Murphy & Mousetrap

by Sylvia Olsen

  Albert took two, three, four, five shots, and each one spun like a meteor right into Murphy. The boy with big front teeth and glasses did the same thing. Each time, Murphy thought about jumping out of the way, but he didn’t have enough time so he blocked the ball with his hands. And each time he raised his hands to block the ball, it got stuck between his fingers.

  When the game finally came to an end, the boys pounded him on the back. “You’re a great goalie!” they said, and, “You must have played soccer before.”

  Albert grabbed the ball. “You were just lucky, peewee,” he said. And the boy with big front teeth and glasses said, “Wait till next game.”

  Murphy tried to keep up with Albert, Jeff and Danny on the way home, but his legs wouldn’t move quickly, and his knees couldn’t remember how to bend.

  Jeff hung back with him. “You really never played before?” he asked.

  “Never,” Murphy replied. His voice was thin and squeaky.

  “You’re a great goalie,” he said.

  Murphy liked how those words sounded, but he knew there was nothing great about the saves he made. He stopped the ball because he was terrified. He didn’t drop the ball because his hands were frozen. And he didn’t jump out of the way because he wasn’t fast enough. That was the part Jeff didn’t understand.

  9

  When Mom answered the door on Sunday morning Murphy was still in bed.

  “He’s not feeling so good this morning,” she said. “If he’s feeling better later I’ll get him to catch up with you boys.”

  Not so good? Murphy was feeling like he had stubbed every part of his body. He felt worse than ever before in his entire life. Ten times worse than the night he threw up five times after eating a rotten hot dog. Twenty times worse than when he had chicken pox all over his body.

  He cuddled next to his cat. Mousetrap purred a pleased sort of sound. Mom brought cereal and orange juice to Murphy’s bed.

  “Ouch,” Murphy said as he tried to sit up.

  “Do you have a fever?” Mom asked. She sat on the edge of his bed and stroked his forehead.

  “No,” Murphy said. “I’m not sick.”

  He told Mom he had played soccer, which was true. He told her that he was a really good goalie, which wasn’t so true, but that’s what everyone was saying. He also told her that he made a few great saves that knocked him over. She already knew about the puddle because his jacket, pants, shirt, running shoes and even his underwear were covered with mud.

  Murphy didn’t tell her that Albert and the boy with big front teeth and glasses had hit him on purpose. He didn’t tell her that he had blacked out and seen gold and silver stars or how afraid he was when the ball came flying toward him.

  On Monday, Murphy could hardly bend his knees to climb the school bus steps. All last week, he had sat near the front on his own, but today one of the boys from the game shoved over and motioned to him to sit near the back with the rest of the players.

  “Great goalie,” the boy said. “Coming out to the field after school?”

  “Maybe,” Murphy said, but he meant no.

  Some of the boys who had ignored him at school the week before asked him to play on their soccer team at lunch.

  “No, thanks,” he said and tried to find someplace to hide. No soccer, not now, not for a long time, please.

  The only part about soccer that he liked was how everyone wanted to be his friend. Everyone, at least, except Albert and the boy with big teeth and thick glasses. When they walked past Murphy in the hall they bumped him up against the wall or stuck their elbows in his side.

  “Wait until the next game,” Albert said.

  When Murphy got home from school, he opened the apartment door and called, “Come here, Mousetrap.”

  He checked on and under Mom’s bed and his bed. He looked in all the spots his cat could hide. He stood perfectly still. The apartment was silent except for a faint hum of music seeping through the vents from upstairs.

  Panic struck Murphy’s stomach and crawled up the back of his neck.

  His voice got louder. “Mousetrap, come here!”

  He lifted the cushions on the sofa and checked the beds again. He looked under the velvet pillow and in the bathroom. He looked in Mom’s make-up container and shoebox, places where Mousetrap couldn’t possibly fit.

  Mousetrap wasn’t in the room. Not anywhere.

  A freshly folded pile of towels and sheets and a stack of mail lay on the table. Had Mousetrap sneaked out the door while Grandma was leaving things for Mom?

  “Mousetrap,” Murphy hollered one more time, “please come here.”

  It was no use. He rushed upstairs.

  “Grandma,” he called. “Grandma, are you here?”

  Danny sat in front of the TV, playing a video game.

  “You seen Grandma?” Murphy asked him.

  Danny didn’t look up. “No,” he said.

  “Where is she?” Murphy asked.

  “How should I know?”

  “Have you seen Mousetrap?” Murphy asked again.

  “Who’s Mousetrap?” Danny asked with his hands stuck to the controls and his eyes glued to the screen.

  “My cat, Mousetrap, is missing. Did you see him anywhere?”

  “There’s a million cats around here,” Danny said, still without looking up. “I don’t pay attention to any of them.”

  Murphy turned and ran out the door and down the driveway.

  “Mousetrap,” he called. A gray cat slept on the front porch and a black cat lay curled up on the hood of a pickup truck parked beside the driveway. He ran toward the bus stop and saw an orange and black and white cat wandering his way and a tabby cat perched on a bench.

  “Mousetrap! Mousetrap!” he hollered at the top of his lungs. “Come here, Mousetrap!”

  He turned the corner and headed toward a part of the reserve where he had never been before. Rows of houses lined up next to each other.

  “You lost?” a boy shouted. It was the boy with the big front teeth and glasses.

  “My cat is lost,” Murphy answered.

  The boy laughed. “You’ll never find him around here,” he said.

  Murphy ran to the end of the road, turned and headed back. His eyes darted under cars, down driveways, onto porches and up stairs. Mousetrap was nowhere to be found. Murphy ran home along the beach and checked between logs and in bushes, but still no Mousetrap.

  Murphy trudged back to Grandma’s house. “Mousetrap, please, where are you?” he said more and more quietly as he walked along. He checked in all the same places, but it was no use. Mousetrap was lost.

  10

  Murphy had planned to collect stones from the beach after school. Instead, he crawled into bed and pulled the comforter over his head.

  The apartment was dark when Murphy opened his eyes and peeked out from under the covers.

  “Murphy,” Mom was calling. “Murphy, you here?” she called again.

  Murphy didn’t answer. Instead, he stumbled out from behind his blanket wall and up the stairs. He blinked his bleary eyes, not believing what he saw.

  “Mousetrap?”

  He dashed across the room and lifted the cat from Mom’s arms. It was Mousetrap. But he didn’t have silky white hair. He had brown hair the color of gravy, hair that clumped together in wet bunches. Murphy hugged the scruffy cat while Mousetrap shivered and twitched the end of his tail.

  “Where did you find him?” Murphy asked.

  “He was sitting on the hood of an old pickup in front of Rudy’s place over by the gas station,” Mom said. “I had to look twice to make sure it was him. It’s pouring out there, but I don’t know how he got so dirty.”

  “The gas station is a long way from here,” Murphy said.

  He grabbed a clean towel from the table and wrapped it tightly around his cat.

  “How did he get out?” Mom asked.

  “Grandma must have come in,” Murphy said. “She left our laundry and mail on the table.”

/>   “We better tell her,” Mom said. “Poor Mousetrap doesn’t know what to do outside.”

  She opened a bottle of canned salmon and dumped it into a bowl. Mousetrap jumped out of the towel and gobbled the fish. After supper, Mom combed Mousetrap’s hair while he slept so soundly that he didn’t even twitch when the comb snagged on a knot.

  Mom giggled. “I think he had a rough day,” she said.

  The next day after school, Murphy opened the apartment door and called, “Mousetrap.” He didn’t look under the bed or beside the computer. He knew that Mousetrap wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t home.

  A warm pot of soup sat on the table. Did Mom forget to tell Grandma? Did Grandma forget to watch Mousetrap? When was Mom going to get a lock for the door?

  Grandma didn’t lock her house. People came in and out whether Grandma was home or not. Just like Mom had said, everyone on the reserve is your relation, so people come and go and cats and dogs do too. Now Murphy understood what she meant. No one paid any attention to making sure that cats stayed inside.

  No one used keys on the reserve either. Murphy liked that. He could visit Uncle Charlie’s place to play video games anytime he wanted. He didn’t even have to knock. And Auntie Jean always made him a peanut-butter-and-jam sandwich when he was there.

  He wondered how Mousetrap felt about the reserve, if he was afraid and lost. Murphy grabbed an apple and ran out the door.

  “Mousetrap,” he hollered. “Where are you?”

  Grandma stuck her head out the window. “That cat of yours missing again?” she called out.

  “Yeah,” Murphy answered. “You seen him?”

  “Yeah, I saw him,” she said. “I tried to make sure he didn’t get out. But as soon as I opened the door to put the soup on the table, he darted between my feet like a shot. He doesn’t want to be cooped inside all day.”

  Before Grandma said anything else, Murphy saw Mousetrap curled up under the car beside the driveway. He was fast asleep next to the orange and black and white cat.

  Murphy crouched down and looked under the car. “Come on, Mousetrap. I’m home.”

  Mousetrap opened his eyes. He looked happy as could be, lying on the dirty, oily ground next to the skinny, orange and black and white cat.

  “Mousetrap,” Murphy coaxed as he stretched the full length of his arm under the car. “I’ve got supper for you.”

  Mousetrap strolled out from under the car and stretched his back. His hair was streaked with black oil from the underside of the car and his paws were gray. Murphy held him away from his body as he packed him into the house.

  “Mousetrap got out again today,” Murphy told Mom when she got home from work.

  “You did?” she said as she stroked Mousetrap’s head. His white hair, usually fluffy and soft, hung limp against his body.

  “He likes it out there,” Murphy said. “He didn’t come when I called. He was sleeping under a car next to that ugly orange and black and white cat.”

  Mom laughed. But Murphy didn’t think it was very funny.

  “But he’s not pure white anymore,” Murphy said.

  “He doesn’t know he’s turned a little brown,” Mom said.

  “He could get lost, or run over, or stolen,” Murphy said. “Or the other cats could beat him up.”

  “He won’t get hurt,” Mom said. “Cats love it outside. They’re like little boys. They like to play with each other.”

  Not like every little boy. Murphy didn’t want to play outside with the boys. He didn’t want to get dirty, and he didn’t want to get lost or hurt. He wanted to stay inside where it was safe. He wished Mousetrap felt the same way.

  11

  Each afternoon that week Grandma had some reason to open the door to the apartment, and each day Murphy ran home from the bus and found Mousetrap gone.

  Then Grandma would stick her head out the window and call out, “He took off again.”

  On Friday, Grandma met Murphy before he headed to the basement. “I decided I should let your cat outside,” she said. “He likes it outside better.”

  Mousetrap was happy to see Murphy after school. He was happy to eat salmon or fried halibut. He spent so much time outside that he got a hungry look on his face and gobbled his food like he hadn’t eaten for days.

  Murphy finally agreed with Grandma. Mousetrap liked playing with the other cats. He liked wandering around the reserve and sleeping under the cars. But he didn’t look soft and white anymore. At night, he left dusty smudges on Murphy’s sheets when he crawled into bed. Mom said he had to sleep on his velvet pillow because she didn’t want to wash Murphy’s bedding every day.

  At least Mousetrap gave Murphy a way to avoid playing soccer with the boys. Tuesday afternoon on the bus, Jeff had said, “Hey Murphy, want to play soccer at the field?”

  “Gotta go straight home and find my cat,” Murphy answered.

  Wednesday, Jeff asked the same question, “You coming to play soccer?”

  “I’m not feeling so good yet,” Murphy said.

  Thursday, Jeff said, “Come on cousin, we miss you in goal.”

  “Maybe later. My mom wants me to clean up the apartment.” Murphy felt bad when he told Jeff a lie. So on Friday he got on the bus late and sat in the front behind the driver to avoid Jeff’s invitation. When the bus stopped at the end of their street he hurried off and ran home without stopping.

  Murphy felt relieved. Maybe now the boys would forget about him. Maybe he wouldn’t have to play soccer again, ever, in his whole life.

  “Time to get up,” Mom called to Murphy with a cheery voice. It was Saturday and Murphy had the whole day to himself. He lay still for a few minutes thinking that he would take some containers to the beach and collect stones. Thin rays of sun filtered through the window. It was warm—a perfect day for the beach. Maybe Mom would come too.

  “Hey, you,” Mom said as she pulled back the bedroom curtain, “I’m going into town with Auntie Brenda this morning.”

  “I wanted to go to the beach,” Murphy said. “And I wanted you to come too. There’s real colorful stones there.”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” Mom said. “I’ve already made plans.”

  “I’ll come with you then,” Murphy said.

  “You won’t want to shop with the women,” she said. “I won’t be gone long.”

  Before Mom finished talking there was a loud knock on the door. Murphy rolled over and faced the wall. He pulled his blankets over his head, but he could still hear Albert’s voice: “Hey. Murphy here?”

  Not again.

  “Yeah,” Mom said. “He’s still in bed.” Then she called out, “Murphy, the boys are here.”

  Murphy didn’t move.

  “We’re playing soccer,” Jeff said. “Murphy was goalie last weekend. Did he tell you?”

  “Kind of,” Mom said.

  “Yeah,” Albert said. “We’ll see how good he is this weekend.”

  He lay still, but Mom persisted.

  “Come on, Murphy, the boys are waiting.”

  Murphy felt like someone had pushed him into a corner and was leaning on him. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t say he was going shopping with Mom; she’d just said no to that. He couldn’t say he didn’t feel well; Mom knew better.

  “Hurry up, Murphy!” Jeff called out. “We’ll wait upstairs.”

  “Don’t keep us waiting too long,” Albert added. Then the door shut.

  “I’m so glad the boys like playing with you,” Mom said. “Cousins everywhere just like I said.”

  She didn’t know anything. She couldn’t tell from the sound of Albert’s voice that Murphy would be lucky to get home alive.

  He got up, changed and ate a bowl of cereal without saying much. Mousetrap sat next to him. Murphy stroked Mousetrap’s head and looked at how his cat had changed in just a couple of weeks. He looked tougher, leaner, but happy enough. Mom looked happy too. Shopping trips with her cousin, more money at work, Grandma upstairs, her sisters close by—the reserve was a
good place for Mom. And it was a good place for Mousetrap. But it didn’t feel like a good place for Murphy.

  “I’m heading out now, Murphy,” Mom said. “You have a good time.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Murphy said.

  “I’ll be home to make supper,” Mom added.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  After Mom left, Murphy slipped on his old jacket and headed out the door.

  “Stay inside today, Mousetrap,” he said. “You never know what could happen to you out there.”

  Murphy crept up the stairs and walked into Grandma’s kitchen. Albert was lounging on a kitchen chair. “It’s about time,” he said. “What were you doing? Curling your hair?”

  Danny had joined Jeff and Albert, and together the four boys headed for the field.

  “Hey, Albert,” the boy with big front teeth and glasses called out when he joined them.

  “Hey, Levi,” Albert gave him a high five. “It’s gonna be a good game today.”

  Two boys were waiting at the field when Murphy and the others arrived. They were tall and looked even older than Albert.

  “You the guy that can play goalie?” one of them asked.

  Murphy ignored his question. He didn’t want to say that there had been a big mistake—he wasn’t really a goalie at all.

  “This the guy?” the other boy asked Albert. “We heard he’s really got hands. Snags the ball and doesn’t let go.”

  “Whatever,” Albert sneered. “We’ll see how good he is.”

  Two more boys appeared.

  “Haywire, Rory,” Jeff shouted. “What’s going on?”

  Haywire wasn’t much taller than Murphy. After a moment, Murphy decided he wasn’t much older either. Rory had light brown hair and skin—almost as light as Murphy. And he was only eight or nine years old.

  Murphy stepped away from the circle the boys had formed around Albert and Levi. They slapped each other on the back and made plans to form a team for a tournament.

  “Yay, Buckskins!” Albert shouted. “We’ll do it this year!”

  “We’re number one!” Levi hollered.

  All the boys clapped and cheered.

  Murphy thought of making a getaway for home. He wasn’t part of a team. No one would notice if he was missing. The boys were too big and loud. They knew how to play soccer. They were number one. Buckskins didn’t sound like Murphy’s kind of team whatsoever.