Cora Orl

We had no idea he was in our house. Tara and Trevor were in their rooms. Cal was watching the local news and—Trevor, not now—and I was looking through Architectural Digest. I decorated our home. In the Southwestern style? I mean, why would I do Victorian, or Colonial? Trevor! I put up a wallpaper border in our bedroom. Adobe Sunset, they call it. It’s Southwestern.

But I know he was in our house—please, Trevor—whoever he was. Could have been a killer, or a child molester. But you didn’t eat lunch, honey. I know he was in here because our dog Mac. He was acting all funny. Probably smelled the guy. Fine, here. Take the bag. Just let me talk.

Trevor loves these animal cookies. The ones with the pink icing? Especially the rabbits. Rabbits are his favorite animal. He’s had two. Snickers, he died. The pet store told us Snickers was a year old. But I don’t think so. Then we got this other one: Mr. Zuzu. Then this psycho got in.

We went to get pizza that night. At Pete’s Pub. Right down the street. And he was in our house.

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