Cerberus and me

Mopsa, my single headed Cerberus, has decided that the entrance to Hades has moved over the years. Originally, the gates of the underworld were otherwise known as the front door. Or at least the door that serves as such; the true front door is permanently locked with modern bolts and also the kind of ancient key that usually shuts a heavy oak church door and tears holes in your pocket due to its weight. It would probably snap the steering column off my car if I was to attach it to my keyring. Anyway, back to Mopsa. She slept in the dog/boot/laundry room with half-sister Fenn and guarded the entry to the home. After a considerable period of contentment, she suddenly decided that the passageway to Hades mysteriously shifted in the early hours and at 3am she would whine and scratch at the door, asking to be let into the rest of the house. After weeks of this I let her stand guard at night in my downstairs office - the kitchen gets too warm for such a hairy beast. Six months later, she determined that the portal to the other world was more likely to be the bedroom. So after seven years of absolutely not letting her come upstairs and keeping the bedrooms a dog-free zone, Cerberus now sleeps in the bedroom, her tail thumping happily on the floorboards, sending dust-bunnies scurrying for cover. Even so, I KNOW there is a mouse rootling about up there and my monstrous hound just puts her paws over her ears and goes to sleep. Fenn meanwhile, is convinced that the threshold to Hades is static, and she keeps eager ears alert that no living thing will enter whilst it's her shift.

Tomorrow is Mopsa's seventh birthday - perhaps she would like some honeycakes to celebrate.