Cecil beams, pleasantly surprised, and the action is mirrored by the creature on his shoulder, who spreads her pinchers wide in a courtly little scorpion-greeting.

"Oh I wouldn't dream of it," he can't resist saying, and the vinegaroon chirrs a laugh. "This is Mehitabel," he says, proffering for inspection the not-so-little arachnid, which has scurried down his arm. Cecil is as free with making soul introductions as he is with everything else.