This house is a disgrace.
Mrs Danvers is supposed to be a housekeeper. More a housewrecker, we say.
Look where our beds are!
She says she's 'sorting' the small attic. Some kind of sorting; moving it all into her own bedroom, higgledy-piggledy.
We have mounted a protest at all the disruption. None of us would sleep in Mrs Danvers' room last night. She tossed and turned, and worried about where we were but we didn't weaken. Housewreckers don't deserve the delicious comfort of a sleeping cat beside them.
She says it was only for one night, because she was too tired to fit the carpet all in one day.
We won't be allowed anywhere near the new carpet either. "Especially not you, Scooter, with your wicked claws!" How can claws be wicked? They are things of beauty, to be kept clean and sharp by scratching and pulling, first on the scratching posts, then - to buff them up - on carpet.
Remember my claws when I first arrived? Dreadful. No carpets in the woods where I had been living.
But after a while, with nice claw-conditioning carpets everywhere, I had lovely snowy paws.
Aren't they just beautiful?
You don't get quality like this without effort, you know. I have to work at it.
That new carpet would be an excellent grooming aid.
Mrs Danvers just doesn't understand....