Cohen: . . .


Okay, I’m going to turn in. If the storm’s bad, tell the guy he’s welcome to stay. Just keep the noise down.

Miranda: (phew!)

All right, time for you to leave! Or at least, make all the sounds of a person who’s leaving.

Poe: Okay, Master . . . but why? I can keep it quiet. He won’t hear a thing I do.

Miranda: Doesn’t matter. As long as he thinks you’re here, no matter how silent you are, he’ll be imagining things.

Poe: Ohhh.

Reseda: You can’t escape, 2.5 Cups Broccoli! You’re in the Cat’s clutches now. Prepare to be broiled and devoured!

Patrick: I could do the cooking, if the lights were on! I could do it better, even!

Bianca: Patrick, are you doing okay . . . ? I haven’t seen you this tense and eager to please since . . . um . . . at least a week ago.