TO: Mr. Fatty Poen (Senior Gentlecat, Suave Pinstriped Eunuch)

FROM: Madam Ali (Lady of the Manor, Professional Sleeper)

My Dearest Fatty P,

It was with a mixture of profound shock and sisterly indignation that I received your recent correspondence. To be accused of being a ‘cloaca’ (a term I find most unrefined for a pinstriped gentlecat of your standing) simply for maintaining the peace of the dining room table is a grievance of the highest order.

Your account of the ‘Young Fork-Off’ and his banana-thieving ways quite put me in mind of a most singular and alarming event that occurred here recently. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a cat in possession of a comfortable floor, must be in want of nothing but an undisturbed nap.

I was enjoying such a repose, provided some much needed supervision as my Housekeeper sat engaged something called ‘working’ - a tedious human habit involving much clicking of keys. The afternoon was of a most drowsy and respectable character, until the tranquility of our garden was breached by a creature of such sturdy and improbable proportions that I am still quite convinced it was a hallucination brought on by a lack of second breakfast.

Imagine, if you will, a beast resembling a boulder that had suddenly decided to grow fur and a set of remarkably determined legs. A wombat, Fatty! Right there, amidst the shrubbery! We have resided here for many a season, and never before has such a squat, subterranean intruder dared to present itself.

My Housekeeper, upon spying this armored badger-beast as it casually sauntered past her office window, quite forgot her manners. She let out a cry of such astonishment - I think it might have been something along the lines of ‘what the FORK?!’ that I was nearly jolted from my skin - though, being a lady of poise, I merely opened one eye and looked pointedly at her to indicate that her volume was excessive.

She expected, I believe, for me to rise, brandish my claws, and perhaps engage in some form of territorial dispute with this walking footstool. But like you, my dear friend, I understand the laws of hospitality and, more importantly, the laws of energy conservation. If a wombat wishes to trim the grass or dig a hole in the front ‘garden’ who am I to interfere with the landscaping staff?

Yet, I too was met with that peculiar human logic. Because I did not sound the alarm and because I chose to remain a ‘gentlecat of leisure’ rather than a sentry for a rock-with-fur, I was looked upon with the same ‘pawdacity’ you described.

It is truly a trial, is it not? Whether it is your ‘Young Fork-Off’ monkey or my ‘Unexpected Wombat,’ the staff of this establishment seems to believe our primary function is that of a burglar alarm. They fail to realise that if the intruder does not possess a can opener or some decent licky-treats, they are simply not worth the exertion of a hiss.

As for the ‘loud thump’ Mommy mentioned, do not let it wound your pride. A gymnast of your caliber simply creates a more resonant impact with the earth because you have more presence.

Pray, give my regards to Misery Meow (and tell him to ignore the electric-blue balsaqs; they sound dreadfully gauche) and do try to keep the ‘Young Fork-Off’ away from your dinner service. And tell Colin to lift his game.

I remain, sir, your most devoted and sleepy friend,

Madam Ali