“Sentinels”

They are on perennial duty, twin tabbies posted at the foot of the ancient tower. One sits in place at the first step, the other takes a loftier position a few steps higher. Everyone in town knows them. An elderly woman who looks as if she might remember when the tower was new—if she remembers much at all—feeds them daily on bits of fish and dishes of cream. No one else bothers, but the cats look well fed and the alleys around the tower are magically free of vermin.

When afternoon sun splashes gold on the stone, one curls up in the spotlight while the other maintains the watch. If you approach the stairs, one of the pair will come forward to investigate and his partner will block the way. Pet them if you wish, as they are amenable. Afterward, one might permit you to pass, but the other seldom will. He will circle your feet and push against your legs, using his weight to nudge you back a pace. Prove reluctant to retreat and his fellow will aid the effort, meowing insistently as you are gently steered back to the street.

On occasion, both will allow a visitor to ascend the stairs. On such occasions, neither cat will stir from his post or be wooed into petting, no matter how ardently the stranger tries to coax. Dual yellow stares in implacable feline faces eventually triumph and the shunned individual is free to enter the tower unmolested.

No one who goes in has ever come out.