You cleared your throat delicately before suggesting, "Your Ladyship, might I propose an afternoon garden tea party to properly... digest these scandalous developments?" Lady Whiskerton's ears rotated forward with interest as she considered your proposal.

With a regal blink, she extended one paw elegantly. "A capital idea," she purred. "Have Cook prepare the smoked salmon canapés and that dreadful chamomile blend the Duchess sent last Christmas - we'll finally be rid of it." You bowed deeply, already mentally cataloging which china pattern would best complement the occasion.

By mid-afternoon, the garden had been transformed into a feline paradise. Silk cushions were arranged beneath the rose arbor, and tiny crystal bowls held the finest cream from Devonshire. You adjusted the silver tea service for the seventh time when Lady Whiskerton made her grand entrance, her silver fur gleaming with a fresh brushing, a miniature pearl collar adding to her majesty.

The first guests arrived precisely as the grandfather clock struck three - Madame Fluffernutter, the elderly Siamese from the bookshop, and young Lord Muffins, an orange tabby of questionable pedigree but undeniable charm. Their noses twitched at the spread as you poured the first cups of tea with perfect precision.

As the feline aristocrats settled onto their cushions, whispers of Sir Pouncealot's latest exploits began circulating. Lady Whiskerton maintained an air of dignified amusement while clearly relishing every scandalous detail. You remained at attentive parade rest nearby, ready to refill teacups or discreetly remove any undesirable cucumber sandwiches from Her Ladyship's vicinity.