Article Options

Can you see me?

Saturday, August 6, 2005 9:06 AM CDT

Can you see me?

"The closing of a door can bring blessed privacy and comfort - the opening, terror. Conversely, the closing of a door can be a sad and final thing - the opening a wonderfully joyous moment." - Andy Rooney

A couple implements a new open-door policy.

By Dena Harris

When she was little, my sister used to poke her fingers beneath the bathroom door and wiggle them.

"Can you see me?" she'd ask.

"Go away," whoever was inside would answer.

She would shove her hand further beneath the door.

"Now? Can you see me now?"

"Yes, I see you now. Can you go away for a few minutes?"

The hand would disappear and there would be a light thud as she leaned her small body against the door.

"When are you coming out?"

We were all happy to see that phase end, and I thought my days of being stalked through closed doors were over. I admit to giggling when friends moaned about how their children never left them alone, even when they were in the bathroom.

"Should've had cats," I informed them smugly.

But my life of bathroom solitude has been upended. Both my cats have recently decided that they can't abide a closed door, be it a closet door, bedroom door or - you guessed it - bathroom door.

They scared the daylights out of me the first time. I'd awoken in the middle of the night and groped my way to the bathroom. Half-asleep, I had just closed the door when suddenly, "Whump!" The bathroom door flew open, and a small tabby cat stood illuminated in the doorway. She gazed steadily at me before turning away. My heart raced. I felt like I'd been given a warning visit by the kitty Mafia: Keep the door open, or else.

I alerted my husband the next morning. "Better lock the door when you're in the bathroom."

"Why?"

"It's the cats," I said, looking over my shoulder. "They don't like closed doors."

"Uh-huh," he said slowly. "And I should be concerned ... why?"

But Mister Oh-So-Smart wasn't laughing when the cats body - slammed the bathroom door open while he was inside. I was upstairs when I heard his call for help.

"Would you get the cats out of here?" he asked. "I'd like some privacy."

So we started locking the door. That's when tiny paws began to appear underneath the door.

It was cute for a while. A tiny white paw would slide beneath the door and tap the floor.

Can you see me?

But then there was the talking. Finding that the door wouldn't budge and unable to reach us from beneath the door, the cats would sit outside the locked door and "talk" to the person inside.

"Mrow. Rowr-rowr. Mow?" When are you coming out?

The best, though, was coming home early and finding both cats sitting outside the bathroom where my husband had locked himself in. He was talking back to them.

"Rowr? Meow, meow," said the cats.

"Yeah, I know. I hate when that happens," he answered through the closed door.

"Purr, rowr-meow."

"Really? So what did you say back?"

"Mow! Psfft! Meow."

"Ah, ha ha," he said. "You are so clever."

"Honey?" I knocked. "Everything OK?"

There was a moment of silence. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he called back.

I wasn't letting him off that easy. I squatted on the floor and wriggled my fingers beneath the door. "Can you see me?" I asked.

"Go away," he said.

I scratched on the door. "So when are you coming out?"

"The minute I do I'm having you committed," he warned. "Go away!"

And so it went. We had pretty much resigned ourselves to the situation when luck struck.

One day, I went into the bathroom and didn't close the door. No cats appeared. Excellent. I shared my discovery that night with my husband.

"I broke the code!" I said. "We need to adopt an open-door policy. If you don't close the door, they take no interest in what you're doing."

He seemed less than thrilled. "But I like closing the door."

I sighed. "Close the door and have an audience, or enjoy the peace of an open one. It's your choice."

"I miss our life before cats," he said.

He had a point. It was nice when we had some say over the ajar status of doors in our home. Still, even with all the bother, it's nice knowing you are so important to someone that every minute apart counts.

"Mrow?"

Yes, I'll be out soon.

LOG ON to www.chickensoup.com. Created by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen.