You explore your bedroom and there is indeed a Russell in there! How did that happen? You don't remember leaving one this morning. Russell explains that he is the cat you adopted when you were 21 but then forgot to feed when you went on holiday in Italy. My, a talking cat.
You think to yourself, "My goodness, Russell is a strange name for a cat," but then again, you had a pet panda called Doris, so maybe it's okay. Idly, you wonder if you punched a panda in the face, would it get a white eye? You vow to one day find out.
Russell is getting a little fractious and is now scratching the curtains, the wall, and the bedposts. You can't leave him in here, but it's equally unlikely that you will be able to pick him up without there being major arterial damage to your arms. What do you do?