Conal opens them and closes them. Chili gets locked in closets behind them. Conal pounds on them. Chili cries in front of sliding ones, desperate to get out.

We’re battling doors. When the howls and cries and pounding combine, I think it is time to get rid of them. The doors, that is. Not the boy. Nor the cat.

But — oh yeah — it’s cold outside. So, I guess we’ll keep the doors. And the boy. And the cat. And live with the howls and cries and pounding.

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