t want to ride all the way to Grandma’s. It would take three hours to get there and three hours to get home. But Mousetrap wouldn’t want to stay home either, not in an empty apartment, or a nearly empty apartment, all by himself.

  “We’ll be okay here,” Murphy said. “Bernie and Chas can eat Grandma’s supper. And you.”

  He dipped his nose into the soft belly of his cat. How would Mousetrap be sure they were coming back?

  “Take him back inside, Murphy,” Mom said. “And hurry up. We have to go.”

  Mom’s words were sharp. She was tired. It wasn’t a good time to argue with her.

  “Then let’s take him with us. He won’t mind the drive.” Murphy knew his words weren’t true. Mousetrap hated the car.

  “You know he doesn’t like being in the car,” Mom said. “Last time he threw up in the back seat.”

  And it stank. After Mousetrap’s last ride, the car had a sickly smell for months even though Mom had scrubbed and scrubbed.

  Mom was right. Murphy couldn’t stay home, and Mousetrap couldn’t come. Murphy trudged back into the apartment. He entered his bedroom. The bed looked the same as ever. Mom hadn’t pulled the sheets and blankets off yet. Murphy leaned forward to place Mousetrap on the bed, but the cat curled his paws around Murphy’s arm.

  “Mousetrap, you have to stay here,” Murphy pleaded.

  He shook his arm until his cat dropped onto the bed. Murphy lay down beside him and stroked his soft belly. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said. “You’ll be okay.”

  Mousetrap lay on the pillow and closed his eyes.

  “I’ll be back,” Murphy said. “I promise.”

  Murphy stayed for a few moments until he could hear the deep sounds of his cat sleeping. Then he left the apartment, making sure he locked the door behind him.

  “Hurry up, Murphy,” Mom called as he neared the car.

  Murphy crawled into the front seat and buckled his seat belt. He curled his body into a ball and thought about Mousetrap. Would his cat think they had abandoned him altogether? Did Mousetrap know they were coming back real soon?

  “We’ll be back in a few hours,” Mom said. “Don’t worry. We leave him alone every day when we go to school and to work.”

  “Yeah,” Murphy said. But Mom didn’t understand Mousetrap. She thought he was just a normal cat.

  4

  Chugga. Chugga. Chugga.

  Mom stepped on the gas when they reached the long hill that climbed into the mountains. Their car got slower and slower while other cars whizzed past them.

  “Oh gawd, Murphy,” she moaned. “This old girl is barely going to make it.”

  Bernie and Chas were waiting in the driveway when they reached Grandma’s house.

  “What took you so long?” Bernie called.

  Mom laughed and slammed the car door. “She’s not going to make many more trips over those mountains.”

  What about getting home? What about Mousetrap? Murphy wished they could turn around and head home right away.

  A few raindrops splashed on Murphy’s face, and the wind snapped in his hair as he stepped out of the car. Three boys who had been kicking a ball behind the truck formed a line on the side of the driveway. They leaned back on their heels and watched Murphy and Mom. The boy that held the ball was Albert; Murphy recognized him from the summer. He had seen the others too, but he didn’t know their names.

  The boys were bigger than Murphy and older too. They had looks of determination on their faces. Their skin looked tough and leathery, probably from spending a lot of time outside. The day was cold, but their sleeves were short and none wore a jacket.

  “Come on in,” Mom said to Bernie and Chas.

  Grandma opened the front door and said, “Welcome home!”

  She threw her arms around Mom, and then she hugged Bernie and Chas.

  “Thank you for bringing my kids home,” she said.

  She reached down and picked up Murphy and swung him around and then around again.

  “Good to see you, boy,” she said. “You’ve grown so big I hardly recognize you.”

  Murphy stumbled when his feet hit the floor. His stomach was woozy from the car ride and now his head spun.

  “Hi, Grandma,” he said.

  His feet steadied on the floor, and he hugged Grandma. She wasn’t like Mom. Mom was small. Although Murphy was only nine and almost the shortest boy in his class, Mom was only a bit taller than Murphy when they stood back to back in front of the mirror. When Grandma picked him up, Murphy could feel her thick arms and large hands holding him firm. She was tall and round and when she hugged him he sank into her chest.

  Albert and the other boys followed Murphy into the house and leaned against the wall by the door. They watched the newcomers’ every move as if they expected something to happen.

  “You must be hungry,” Grandma said to Mom.

  “Yeah,” Mom said. “What’s for supper?”

  “Clam chowder. That’s all I had time to cook.” Grandma lifted a huge pot from the stove and placed it on a towel that was folded on the table. She set a stack of bowls, a pile of spoons and knives, a plate of fried bread, a pot of jam and a tub of butter next to the soup.

  Murphy was starving. For a few minutes, he forgot about Mousetrap and the boys who leaned against the wall. The warm food slid into his stomach and made it stop turning over and over.

  “You boys get over here and help yourself,” Grandma told Albert and the boys. “These are your relatives, Murphy. Danny stays here with me.” She pointed to the shortest of the three boys. But he was still taller and bigger than Murphy. “You already know Albert,” Grandma continued. “And Jeff is your Auntie Maggie’s son. They live across the field.”

  The boys shuffled up to the table, forming a line behind Albert. Between mouthfuls, Murphy looked them up and down. He imagined himself making the fourth boy in the line. Up and down he
was the shortest by at least a head. Side to side he was only half as wide as any one of them. They had square shoulders like full-grown men, even though Murphy knew they weren’t any older than eleven or twelve.

  All three boys had thick spiked black hair. Albert’s hair was dyed yellow at the tips. Their skin was darker than chocolate. Murphy glanced at the pale skin on the thin fingers that clutched his spoon and then at Albert’s hand scooping fried bread from the plate. He peered at his own feet laced neatly into hiking boots, and then caught a glimpse of Albert’s feet scuffing across the kitchen floor in enormous running shoes with wet laces dragging behind. They might be relatives, but there wasn’t one thing similar about them.

  Albert stuffed the soccer ball under his arm and balanced his food with the other as he disappeared into the living room.

  “Why don’t you go sit with the boys in the other room, Murphy?” Mom asked.

  Murphy wagged his head and said, “I’m okay here.”

  He pushed his chair against the wall and wound his body around his food until he was as small as he could get. He chewed quietly and listened to Mom and Grandma making plans.

  “You and Murphy will be fine downstairs,” Grandma said. “You can fix it up however you want. The bathroom needs a little work.”

  “What about the kitchen?” Mom asked.

  “You can eat up here with us,” Grandma said.

  “Mom, you said there would be a kitchen,” Mom said. Her voice sounded high and stretched like it did when she came home late from work and she was tired.

  “It’s not done.” Grandma spooned more soup into her bowl. From the sound of her voice the kitchen wasn’t a big deal.

  “Mom,” Mom’s voice cracked. “You said.”

  “We’ll get it done,” Grandma said. “You’ll be fine up here.”

  Mom put her spoon down and chewed steadily on her bread.

  “I’m going downstairs. I want to see what it looks like,” she said.

  “You’ll need to clean up a little,” Grandma added as Mom crossed the kitchen and headed down the stairs. Mom didn’t wait for Grandma to say any more.

  Murphy ate the last spoonful of soup and buttered another piece of fried bread. It was better that Mom looked at the basement apartment alone. He had a feeling it wasn’t going to look the way she had described it to him. So he waited until he was completely finished his supper before he got up.

  Grandma and Bernie and Chas were talking and the boys were playing video games when Murphy crept through the kitchen and down the stairs.

  Creak. Creak.

  Each stair made a loud noise. A bare light bulb hung from a wire and cast eerie shadows across the stacks of papers, fish-nets, tires, bottles and bags that cluttered the open space in the basement.

  “Mom?” he called out.

  “Over here, Murphy.” Her voice came from a room at the far end of the basement. He hurried through the jumble of stuff and entered a wide-open room. It was empty except for an old chair in one corner and another chair in the middle where Mom sat. A half-built wall next to the window almost hid a toilet and shower.

  Mom leaned forward with her elbows resting on her knees and her cheeks pressed firmly into the palms of her hands. Was she crying or just thinking? Murphy walked across the room and sat on the other chair, facing Mom.

  She motioned with her hand to Murphy to come toward her. When he got close she pulled him onto her lap and rocked back and forth.

  “This is it, Murphy,” she whispered. “This is home.”

  Her warm tears ran down his cheek. Murphy wanted to cry too. It wasn’t home.

  Where would they put their beds and the sofa and the TV? Would they even use the kitchen table? What about Mousetrap? There were only two small windows, both high up on the wall, but Mousetrap wouldn’t have any trouble climbing out if they were open.

  5

  The rhythm of the windshield wipers lulled Murphy to sleep on the way home. He awoke to bright city lights. Mom’s hands gripped the steering wheel, and her eyes were glued to the road.

  Finally she asked, “You awake?”

  “Yeah,” he said. He stretched the fold out of his neck.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she announced.

  “Yeah?” Murphy asked. “What’s going to be okay?”

  “Moving home,” Mom said. “To the reserve.”

  Murphy was still half-asleep, but he didn’t think it would be okay.

  “Don’t you think?” she asked.

  He decided to agree with her anyway. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Mom continued. “I remember five things about growing up on the reserve.”

  She stared at the oncoming car lights and raised one finger off the steering wheel at a time as if to count to five.

  “No, six,” she said lifting one finger from her other hand. “There are at least six important things that I think you should know right now.”

  She didn’t wait for Murphy to speak.

  “Number one,” Mom said. “The reserve is usually a place where only First Nations live.”

  “Yeah,” Murphy said. He knew that already. And he knew he was a First Nation, Mom had told him that. They watched movies about First Nations and she read him stories about salmon and potlatches. He went to the museum and watched Uncle Charlie carve totem poles.

  “It’s important, Murphy, because you don’t look like a First Nation. You look more like your father with your blond hair and blue eyes.”

  “So?”

  “Not everyone will think you’re a First Nation. They might think you’re white—and pick on you. That’s what I remember from living there when I was young.”

  Murphy didn’t like how that sounded.

  “Number two.” Mom continued as if there was nothing left to say about number one. “You will have cousins to play with all the time.”

  Number two sounded good to Murphy as long as the cousins didn’t pick on him.

  “Number three. You get to go to the beach all the time. You’ll be able to collect stones and shells and arrowheads, all kinds of things.”

  Murphy said, “I like number three.”

  “Number four.” Mom hesitated for a moment. “Four is that it rains up there. All the time. I remember being muddy and grubby every day. We played outside and there are no sidewalks and the roads are gravel.”

  “So we have to make sure Mousetrap doesn’t get outside,” Murphy said. “He’s not used to getting dirty.”

  “Yeah,” Mom said. “That brings me to number five. There are dogs and cats everywhere. Every family has at least three pets not counting the animals that just live on the reserve. They take care of themselves. Not at all like Mousetrap.”

  Murphy thought of climbing up to the windows to make sure they were closed every time he left the room. Poor Mousetrap, closed up in such a tiny place.

  “What’s number six?” Murphy asked.

  “Number six.” Mom’s face broke into a huge smile. “Grandma cooks all the time. Not the kind of food you’re used to. She cooks duck soup, smoked fish, deer stew, clam chowder, fish eggs, stuff like that. The house always smells like something’s cooking. And most of the food comes from the ocean.”

  Clam chowder didn’t taste bad. Salmon and halibut were yummy. But Murphy had seen fish eggs, and he had smelled duck soup and smoked fish. Just the thought of them made the back of his throat stick together.

  “I don’t like duck soup,” he told Mom. “Or smoked fish.”

  “You’ll learn to like it,” Mom said without looking his way. “It was the only food we ate when we were kids—along with potatoes, carrots and onions.”

  Murphy and Mom stared out the window as they turned the corner near the apartment. The six things weren’t bad, but Murphy could tell even Mom wasn’t excited about all of them.

  “There’s more than six things,” she said. She parked the car and jumped out. “There’s a lot more than six things, but that’s enough for tonig
ht.”

  The apartment didn’t feel like home when they opened the door. Grandma’s basement didn’t feel like home either. When Murphy crawled into bed beside Mousetrap he didn’t feel like he had a home. That night Murphy dreamed he pulled a drowning cat out of a mucky puddle. The cat shivered and gasped for breath. Murphy wrapped the cat in his jacket and brought him home. He washed the cat with warm water, and as the brown mud swirled down the sink Murphy realized the cat was Mousetrap.

  6

  The next week flew by. The last weekend in January came too soon. Early Sunday morning Murphy woke up to find Mousetrap standing on the pillow next to his head. Thumps and bangs and groans came from outside his bedroom door. He pulled Mousetrap into his bed and wrapped the sheets over his head.

  “I don’t want to go,” Murphy whispered to his cat.

  “Come on, Murphy,” Mom called. “Time to get up and out of there.”

  Bernie opened his bedroom door. “Your mom says your bed is next,” she said.

  As soon as Murphy got out of bed, Mom folded his sheets, and Chas and Bernie carried his mattress out of the apartment and lifted it into the back of their pickup truck.

  Murphy got dressed and walked into the living room. There were stains on the carpet where the sofa had been. Dirty shadows framed where pictures once hung. Murphy didn’t like how the apartment felt, dirty and bleak.

  Mom called from the front door, “Bring your pajamas and let’s go.”

  “Coming.”

  He glanced once more in his bedroom. He wouldn’t have a bedroom after this. He peered into the bathroom and looked at the bathtub. There was no bathtub at Grandma’s either. When he turned and looked into the kitchen he felt Mom’s arm on his shoulder.

  “We’re going to miss this place, aren’t we Murphy?” Mom said.

  Murphy rubbed the back of his hand against his nose. His eyes stung. He picked up Mousetrap and wrapped his arms around his cat. Mom wrapped her arms around both of them. Murphy could feel Mom’s tears, wet on the back of his neck.

  “It’s going to be okay, Murphy,” she said.