myself, my cat, and the apocalypse

a journal about my experiences in surviving the apocalypse with my cat, Butterball

[surviving-the-apocatalypse]

daily conversations:

me: do you realize you’re the most well-fed cat in the world?

butterball, devouring the wet food that he doesn’t even realize that i had to fight a zombie for: [slurping noises]

me: …why do i keep you.

[surviving-the-apocatalypse]

journal entry #5:

we went to the store for supplies.

it was pretty eventful time. i mean, listen. i wanna see you try to walk a cat down a street that’s strewn with random dead people. it’s not easy, ya know? especially when he keeps trying to wander over to sniff every one of them?? (and try to eat them, which like. dude. that’s so gross.)

anyway!! usually i wouldn’t bother, but Butterball hates being left alone. so i thought, ya know? fuck it. sure, bud. you can tag along.

as expected, the local store is filled with the usual crowd. dead body here, a dead body there. here a body, there a body, everywhere a dead body— oops.

i’m a little desensitized to this stuff if you can’t tell?? anyway, we get there and we’re roaming around. Butterball keeps walking on the shelves, i’m piling whatever sodas and cat food i can pillage into a cart. i gave Sir Butters some treats while we pillaged. there’s not too much left, but eh. we’ll make do with this stuff for now.

but yeah, that’s the update.

back to the usual shtick—

me, pushing my full cart of stolen goods down the road: do you think there’s any people left out here? i mean, there’s like a hundred apartments around our place. surely i could’ve missed someone staking out in one.

butterball, peacefully enjoying the wind in his face as he sitting in the front of the cart: ^úwù^

me: yeah… yeah, you’re probably right. we’re better off with just us.

butterball:

me: …can you please stop nibbling at my hand while i’m driving?

butterball: ^òwó^

[surviving-the-apocatalypse]

me, casually taking my cat on a walk: i think it’s a little fucked up that you eat zombie flesh

butterball: [munching noises]

me: …if i were to die, i bet you’d eat me to survive.

butterball: úwù

[surviving-the-apocatalypse]

me, laying on the floor: butterball. do you ever think about our place in the universe? like. how we got into this situation? doomed to live out the rest of eternity on a floating ball that reeks of death and destruction?

butterball, sitting on my chest: >^ó w ò^<

me, petting his head and staring absently at the ceiling: …yeah, you’re right. perhaps humanity was always doomed for such a fate.

butterball: >^ú w ù^<

[surviving-the-apocatalypse]

me:

butterball:

me: ya know. most people would resort to eating their pets under drastic circumstances.

butterball, now cleaning himself:

me, splitting a can of tuna between us: you’re right. who else would keep me company in this vast hellscape of a world

[surviving-the-apocatalypse]

me: it’s been six months since i’ve last seen another human being. i haven’t socialized in so long. surely i’d thought the insanity would take me by now— or rather, boredom.

butterball, staring blankly:

me: …yes, the apocalypse did start five months ago. what’s your point?