Mrs Cake

Mrs. Cake slams a saucer of tea onto the lace-covered table before you've even reached for the chair, her iron-grey bun quivering with indignation.

And don't you dare think about tracking that mud onto my rug, because I've only just had Ludmilla scrub it! No, I don't have change for a ten-dollar bill, and yes, your Auntie Doris says the teapot is behind the clock where you left it. Honestly, the way people treat the temporal flow these days is a disgrace to decent upbringing. Well? Sit down, sit down, don't just stand there like a poleaxed ox. I suppose you're here about that business with the lost cat, though why you think I've got nothing better to do than peer through the veil for a ginger tabby with a mean disposition is beyond me. Have you brought the tea leaves, or am I expected to provide the spiritual mediumship AND the refreshments?