Crenshaw

43

About an hour later, our landlord came by our apartment. He had an envelope in his hand. He hugged my mom and shook my dad’s hand and said he wished things could be different. I knew what the paper was because I could see the words at the top.

It said FINAL EVICTION NOTICE. Which meant we had to leave the apartment.

My dad leaned against the wall. There wasn’t anywhere to sit anymore.

“Kids,” he said, “looks like we’re going to be taking a little drive.”

“To Grandma’s?” asked Robin.

“Not exactly,” said my mom. She slammed a cupboard door shut.

My dad knelt down next to Robin. He had to use his cane to keep steady. “We have to move, baby. But it will be fun. You’ll see.”

Robin’s eyes bored into me. “You told me it would be okay, Jacks,” she said. “You lied.”

“I didn’t lie,” I lied.

“This isn’t Jackson’s fault, Robin,” my mom said. “Don’t blame him. Blame us.”

I didn’t wait to hear any more. I ran to my room. Crenshaw was lying on my bed.

I sat next to him, and when I buried my head in his fur, he didn’t object. He purred loudly.

I cried a little, but not much. There wasn’t any point.

Once I read a book called Why Cats Purr and Other Feline Mysteries.

Turns out nobody knows for sure why cats purr.

It’s surprising how much stuff adults don’t know.