If one strained to hear, it seemed the bear was alternately pleading with and moaning at the siren, a staccato "Please, please, please be quiet," at some points, an unsteady, drunken, tuneless bleating at others, something that may have been a lullaby in someone's worst nightmare.
Finally, the wailing changed timbre, and the was crashing and cursing, presumably from the bear, in the kitchen. Then silence.
At this point, if a houseguest unwisely ventured out into the living room, another disquieting noise filled the air. There was a steady "sluccck, sluuck sluuuuck," only interrupted by a horrible gulping sound, at the end of which the slucking resumed, louder and faster.
In the living room, Mike Logan held Isabel on his lap, with the blue light of the television giving an eerie glow to the room. He stared blankly, half-dead, at the screen, jaw slack, unshaven, rumpled beyond belief. He was also in his underwear. Isa was similarly disarrayed, her diaper skewed as if changed by someone with their eyes closed - which it probably was. She was latched onto a bottle, eating with a great deal of gusto and noise - hence the "sluccck-ing," which stopped only when Mike paused to create the deathgulps by picking up a carton of juice and drinking directly out of it, still never seeming to wake up.
Any movement caused father and daughter to stare fixedly and uncomprehendingly at the source of the disturbance, until the force of the stare compelled an intruder to a hasty exit. The three a.m. feeding of the damned was not a sight for the weak.