I've had a few security breaches in the past with my personal cellar.
Earlier this I year, I wrote about my then-teenage son and his buddies dipping into some of my rare, but mostly undrinkable, collectibles.
I've lost track of some prized vintages, when I've let my friends pick through the bins looking for that special bottle. I’ve also forgotten about wines I've had and wines I've given away as gifts.
But the other day, while attempting to clean out my garage (an enduring, endless, never-quite-completed endeavor), I was startled by what I found—a tiny pile of dinky pieces of cardboard and Styrofoam lying on the floor.
As I bent over for closer inspection, I saw that a corner of the cardboard box and Styrofoam, in which a double magnum of Cabernet had been packaged and stored in the garage while I was reorganizing my cellar, had been, well, eaten away.
It took me a moment to figure it out: A mouse (or mice) had nibbled through the box and insulation, no doubt needing it for a nest. (It's been cold, in the 20s and 30s overnight in Napa, for the past few weeks.)
But what bothered me the most was that the box was about ten feet from where my big, white, sharp-clawed cat sleeps.
How could that happen? A mouse munching on a cardboard-Styrofoam sandwich at night, right next to Jarvis’ twin-sized bed.
A totally unacceptable breach of security. Or was it an inside job?
Obviously the cat isn't pulling his weight. Not when a mouse can invade our fortress undetected.
Then my son suggested that maybe the mouse is gone, and that Jarvis got his man. I wonder.