Katie is standing at the apartment door, fresh from the shower, wrapped in a towel, door open, the light from the stairwell of our building streaming in. She's called me into the hall of our apartment with that calm, concerned voice that she uses when it's really important, but she doesn't want anybody to panic.
"Scott, can you help me?" she says. "The cat's run out into the building, so I need you to get the cat, and get me the can of Raid."