POST FOUR

 After several days of mostly fog, mist, gray skies, and rain, today’s sun feels fantastic. I’m sprawled on the deck, assessing life.

Christmas is ten days away. I’ve decided to ignore the ground squirrel problem until after the holidays. A cat can only do so much, you know? With the onset of winter and rain, and a busy winery, I need to concentrate on my job. 

 

Lately it’s been especially lively. The Concords finished fermenting, and He Who Must Be Obeyed has been pressing them and moving wine between tanks and a variety of barrels. Last week there was a wine pickup party (barrel rearrangement with forklift, HWMBO’s band, food, wine) and a huge wine club shipment (boxes, packing material, moving pallets and boxes with forklift). Now people are coming in to purchase wine, port, and brandy holiday gifts. Through it all I’ve remained vigilant. 

 

I’m not averse to doing my share of customer service. I like greeting customers. Many of them chat with me and give scratches and rubs. Rather a nice perk of the job.

 

Since HWMBO’s workload has increased, I’ve been giving him a paw and helping with the forklift by guiding and spotting. I don’t want to sound pompous, but HWMBO doesn’t allow just anyone to help operate the forklift. I’m an exception. With my superlative mouse detection skills and my fast-as-a-snapping-mousetrap reflexes, I’m a keen lookout. 

 

I should have known forklift training was coming when he taught me to drive the car. Granted, I’m unlicensed and can’t drive on the street, but there’re two big parking lots and a long private driveway that are fair game. I think HWMBO realized almost immediately that I was a natural. All that practice capturing mice, I guess. Hundreds of hours spent developing patience, good judgement, and a steady paw even in hair-raising circumstances.

 

Somewhere behind me I heard a soft, skittery sound. Time I got back to work.

 

I stretched, stood, and identified the source of the noise.

 

“Mustcat,” Simon the lizard said. “Can I interest you in a game of keep away?”

 

“Sure,” I said. I looked around for his mate. “Where’s Sheila? Doesn’t she want to play?”

 

Simon glanced over his shoulder. “Not sure where she is. Where’s Mustache?” 

 

“He’s patrolling the field. I guess it’s just you and me.”

 

Simon’s tongue flicked out and in. Soon after moving here, Simon started working as my trainer. He keeps my skills sharp. 

 

We lunged simultaneously—him darting away, me giving chase. He went over the edge of the deck and paused among the grape vine trunks. I flew off the deck and crouched a foot away. We eyed each other, grinning and breathing fast. 

 

I reached out, managing to connect with his tail as he turned and scurried out to the gravel lot. I raced after him. He put on the speed and added some fine darting technique. It kept me shifting right and left. He was headed for the grouping of plants near the steps. I’d lose him if he scurried in there. I strained hard. Just as I reached him, something brown darted between my feet. 

 

“Boo!” Sheila yelled.

 

Startled, I twisted and jumped, all four paws going airborne. I landed and saw Sheila and Simon hunched between two pots. 

 

“Sorry,” Simon said, rolling his eyes. “I had to promise not to warn you.”

 

“It’s okay,” I said. “It made a nice addition to the action.”

 

Sheila laughed. “It was my idea,” she confessed. “I’ve been so bored, and it sounded like fun. I tried to get Mustache to chase me, but he didn’t want to.” The ridges over her eyes lifted. “Is he sick or something?”

 

Sick? A rock landed in my gut and my stomach churned. Could Mustache be ill? Was that why he was acting so strange? I looked toward the railroad tracks but didn’t see him. I’ve already asked him what was wrong, and he denied he had a problem. Now even the lizards were noticing. I’m not imagining it. 

 

Gravel crunching beneath its tires, an SUV pulled up. “Catch you later,” I said, and winked. Simon and Sheila chuckled, and slipped between a crack in the steps. I headed back toward the visitors.