An old lady taking the sun
The veterinary gentleman, having diagnosed an inoperable mammary tumour, pronounced in mid-May that she would not live beyond a maximum of a further three months.
Lady Bracknell's feline companion of very nearly seventeen years is admittedly now both very frail and exceedingly thin, but she will not be dictated to by the timetables of veterinary gentlemen, no matter how charming their Irish accents are.
The weather being fine this morning, she insisted that the back door of Bracknell Towers be left open so that she could take the sun in safety. (Not that the grounds of Bracknell Towers are actually swarming with ravening predators whose preference is for a light snack consisting almost entirely of bone and fur: but this is a cat who, even in her physical prime, would run in fear from a falling leaf. For much of such time as she did ever spend in the grounds, it was generally safe to assume that she would be cowering under the shed.)
As she will not have the pleasure of her feline companion's quiet and unassuming presence for very much longer, Lady Bracknell was more pleased than she can say to see her enjoying the sun.