The ever unreliable Brockman is out of town camping and not available for his usual snark. In his place we are pleased to provide a public service: Five Ways to Tell Your Neighbor Has Become a Zombie.

1. The car jacked up on his lawn is a hearse.

2. He pops over and asks to borrow a cup of brains.

3. Whenever he has backyard barbecues, guests always end up on the grill.

4. "Human-brewed" beer tastes suspiciously of people.

5. Garish Christmas lawn display contains giant inflatable Santa, eight thousand twinkling lights, and a pile of human bones.

Since shortly after lunch, Oreo has been napping on a bed outside the front door. While Bagheera watches sidewalk traffic from the porch rail, Fup and Bear trap bugs in the long grass, meanwhile naming the best breakfasts of their lives.

"Tuna fricassee," Fup recalls. "Toledo, Ohio, at the Win Some, Lose Some Diner. Makes me hungry just remembering."

"New Year's Day 2003," counters Bear. "Eggs Benedict. For the rest of the day, my stomach felt heavier than the rest of my body combined — but, oh, that hollandaise."

Along the front path, a neighbor approaches. Up the steps he proceeds, fishing in his coat pocket for the spare key he keeps next door. He turns the lock and leans into the house, calling, "Hello! Anybody home?"

Nearly five o'clock now, but it'll be ages still before the June sun sets on Portland. What the cats wouldn't give for a year of these lazy evenings, everlasting slanted light, pale purple sky, tranquility...

The neighbor tries again. "Hello?!"

Through the gap between door and frame, Chester rushes out, practically trampling Oreo on his gallop to the stairs, which he takes two per stride. Across a corner of sloped front lawn, down the block — wow, that dog can run — and then left at the familiar turn toward Mount Tabor. Before anyone quite knows what's transpired, he disappears.

All Bear can manage is, "What the?"

"Where's he going?" Fup follows.

Did Chester just run away?