The cat, with the claws of his right forepaw dug into the woodgrain on the bottom edge of door, backed away, pulling as hard as he could. He was in an awkward position, and not at all certain he was strong enough to pull the heavy door open. It would have been a difficult move for a young tom in his prime, and Mjolnir, remember, was a very old cat. Ancient, even by human years. On the other side of the door, he could hear Duke's excited panting. From further into the kitchen he could hear the low sound of Cathy's voice, muttering and moaning. She seemed to have slipped into a delirium.

    Nothing appeared to be happening. Mjolnir strained and pulled with all his strength. The door seemed to sway a tiny bit, but was not swinging free of the jamb. Mjolnir disengaged his claw, pulled his forepaw out from under the door, and sat back on his haunches to consider the situation. Maybe if he.... The cat moved from the center of the door to the the edge, directly beneath the door knob. He inserted his upward-facing paw back under the door and pulled again. He pulled with all the strength he had. At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the door began to move. It didn't move much, but he didn't need for it to. The hinges creaked faintly as the door swung past the jamb, leaving a 1 inch gap between the facing and the door. Mjolnir quickly disengaged his claws, stepped back a pace, nudged his head through crack, then slipped his body through and pushed to open the door wide.