How to Moon a Cat by Rebecca M. Hale Read Free Book Online Page A

designated buildings. These rules had changed frequently, morphing spontaneously to accommodate the capricious whims of the Commissioner. Despite numerous requests, I’d been unable to obtain a copy of these oftquoted regulations. I had serious doubts as to whether a formal paper version even existed.
    Nevertheless, Monty had proceeded to barge his way into all the homes and businesses in Jackson Square under the pretext of inspecting them for compliance. Anyone who resisted his entry was confronted with a blustery charade in which he waved a blank tablet in the air and threatened to begin issuing citations.
    “You’ll have to talk to Rupert,” I replied flatly to Monty’s raised eyebrows. “He tore into the wall last night.” I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for the act to play itself out.
    Rupert adopted his best “Who, me?” impersonation, and Monty’s admonishing expression broke into a broad smile. He directed his pointed finger at Rupert. “Lucky for you, I’ve given up the commissioner’s position.”
    The whole of Jackson Square had breathed a collective sigh of relief a few weeks back when the Mayor promoted Monty to his cabinet, prompting his resignation from the commissioner’s seat. Due to current budget restraints, his replacement had yet to be named. After Monty’s tenure, we were all hoping the position would be eliminated—permanently.
    Many puzzled, however, over Monty’s new role in the Mayor’s cabinet. As far back as anyone could remember, no mayor in the history of San Francisco had employed a personal life coach on his staff of advisors. Certainly, none had included an assistant life coach, the job title Monty had assumed.
    While Monty touted his own credentials at every opportunity, an aura of mystique surrounded his boss, the Mayor’s Life Coach. Despite numerous attempts by both the media and the Board of Supervisors, the anonymous figure had never been seen, heard, or even photographed. Every aspect of the man’s identity remained cloistered in secrecy.
    On the streets of San Francisco, perplexed citizens scratched their heads in confusion. What exactly was a life coach, they wondered, and why did the Mayor need one? Moreover, particularly in these tough economic times, how could the Mayor possibly justify a life coach’s assistant ?
    Given Monty’s frequent visits to the Green Vase, I’d had plenty of opportunities to quiz him on the topic of life coaching, but thus far, I had declined to do so. Quite frankly, I was afraid to ask.
    Presumably, the life coaching staff at City Hall was tasked with pulling the Mayor out of the midlife crisis that had dogged him for the past several months. It had been a tough year for San Francisco’s beleaguered Mayor. He had never quite regained his gravitas following last summer’s infamous frog invasion of City Hall.
    There had been widespread press coverage mocking the Mayor’s desperate panic-stricken retreat from the masses of frogs milling about the rotunda beneath City Hall’s decorative dome. The Mayor had refused to return to his office until several SWAT team sweeps confirmed that every last amphibian had been evacuated.
    The Mayor’s attempt to explain the situation to a local television reporter had resulted in an awkward and embarrassing interview that he had eventually terminated by walking out. After that experience, he had declared a moratorium on further interaction with the press.
    Prominent newspaper columnists had responded by openly questioning the Mayor’s prospects in the upcoming gubernatorial race as well as his mental stability. Mayoral recall proposals began routinely appearing in the “Letters to the Editor” section of the Chronicle .
    To make matters worse, a local prankster in a chicken costume who occasionally showed up at the Mayor’s public appearances had modified his act to reflect recent events. His expanded routine now included an innovative frog-hopping bird dance, a video of which had