"The vultures?" I responded quizzically and then asked "Why the German accent?"
"Casablanca," said Gregg cryptically, "This place is full of vultures, vultures everywhere."
He set a plate of leftover turkey on the counter, and as if by magic, Hugo materialized at his feet. A minute later the creaky old woman arrived, yowling. Ray who was sleeping on his favorite pillow on his favorite couch, lifted his head, sniffed the air, put his front feet on the floor, stretched, then ambled our way.
As Ray arrived, Hugo retreated, but only to the foot of the stairs. As the turkey was added to the container with the leftover stuffing and then topped with gravy, he returned to pace nervously at the kitchen door not wanting to miss out on his share of what was to come.
Gregg put our lunch in the microwave, shredded some of the leftover bird put it in the cat dishes and dropped some in the dog bowl.
While our lunch heated in the microwave, the vultures enjoyed a snack.