“Well. It’s finally happened, Broken Heart Jackie.”
“Don’t call me that,” Broken Heart the bone cat reprimanded for the umpteenth time about the name Jackie. “And now I really *do* have a broken heart.” She makes a clumsy motion on her chest of two things being ripped apart.
“Last of the grass… weed,” Jacob I. laments. “We’ll have to call up Leaf Erik’s son over in California, Pennsylvania for more — it will take weeks.”
“Months,” Broken Heart extends.
“Years,” Jacob I. finalizes, and then heaves a long sigh. “Darn that Jeffrie Phillips. Darn that stolen Centre.”
“Or we could go over to Leona Lei’s place in Hilltop. That will require changing into mechanoids. The last time it took us weeks to revert.”
“Years,” Jacob I. emphasizes again. “Sheer hell.” He looks down at his feet and wonders if they are really flesh and blood yet. Then, staring over at Broken Heart’s red and blue glasses, he gets an idea. “But the *sister* could work.”
“Hana? Is she still alive even after her death?”
“It was just a shish kabob skewer.”
“I though it was a ladle,” Broken Heart says. “You know, for dishing out soup and stuff.”
“I know what a lapel is. Did I say lapel? haha. That’s not even emphasized the same.”
“Label,” Broken Heart then says. But she accents the wrong syllable for humor.
“Labelle,” Jacob I. utters. “Patti Labelle!”
“The singer, actor, magician?” perks up Broken Heart, but then remembers the truth. “Man, we’re really baked.”
“Baker!” Jacob I. spouts, seeing the white opening once more. “Cook… Baker. That’s what we were trying to figure out.”
“I’m going to bed.” Broken Heart falls asleep while not even moving an inch from his spot on the couch. Jacob I. leans over and folds her bony hands over her little red broken heart.
“Night night, Jackie,” he ends while slipping into dreamland himself.