The Drama Queen.
She had actually recovered from her funk by this time, but aren’t those clouds perfect?  The heavens ought to revolve around a six-year-old’s desires when she’s wearing a furry pink sweater, right?  We had sent our secret weapon (Milo) in to break the stalemate with the promise of an extra piece of cake if he succeeded in getting her to move from where her feet were rooted, offended that her heartless parents had declined to boost her into her chosen climbing tree during our walk in Victoria Park. And he did succeed, as he often does when she’s decided to dig her heels in against her unsympathetic parents.

He might not look like a convincing secret weapon, but he can wheedle and cajole, bribe and sweet-talk his way into his sister’s heart, when she feels the rest of the world is against her. Kudos, Milo!