"Pudding, this is Alice," could be heard from upstairs. "Alice, this is pudding."
The cat was making his way underneath the table, evading men's and women's dress shoes. Finally, he got out from under the table and was already approaching the exit, when, right in front of the fireplace, a clumsy servant carrying a tray ran right into him. The cat leaped aside and landed on the cooling embers with all four paws.
"This accursed ball!" he hissed. And disappeared.
"Ah, dear colleague," Behemoth greeted him by the fireplace. "Welcome. Is something the matter with you today? You are not in the mood?"
"I would say that the mood is not in me," the cat replied pensively. "Although one cannot claim that the mood is entirely absent. But its better half definitely is. If you understand what I'm talking about."
"But you can't appear before the queen looking like this!" Behemoth cried out, "it would be impolite to the greatest degree! To the greatest degree!"
"True enough," thought the Cheshire cat, and smiled.