Ten degrees at 8:30am, sunny intervals. Feeling damp.
Mama : [In a full-steam fury] "Jakob! Jakob! Come here! SITZ! Now tell me, what IS THIS?"
Jakob! : "Wasn't me, ma'am! No ma'am yer honour. Me 'twas not! I didn't scatter cacao in the corners, sugar all over the shelves. I didn't go nuts with the noci, oops over the uva, whacky with the walnusskerne. I didn't spray water all over the washer or put pawprints on the porcelain. And I wouldn't ever, ever, ever eat half a bag of dried plums with the pits still in them."
Mama : [In full English-schoolmarm-sarcasm mode] "So tell me, Mr Smartypants. Who was it then?"
Jakob! : [Thinking fast] "Erm...the cat of course! The marmalade cat. I'll go fetch. [Tail starts to wag] Shall I? Shall I? I'd really love to! Just say the word! Fetch, ma'am! Just say fetch and that manky marmalade cat will be lying at your feet in 30 seconds..."
"Oh. Oh dear. Oh dear me. I think I need the loo.........."
Mama smiles to herself in an affectionate serves-you-right sort of way, makes a quiet note of the whereabouts of the disinfectant and the pressure-washer, and gently closes the door.