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 wouldnât 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.
âHey, Mousetrap, Iâm home,â Murphy called.
He walked through the living room to his bedroom and threw his coat and bag on the bed.
âMousetrap, where are you?â Murphy said. He placed his hands on his hips like Mom did when she really meant what she was saying.
âIâm coming,â he called.
He kicked off his shoes and walked softly on his toes.
âIâll find you.â
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.
âIâm coming, ready or not,â 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 Mousetrapâs favorite sleeping spot. He loved to lie next to the warm screen, but Murphy had a feeling he wouldnât be there when the computer was turned off.
âYou little sneak,â 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 couldnât 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?
âCome on, Mousetrap!â Murphy called. This time he had a quiver in his voice. âI know youâre here.â
Momâs room was next. As he entered, he thought he saw the edge of the bedspread twitch slightly. Murphy tiptoed across thefloor and lifted the bedspread. Mousetrapâs thick fluffy white tail sprang out from under the bed. Murphy dropped to his knees and gathered up his cat.
âI got you,â he said. He buried his face in the furry ball. âGood hiding spot.â
Mousetrap was just as happy as Murphy when he was finally found. He rubbed his soft face against Murphyâs cheek and climbed up onto his shoulders. He curled around Murphyâs 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
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 wouldnât 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.
âHey, Mousetrap, Iâm home,â Murphy called.
He walked through the living room to his bedroom and threw his coat and bag on the bed.
âMousetrap, where are you?â Murphy said. He placed his hands on his hips like Mom did when she really meant what she was saying.
âIâm coming,â he called.
He kicked off his shoes and walked softly on his toes.
âIâll find you.â
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.
âIâm coming, ready or not,â 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 Mousetrapâs favorite sleeping spot. He loved to lie next to the warm screen, but Murphy had a feeling he wouldnât be there when the computer was turned off.
âYou little sneak,â 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 couldnât 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?
âCome on, Mousetrap!â Murphy called. This time he had a quiver in his voice. âI know youâre here.â
Momâs room was next. As he entered, he thought he saw the edge of the bedspread twitch slightly. Murphy tiptoed across thefloor and lifted the bedspread. Mousetrapâs thick fluffy white tail sprang out from under the bed. Murphy dropped to his knees and gathered up his cat.
âI got you,â he said. He buried his face in the furry ball. âGood hiding spot.â
Mousetrap was just as happy as Murphy when he was finally found. He rubbed his soft face against Murphyâs cheek and climbed up onto his shoulders. He curled around Murphyâs 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
Similar Books
