‘Will one of you please tell me what’s going on,’ I say, dropping my bag onto the table. So much for Jordan simply being pleased to see me. ‘I’ve had a long day, and I’m running on three hours of sleep.’

‘This cat won’t eat anything,’ Jordan goes on. ‘He won’t try a single bite of the Pussy Paws samples. Not one.’

I’m with Robert on this. This isn’t a state of emergency. Meanwhile, Jordan hops from one foot to the other in some sort of a traumatised shuffle.

‘Jordan, I warned you twice that Faith insists Benny is partial to his own special pellets. I’m sure it’s nothing to do with your client’s food.’

Benny snuggles his head into Robert’s armpit, not bothered in the least.

‘Our entire campaign is premised on Pussy Paws being irresistible to all cats. It’s a medicine, but it’s delicious. That was our pitch.’

‘Perhaps you need a professional advertising cat?’ I suggest. ‘Like, the Whiskas cat, the sweet silver tabby, with the golden eyes? Perhaps Harry could put you in touch?’

‘We have people who can do that,’ Jordan snaps at me. ‘But those cats cost a lot of money. This isn’t for the production. It’s for ideation. And this cat is causing a problem because he’s completely disproving our pitch.’

Robert and I exchange looks.

‘Could you give Benny his own food and pretend he’s eating Pussy Paws?’ I venture to say.

At that moment, the hallway cupboard door flies open under the weight of the shopping I stored there yesterday. Bags of new clothes tumble out. I meant to take them into the studio with me this morning. I walk over and cram it all back inside. I close the door and everything falls straight back out. I set the bags neatly to one side.

Great idea, Gracie,’ Robert says. ‘We’ll simply make it up. Won’t we champ.’ Robert rubs Benny’s cheek. ‘Tomorrow,’ he confirms with Jordan. ‘Must fly now. I have a date.’ Robert kisses my cheek. ‘Tomorrow, we’ll work this out. Take the night off. Have fun, you two. Toodle-oo.’

Nuzzling his face into Benny’s soft tummy before setting him down, without further ado, Robert leaves. Benny lolls on the rug in the hallway.

‘Shall I help you to try and entice him, Jordan. I am, after all, a chef. I’m pretty good at getting people to eat.’

‘I bet he’d go for your sausage rolls,’ Jordan says, cheering up a bit. ‘I’m sure it’s the Sumptuous Medley of Tuna and Whitebait in Jelly that’s the winner,’ he goes on, inspired. ‘Or the Turkey Chunks in Meat-Rich Gravy, hmm, Benny? Do us a favour, will you?’