Of Cabbages and Kings: zombie invasion

So you think you might be living next door to a flesh-eating zombie, but want to be sure.

In suburbia, a neighbor with a glazed expression and red-stained clothes may not, in fact, be zombified. Mrs. Johnson might just be one Cosmo away from forgetting how much she hates PTA meetings. Or Mr. Johnson might have slugged the kids' soccer coach again.

So how can you be absolutely certain the people next door have not joined the walking dead in their unholy crusade for human nibblies?

Of Cabbages and Kings has you covered, with our Top 10 Signs Your Neighbor is a Zombie:

The annual neighborhood barbecue mysteriously swaps burgers and hot dogs for steak tartar and ribs. Very rare ribs.

Local trick-or-treaters seem to have all coordinated their costumes and gone as what you can only describe as "grunge." It's the first year no one has shown up as the killer from Scream.

People are milling about on your lawn in the wee hours of the morning, peering in your windows and moaning, but you're not actually holding a yard sale this day.

Your dog is missing, and Mr. Brown next door is in bad need of a lint brush.

This is the first time you've talked to Mrs. Brown where she didn't try to verbally one-up your kid with her kid's success. In fact, it's the first time she let you do all the talking.

You ask for a hand with some groceries, and you get one. It wears nail polish.

Mr. Timmons' white picket fence is now in a designer color you could only describe as "Carotid Artery Crimson."

Suzie White's Girl Scout Cookie stand now carries flavors like "Thin Mintons," "Peanut Taggarts" and "Samoans." Coincidentally, the Mintons, Taggarts and Samoans live down the block.