The Door part 1

The waves of wind swirling around just outside the door, the gusts bringing a cold chill. The cold penetrating down to the bone of the handsome black alley cat, whose green eyes glistened with joy at the sound of approaching footsteps. He'd heard them before these steps of fools, or didn't you know? For he had watched. this particular door of splintering wood opens and closes thousands of times. The brass hinges were always well oiled and it was the last of it's kind. A door that had withstood the ages.

The cat knew that there were doors very similar to this one around the world, yet our fury friend was one of the only creatures who knew the true nature of this particular door. As uninspiring as it may seem today, it had once been warm mahogany freshly painted and opening to a field of poppy flowers. It had stood here for so long that our feline company had forgotten what it was like on the other side. He had been a watcher of sorts you see, during his first decade of watching he had seen many mysterious goings-on.

He would only leave for a short while each day to eat and return to bask in the wonder of the front stoop he had called his home for more than a century.

He had no name nor desire for one, that was a silly human need, though the lady that had been feeding him this past twenty years called him whiskers, which suited his sensibilities just fine. After all, he had whiskers and to him, they were the finest of any feline, a part of his pride, he'd spent hours cleansing them and not only were they a practical thing but a lovely thing.

Alas, the lady Margaret Malory had recently passed away, and he had grown weary of this place for the last time.

When he heard the sounds of the footsteps he knew three people were coming down the alleyway, in dress shoes no less. Which to him only meant one thing, for the first time in twenty-three years the door would again be opened.