“There is a door that leads to beauty and light wrapped in great mystery,” the prophet said as she stood in front of the yellow door. “Follow me. I can take you there.”

A small crowd gathered around the soothsayer, listening intently to her words.

“Beyond this door there is freedom,” she promised. “There are worlds yet unclaimed.”

“Have you been there?” a doubter from the crowd asked.

“Yes. I have seen what lies beyond and it is sweet. Together we can see this place. Together we can leave this mundane existence and experience a better life.”

This may sound like the beginnings of a freakshow you’d see on Netflix or something you’d witness any night in Time’s Square, but it actually happened in my basement. As we built out the large room that holds my pool table and JB’s dance floor, I got a set of bi-fold doors for our storage room which allowed me to leave the opening five feet wide. Lately, this opening has been the source of family controversy.

I always know when JB has been down there because she leaves the fan on. A few weeks ago, I went downstairs and found the fan blade turning as well as one of the storage room doors open.

“JB, you left the storage room door open!” I hollered.

“I didn’t go in the storage room,” she replied.

Round and round the blame game went and as usually happens, no one emerged victorious. The blame game has no winners besides anger, spite, and sometimes bitterness.It’s really a game left to professionals – amateurs only wound leave marks.

A few days later my lovely wife left the door open and I chided the whole family for their negligence.

“The cats could get lost or hurt in there,” I reminded them. “The walls aren’t finished so they could get to the water heater or into my workshop and who knows what could happen!”

The next time we found it open I was the only potential culprit and innocent though I was, I heard a great deal of murmuring. Rightfully so…

The mystery grew until we postulated that our curious cat had figured out that she could put her paw under the bi-fold door and pull it open. I scoffed until one day I found her sitting contentedly on my workbench with sawdust stuck in her whiskers.

I held the doorknobs together with a rubber band, but the little criminal beat that one out too. She could pull it enough to get in, but the doors closed behind her and she couldn’t get out.

Now we have a child-lock on the doors. We often find her perched staring at the doors and more than a few times, her curious feline minions are watching. Sometimes we hear banging as she tries to bulldoze her way into the promised land, but she hasn’t figured out the system yet. The lock seems to be working, but after the past few weeks, I’m not betting against the prophet.