We were getting through various matutinal tasks before heading into the Uni when something whizzed past me at speed. When it fetched up on the kitchen windowsill I realised it was Miss Kit looking most unfamiliar. In fact, soaking wet. Not waterlogged; the downy underfur was okay, but her proper fur, i.e. the bit you see, was soaked & all in draggles. She was also growling steadily & there was a buttercup stuck to her tail. It seemed fair to deduce that she had fallen in the lake; perhaps while clambering about in trees overhanging the water, which I have seen her do. Cats, of course, can swim. But the shocking temper she was in suggested that she firmly believed that she was pushed. Mrs Grey Cat was out at the time; she wandered in a bit later looking innocent. ‘You forgot the brick’, I told her, and received a non-committal lime-green stare. In case anyone is worrying, by the time we left, Kit was dryish and curled on her special cushion sleeping off the trauma.