Murray has a bedroom. He claimed it the day he moved in. It’s right near the rear window that faces Manhattan. It’s down by the heater, tucked between the white radiator cover and the wall. It’s more of a corner than a bedroom but he doesn’t know the difference. And being a New Yorker, where square footage is a hot commodity, every little bit counts. It’s his bedroom. He brings stuff there. He steals napkins, crackers, muffins, crumbs, candy wrappers, candy, cookies, cheese slices, and pretty much anything else he can get his paws on. And nothing seems too heavy or unruly for him. He has a stuffed bear that he kidnaps and takes there as well. And that’s adorable. I have yet to get a decent photo of it, unfortunately. But you’ll just have to take my word for it. The stuffed bear is so big that once it’s in his mouth it covers his eyes and blocks his view. There have been a few times where he’s actually run into a chair leg or table leg on on his way to his room.
When we clean up, he gets very uppity if we go near his bedroom. And that breaks my heart. (It broke my heart even before I hopped on the hormonal roller coaster.) He looks at me as if to say, “What are you doing to my bedroom, Mama! Why are you taking away my collections?!” As much as I’d love to leave Murray to his crumbs, muffin tops, and candy wrappers, we’re not really given much of a choice in the matter. We live in New York City, after all. Leaving crumbs lying about is a surefire way to end up with bugs. And I hate bugs.
A few days ago, my mother was sitting at the kitchen table having some breakfast. I was picking up as much as possible while the baby slept. My mother made a funny sound. “He’s gotten into something again.” She said. I looked over to and found Murray on the small table that stands outside the kitchen. It’s about 3 feet away from his bedroom. The little thief had added something new to his repertoire, something a lot more important than a few crackers or a piece of candy.
Murray was stealing our money.