P the cat is not allowed downstairs because his elderly, arthritic legs have a hard time making the climb. (In addition, his kidneys are unpredictable.) Instead, we let him roam around most of the upstairs where H spends his workday and I have my office. Because curiosity sometimes gets the best of P, we’ve blocked off the top of the main stairs with a baby gate, which means that we are obliged to use an alternate route at the far end of the house. H and I laughingly refer to this stairwell as the service entrance. We have been trained too well; on those rare occasions when we take down the gate (for company, say) we walk right past the main stairway without thinking.
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