Greg inherited his job from his father, who had inherited it from his father before him, and so on back for several hundred years.
Greg was, perhaps, the last in a long line. For few, these days, respected the noble post of cat herder.
Cats did not herd themselves. But with modern techniques in animal husbandry, and a recent trend towards purely domestic cats, Greg was at risk of losing his position.
Still, there were some cats in need of herding. The government helped protect the historic traditions, and Greg would have work until he died, unless some conservative schlepp gained power and decided to shut it all down. The National Cat Herding Society was small but mighty, though, and it would take a lot to get rid of them.
Some people still needed a well-herded cat. Some people just liked to see the herders out in their bright red head-stockings, their thick pants and plaid shirts, their long, hooked staffs.
Greg dressed the part, and made sure to do his bit for the society, attending town meetings and festivals, bringing a few of his prized herd wherever he went.
But his son wanted to move to the city, try something new. The day his boy mentioned dog breeding, Greg was devastated, knew his late wife would have wept and wept, but Greg held himself together and nodded. The boy left for urban climes, and Greg continued to herd.
And the day a young lad asked him how he did it, Greg knew he had found an heir.