Sometimes one has to make a point. When one’s resident feline spends half the morning eating a bird and consequently disgraces herself on the carpet, one has to point out in no uncertain terms that there is one animal in the house whose virtue shines with effulgent light. And if that requires squeezing into a cardboard box and shivering histrionically until the Mum notices and brings a blanket, then that’s simply what has to be done.
Once the point is made, of course, there’s no reason not to move, blanket and all, into the luxury padded bed that was available all along. After all, you don’t have to be a saint to be a martyr.