He ascended and descended the staircase with the devotion of a courtier and the stamina of a minor deity. Doors opened with conspiratorial creaks. Laughter rang out like crystal struck by a careless spoon. Hearts performed discreet but enthusiastic gymnastics. He accepted kisses with gracious modesty, receiving smudges of coral lipstick upon an already suspect brow.

Such was his routine. Such was his empire. And every night, having conquered the stairwell and three affectionate hearts, he retired to his cushion, triumphant, snoring faintly, and indisputably a very good boy indeed.