The Art of Eating In - Cathy Erway [29]
“I forgot that Ben hates chicken with bones,” I remembered aloud, watching him twist his fork into the flesh of a chicken leg as if it were a bowl of spaghetti. I went back to the kitchen and grabbed knives for everyone.
“The bones are supposed to be good for flavor, though, right?” asked Sam.
“Yep. That’s why they’re kept in. But you can just sort of put a whole piece in your mouth and spit out the bones onto your plate if you want,” I suggested, describing the common Chinese way of removing mouthfuls of meat from the bones. Immediately I regretted saying it. I’d apparently crossed some unspoken cultural line; there was complete silence in the room for about a minute, and I didn’t get the sense that anyone would be taking me up on this suggestion.
I was piling a second helping of green beans on my plate when I heard the first moan. It was a deep, guttural sound, its tone undulating and sorrow stricken. It didn’t sound like a cat at all, really. More like a dolphin. A dolphin in distress.
“Um, Cathy, the cat is crying,” Ben said.
“Yeah ...”
“And it’s making hissing noises,” Sam added. She was sitting on the love seat, right above where the sharp hissing noise was now coming from.
My first instinct was to bend down and peek underneath the couch. I quickly realized that I shouldn’t if I wanted to keep my eyes.
“Glarrrggg ... glarrrggg ... glarrrggg,” the cat went on, doing his warbly dolphin-moan thing again, this time even louder.
“Is he okay?” asked Ben, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. In all the months I’d known Dracula, I’d never heard him make such noises, either.
“I have no idea. We should really try to get him out of here. He’s just afraid of new people.” I picked up the broom again. I couldn’t wait to get him inside Erin’s room and shut the door.
“Uh, what are you going to do with that?” asked Richard suspiciously.
“You know, just sort of nudge him out from underneath there.” I placed the bristle end of the broom underneath the couch and gave it a gentle wave. An angry hiss erupted from below.
“It sounds like the devil!” cried Sam.
A marbled paw shot out from beneath the couch and beat three times on the back of Richard’s sneaker.
“Holy—!” Richard swung his legs in the air as if he were on a carnival ride.
“Hissssss!”
The paw shot out again, this time swatting furiously at the air. Everyone had gotten up from their seats and retreated to the far end of the room. We witnessed three other strikes from the paw against thin air. The furry arm made no appearance for another few moments while everyone watched, breathlessly. I began to move the bristle end of the broom toward the couch. Holding it from the end of its handle, I dipped its bristles underneath the couch again. I felt it just brush against something, the cat, probably.
“Glaaarrrl Glaaarrrl” He was wailing loudly now. The dolphin in his throat had been harpooned.
“No, stop. He’s freaking out,” said Sam.
“He’s going to kill us all,” said Richard.
“Well.” I put the broom aside. “What now?”
“Here, the only way to make him go into Erin’s room is to not stand here, waiting for him to get out,” said Richard. “Right now he doesn’t want to see us when he comes out.”
“Okay. So let’s wait in the hallway?” suggested Sam.
“Yes, but then he’ll have to walk by us on his way to Erin’s room,” I said.
“Or we could wait in your room?” Richard suggested.
“It only fits a bed,” Ben cut in. My room was only a few square feet larger than a double bed.
“Okay ...”
“We could wait in the nook,” I offered.
“What nook?” asked Sam.
“But, Cathy, Dracula’s still going to have to walk by us if we wait there,” Ben said. The nook was a small alcove at the end of the hallway, just before the door to Erin’s room.
“Yeah, but he won’t see us in the nook until he’s at the end of the hallway, and by then he’ll probably just run into Erin’s room,” I said.
“Or he might turn around and run back here,” said Sam.
“Yeah, that’s a possibility.”
We looked around