It reminded me that I once knew someone whose grandfather had kept a lion in the loft of his bungalow. Apparently he’d been given it as a cub and having no other place for it converted the loft (attic if you prefer) into a lion’s den. But then of course it grew and grew until the old man finally admitted defeat and called the RSPCA. Part of the ceiling had to be taken down to enable them to extract the tranquilised lion.
Now, you know when you lie in bed and are sure something is walking about up there? Here, kitty, kitty!