Santa Clawed

backyard, nearly giving the fussy cat a heart attack. Both Mrs. Murphy and Tucker were careful not to bring it up, because Pewter would rant at the least, swat them at the worst.

    “What’s mince?”
Flatface asked.
    “I don’t know,”
Tucker replied.
    “It’s things cut up into tiny pieces,”
answered Mrs. Murphy.
“Mom makes a meat pie; the meat is minced, but she adds other things to it and it’s kind of sweet. I saw her baking pies, and I know she made a small one for you.”
    “What’s she giving me?”
Simon hoped it was as good as a mince pie.
    “She’s making you maple syrup icicles. She’s got a bag of marshmallows, too, and I think she’s made up a special mash for the horses. I saw her cooking it all, but I don’t know what she’s put into it. She’ll warm it up Christmas morning. Maybe she’ll give you some.”
    “Goody.”
His whiskers twitched.
    Flatface, not always the most convivial with four-legged animals, was feeling expansive.
“I saw something strange.”
When the others waited for her to continue, she puffed out her considerable chest and said,
“I was flying up along the crest of the mountains. Wanted to see what was coming in across the Shenandoah Valley. When I came back, I swooped down toward all those walnut trees in the land that Susan Tucker inherited from her uncle, the old monk.”
She paused, shifted her weight, then continued.
“Well, you know there are all those old fire trails leading off both sides of the mountain’s spine. I saw two men in a Jeep heading down toward the walnut stand. So I perched in a tree when they stopped. They got out and put a big green metal box next to the first set of boulder outcroppings. They opened the box—it was full of money—counted it, put the money back, and shut the box. They left it there.”
    Simon stared at Flatface. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker looked at each other, then up to the owl.
    “Did you know who they were?”
Tucker inquired.
    “No, but a sticker with the caduceus on it was on the windshield of the Jeep.”
Flatface, with her fantastic vision, could pick out a mouse from high in the air. Seeing a sticker was easy.
    Tucker swept her ears forward.
“That sounds like a lot of money.”
    “Is,”
Flatface chirped low.
    Mrs. Murphy, mind flying, inquired,
“Was there a lock on the box?”
    “No. It’s one of those toolboxes like Harry uses. I can lift up the latch with my talon and then slip the U ring over the latch. Easy as mouse pie.”
She glanced down at Mrs. Murphy’s paws.
“Your claws are long enough to lift up the latch. Don’t know if you could pull over the U ring. Might could.”
    “What did you see over the valley?”
Tucker wondered.
    “Snowstorm’s building up. Be here in another two hours, maybe a little longer. It’s big. Can’t you feel it coming?”
    “Sure,”
Simon piped up, then flattered the large bird.
“But you can fly up the mountain and see everything. You’re the best weather predictor there is.”
    Flatface blinked appreciatively.
“Batten down the hatches.”
    Their entrance covered by a tack trunk, the mice living behind the walls tittered as the two friends left the barn.
    The oldest male grumbled,
“Mouse pie.”
    Once outside, Mrs. Murphy turned to Tucker and said,
“Come on. We’ve got enough time.”
    The cat and dog, moving at a brisk trot, covered the back hundred acres in no time. The land rose gently on the other side of the deep creek. The angle grew sharper as they climbed upward. At a dogtrot, the walnut stand lay twenty-five minutes from the barn. The animals knew the place well, not only because Susan and Harry routinely checked the walnuts and other timber but because a large female bear lived in a den in one of the rock outcroppings. They knew the bear in passing, often chatting with her on the back acres or commenting on her cubs.
    As they reached the walnut trees, the wind picked up a little. At the edge of the big stand—acres in itself—they saw the green metal box, which had been tucked under a low ledge just as Flatface described it.
    Tucker put her paw behind it and pushed it away from the huge rock.
    “I can pop it.”
Mrs. Murphy exposed her claws, hooked one under the small lip, lifted up the latch, then hooked the upper U latch and pulled it over.
    “I can press the release button.”
Tucker hit the metal square button in the middle of the latch.
    The latch clicked and the lid lifted right up. Thousands of dollars, each packet bound