A mischievous glint appeared in your eye as you straightened your cuffs. "Your Ladyship, if I may be so bold," you murmured, "I could arrange for a most discreet surveillance operation. The gardener's ladder provides an excellent vantage point of Mrs. Featherington's sunroom, and Cook owes me a favor for that incident with the missing sardines."

Lady Whiskerton's tail tip twitched with barely contained excitement. "You propose espionage?" she purred, though her tone suggested she'd already made up her mind. With graceful indifference, she added, "One does like to stay informed about neighborhood affairs."

By noon, you'd assembled the necessary equipment: your trusty binoculars polished to perfection, a notepad bound in Moroccan leather for documentation, and a flask of chamomile tea to maintain your cover as a simple butler enjoying the garden view. You positioned yourself carefully behind the rose trellis, where the blooms provided both camouflage and a delightful fragrance.

Just as the grandfather clock struck two, a flash of ginger fur appeared at the edge of the Featherington property. Sir Pouncealot moved with surprising stealth for such a portly tomcat, his belly barely clearing the ground as he slunk toward the catflap. You held your breath as he paused, ears swiveling, before disappearing inside with a suspiciously lumpy bulge in his cheeks.

The sun had begun its descent when you returned to present your findings. Lady Whiskerton reclined on her balcony perch, the golden light setting her silver fur aflame. "Well?" she demanded, tail flicking impatiently as you approached with your detailed notes.

"Most illuminating, Your Ladyship," you reported, unfolding your sketches. "Sir Pouncealot made three separate trips today - each time emerging with what appeared to be jewelry. On his final exit, he was pursued by a very irate Mrs. Featherington wielding a feather duster." Lady Whiskerton's delighted purr resonated through the marble halls as twilight painted the garden in hues of violet and gold.