This Is A New One

So, I'm sitting at my desk in the kitchen, doing computer stuff, and I hear a little squeak. Just one, very little. If I hear it again, then I'll check.

There is another one, a few minutes later. What the heck is the deal with that? I look over, and Bermondsey is sitting in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. Door to porch, I would understand. Whimpering at some thing on the counter that he thinks should be in his stomach--sure, I understand that. But just sitting there? Perfectly upright and composed?

I walk over toward him to see if there is something wrong, and he dances away. It's too early for a walk, he can't mean that, can he?

He hops up a couple of steps, and I realize that I am apparently cramping his style. It's nap time, and he wants me upstairs so he can sleep on my bed.

Who is training whom, that's what I wonder.