January 21

grimy mug next to Dough’s, letting his dirty fingers stray across Cor’s fur.  Then he jammed his cold hands into his work jacket pockets.  He was sitting on a metal folding chair with his scarecrow legs bent into right angles.  Dough sat in his chair like a soiled sack of laundry.  Both men were twenty-year veterans at the factory and knew every inch of the smoking mill.

“Hell, at this rate, they’ll never get the new plant built on time,” said Layshock, peering dubiously into his cup.  He set it back on the stove, just missing Cor’s tail.  “An’ I was hopin’ for my own desk and secretary at the new place, too!”  The oily creases around his eyes slid together when he laughed.

“Whattaya think of that, Mouseater?” Mazur gave Cor’s ears a scratch. “Y’think Dough here rates havin’ his own office?”

Cor raised two whiskers, joining in the hoots and snorts.

Deciding to chance the coffee, Dough said, “Wish they’d forget about that new building and give us all a raise–y’know, spend the money on us guys.  I hear they’re not gonna upgrade the machinery or make a systems change…they’re gonna keep the equipment we have, least for now.”

“No reason to buy new,” Harry shrugged his bony shoulders deeper into his jacket, rocking his chair back on two legs. “We’re the most modern plant ’round here since old Sawyer renovated those few years back.”

“So why’re we moving to Long View Road?” 

Harry waited for a series of metallic bangs and shrieking whistles to end before replying.  “Wrightley gets a sweet tax deal on the land up there.  Doesn’t have to pay a cent for ten years, and can write off relocating costs.  And he doesn’t have to take down this here old place; he can walk away and leave its carcass for the rats and pigeons.”

Cor’s ears twitched at the prospect of rats and pigeons—but he decided it was more important to stay put on the stove and get the nip on Wrightley’s plans.

Layshock and Mazur bent together over their cups, enjoying confidences if not the coffee.  “I heard that old man Sawyer told Wrightley he oughtta build onto this place….y’know, just add another finishing mill.  We’d be producing twice as much and be making more bucks for everybody.  But Wrightley’s not interested in that.  He’ll build a new place on subsidized money with huge offices and less manufacturing space.  Then he’ll get rid of  “unnecessary” workers…that’s you ’n me, Dough.  He’ll give us a crappy retirement option, and hire new guys for less pay.  You wait and see.”

What kind of creatures were men, Cor wondered, that they spent so much time working against each other? “Doesn’t make a clawfull lot of sense,” he thought.

Soon his factory buddies went back to the furnace where coils of steel were being rolled into industrial pipe. Both men were used to the showers of sparks that erupted from this process, but Cor made sure to keep his paws far away from the fireworks.