Mudville Read Free Page A

is cluttered with open cans and dripping bowls. Our old orange Manx cat, Yogi, is licking a broken egg on the floor. He's a weird cat. We've had him since before I was born. He's probably about 112 in cat years.
    “Roy!” My dad gives me an awkward hug and gets some-thing sticky on my shirt. “Sorry I didn't hear you come in,” he says. “Hey, can you please get me the Dijon mustard and Tabasco?”
    I nudge Yogi aside to get the condiments out of the fridge while my father adds big chunks of Spam to the blender and pushes a button.
    “Did you meet Sturgis?” He spoons mustard and Tabasco into the mixture and gives the blender another spin. “He's only two months older than you, you know. You guys are practically twins.”
    “Yeah, I met him.”
    “Great. Hey, can you put those noodles in a baking dish?”
    “So what's the story with him anyway?”
    “The noodles, Roy! They're overcooking!”
    I pour the boiling contents of the pot into a colander to drain. When the steam clears, I see that it's manicotti tubes. I peel them apart and lay them out in the baking dish.
    “So what's going on?” I ask again.
    “Well, his mom passed away, and his dad … Well, you know about some kids’ dads, right?”
    “Sure.”
    “Darn it, I was supposed to put tomato sauce on this.” My dad looks forlornly at his Spam manicotti. I hope he tosses the whole mess and sends out for a pizza instead. “Well, I'll put tomato soup on it. That'll be just as good.” He grabs a jar of Campbell's from the cupboard and dumps it over the manicotti.
    “Anyway, Sturgis was living with his grandma, but they decided she couldn't take care of him anymore. She could barely take care of herself anymore. Serious health problems. So now he's living with us.”
    “But when—when did you do all this? Like, sign up to be a foster dad?”
    “I didn't really mean to,” he explains. “I just asked about it, thinking … I don't know, that I could get information and see if we qualified, then you'd come back and we'd talk about it and see where it went.”
    “So why didn't you?”
    “I think once they have your name, you're in some kind of database. Like, if they have more kids than they have places, they go to that database and start making calls. Sturgis, he was an emergency situation. One more kid than they had any room for. So they called me out of the blue and asked me if I could do it for the time being.”
    “They didn't have
anywhere
else for him to go?”
    “Apparently not.”
    “So what would happen if you said no? Would he go to a homeless shelter? Or would he sleep on a cot in someone's office until they found a place for him?”
    “I don't know,” my dad admits. “Just drop it, okay? He is staying with us, so it doesn't matter.”
    “I was just wondering.” What does happen to kids no-body wants? I don't think there are orphanages anymore. “Do you know what happened to him? His ear and every-thing?”
    “It's a lucky kid who makes it through life whole. Hey, maybe you can get Sturgis settled a bit before dinner? We'll eat in about half an hour.”
    “Sure,” I tell him. “Um … where's he going to sleep?”
    “I thought your room?” He's looking at me closely, to see how I'll react. The fact is, I like having my own room, even if it's big enough for two. I don't really want to share. It's hard to hold it against a kid who's an emergency situation, though.
    “I'm just not ready to give up the home office,” my dad explains. “It's my only office.”
    “It's okay,” I tell him, acting like it's no big deal. “I have to go unpack anyway. I'll carve out a space for him among the stuff.”
    “You're a great kid, Roy.” He puts the pan in the oven and prepares to do something with a bag of frozen spinach and a can of mandarin oranges.
    “Darn it,” he says, looking in the fridge, “I'm out ofMiracle Whip. Now how am I supposed to make the spinach salad?”
    I dump my clothes from camp into the hamper, then open