Jackie crawls under the bed and barks,
"That cat! Charlie, I'm telling you, it's no good! That cat is going. He's gone!"
Jackie's dramatic delivery is naked and realistic. She shakes her head. She won't look me in the eye. I tighten into a ball on my scooter.
"What should I do? Jackie? What should I do?"
She looks me, level and earthy,
"call someone, Charlie, YOU have to call someone. This is too much. Get that cat to a doctah. Now!"
As Jackie speaks we hear a bone-chilling moan from beneath the bed. The pitch and styling of the meow is unfamiliar to me, like there could be another animal under the bed with Aroo.
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