It is early morning, and there still is not much light, not to mention the fact that the gardener is aging and doesn't see as well as he used to. Truth is, he needs glasses, but for some reason he doesn't quite understand, is resistant to that reality.
"C'mon, Sasha," he says, "you big black and white ball of fluff. It's time to come in for your breakfast."
"What's the matter, Sasha? You always come when it's breakfast time. Do I have to pick you up?"
The gardener takes a step towards his beloved pet, who stomps menacingly back at him in a way that is quite uncharacteristic of his cat. Disaster is narrowly avoided, and he realizes that perhaps glasses aren't such a bad idea.