Lady Whiskerton's eyes gleamed with approval as you suggested drafting the letter. "An excellent notion," she purred, settling more comfortably on her cushion. "Fetch my monogrammed stationery at once."

You hurried to the mahogany writing desk, selecting the finest cream-colored paper with the Whiskerton crest embossed in silver. The inkwell contained specially imported ink that shimmered faintly when it caught the light. As you prepared the quill, Lady Whiskerton dictated in her most imperious tone: "To whom it may concern at Fisherman's Wharf..."

The letter grew increasingly scathing as Her Ladyship described Tomkins' uncouth behavior in vivid detail. "...and such behavior from a cat of no breeding or standing is utterly unacceptable in our respectable neighborhood," you wrote, your penmanship flawless despite the vigor of your strokes. Lady Whiskerton insisted on multiple mentions of 'proper feline decorum' and 'standards befitting civilized society.'

As you sanded the finished letter, the scent of beeswax and ink mingling in the air, Lady Whiskerton stretched luxuriously. "Now, have Cook prepare my luncheon while that dries," she commanded. "And do remind her about the presentation - the salmon roe must be arranged in perfect circles this time." The grandfather clock chimed noon as you bowed and turned toward the kitchens, the freshly penned letter awaiting your seal.