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“…my Cirri is a good cat," the cook was saying sharply, "and I won't hear a word otherwise, do you hear? Complaining about him doing his job too well, that's what you're doing, if you ask me."
"I have had complaints," Master Fitch managed to get in. "Complaints, mistress. Half the guests-"
"I won't hear of it. I just won't hear of it. If they want to complain about my cat, let them do the cooking.
My poor old cat, who's just doing his job, and me, we'll go somewhere where we're appreciated, see if we don't." She untied her apron and started to lift it over her head.
"No!" Master Fitch yelped, and leaped to stop her. They danced in a circle with the cook trying to take her apron off and the innkeeper trying to put it back on her. "No, Sara," he panted. "There's no need for this. No need, I say! What would I do without you? Cirri's a fine cat. An excellent cat. He's the best cat in Baerlon. If anyone else complains, I'll tell them to be thankful the cat is doing his job. Yes, thankful. You mustn't go. Sara? Sara!"
The cook stopped their circling and managed to snatch her apron free of him. "All right, then. All right.”
― Robert Jordan, The Eye of the World