The time: 0550 hours. Wind blustering outside and cat barfing by the bed. Delightful. I say, old chap, would be so awfully kind as to clean that up, I seem to have quite the mess! Off she marches. Thanks Bad Cat, I'd like nothing more than scooping up your half-digested cat food at this godforsaken hour. FFS, do it on one of the many hardwood floor surfaces not the bedroom carpet. Or outside. At decent o'clock.
It was only a couple of hours later that I realised that the cat had (a) spoken and (b) in an upper-class accent. That's new.