My Life as Norman Whiskers: The Forbidden Doors

In the Christie house there are many doors, and as I am beginning to feel quite at home here, I decide to set out on an expedition to find out what is behind them. First thing to do is to lose my governess for a few hours. Left to myself, I can let my curiosity guide me without inhibition.

I lead her to a giant statue of cookies on the dining room table, encouraging her to climb up on a chair to reach it. I slice through the plastic with my claw, at her bidding. Henceforth she becomes thoroughly preoccupied by the human treats. Soon, my Lady spies the governess in the dining room, and instead of scolding her, joins in on the feeding time. While this great Cookie Blackout ensues, I begin my quest to find out what lurks behind the doors.

Perhaps I might find a mouse or possum, I think, licking my lips. Most doors reveal drab and uneventful rooms, I'm afraid. Then I come across an attic door. I ascend the narrow steps and push my way under the hatch. "Famous!" I shout, with excitement, upon viewing the attic rooms. Surely it is a trapped pigeon I smell under the rafters in a far corner. What I find, however, is very surprising. It is a bird indeed, of the large jet-black kind, and he is rather dead. Crushed even. "Yuk." I say, lifting my paws and hopping back.

I hear a creak beneath my tail and listen. Certain that it is not the sound of air whistling out the back of me, which happens occasionally if I snack on greasy french fries, I look beneath me. I discover a trap door of some sort. "Capital!" I shout, again delighted at my discovery.

I am interrupted, however, by the sweet sound of my Lady calling my new name.

"Norman! Where are you?!"

I hear her ascending the steps to the bedroom chambers. I lift the hatch and slide back down the attic steps, sprawling myself on the floor in front of entrance to the governess' room.

"Norman? I was just up here and could not find you. Are you up to some scheme? Still waiting for you to talk again. I'm not going to forget you can do it, Norman. Since I know for sure that you can understand me, listen up. Never, never go in the attic. The house is very old, one hundred and eight, in fact. Up there," she says, pointing, "lies great danger for a cat."

My Lady bends down and kisses my head, as I look at the floor, avoiding her eyes. I know that I can not obey, when it comes to mysterious doors, and I must return to the attic directly, when the coast is clear, of course!

Cheerio!

-Norman Whiskers