Chapter 2

After that feast, I collapsed into bed, cycling between eating and sleeping, dreaming of food even in my sleep.

But my bliss didn't last long. The next morning, a persistent scratching at the door jolted me awake.

I opened it to find—of course—Leo and Luna crouched on the doorstep.

Leo had a fish clenched in his mouth; Luna had a bird pinned beneath her paws, both looking up at me pitifully.

As soon as I opened the door, they rushed to shove their catches into my hands.

My heart, frozen all night, melted instantly. But remembering the countless days they'd gone hungry, I swallowed hard and forced myself to stay firm.

"No. I can't take care of you anymore. Don't come back."

I slammed the door in their faces, cutting off all sound from outside.

From behind the door, I hovered like a sneaky voyeur, tiptoeing to peek through the peephole. Tears streamed endlessly down my cheeks.

Day one: the cats refused to eat.

Day two: still nothing.

Day three: absolute starvation…

I watched helplessly as my once-chubby cats wasted away. My face remained stoic, but inside, I was dying.

A week later, Leo finally couldn't hold out any longer. He vomited sour bile right in front of me.

I had no defenses left. I flung the door wide open.

"Come inside."

I surrendered to fate. I was born a cat slave.

To keep food on the table, I threw myself into even more grueling work. Three part-time jobs a day, sixteen-hour shifts, nonstop.

Word spread among my coursemates: Scarlett had gone mad, struck by a disease that would kill her if she were without cats.

I didn't care. All I wanted was to protect my two precious cats.

Over time, I grew accustomed to this punishing lifestyle.

Then, Luna became pregnant—and gave birth to a little snow-white bundle. I named the kitten Snowy.

The true little demon had arrived.

…

I had never seen a cat so white. So pure that even snow seemed dull in comparison.

By the first day, Snowy opened his eyes. On day two, he started walking. And on day three, he could open doors, shred the milk box with his razor-sharp teeth, and drink all the fresh milk in the building.

Leo and Luna were satisfied with raw food. Not Snowy. He only ate live prey.

He drove the neighborhood's escaped hamsters to extinction, snapped up fish straight from hooks, and even hunted a neighbor's pet rabbit.

My role as "cat mama" escalated—I was now the posthumous disaster manager: cleaning up after carnage, apologizing to neighbors, begging forgiveness, and still having to earn money.

At 23, fresh out of college, I had been full of ambition, thinking I could make something of myself.

Two years later, I had become the bottom of the food chain, feeling guilty for even stepping over a sewer rat.

Looking back, I realized: the four of us, the family I had built, had survived together through every hardship.

And now, the apocalypse was coming.

With the apocalypse, there would come zombies. Strong, fast, countless. A single bite from those teeth, top and bottom, was lethal.

Forget feeding my three cats chicken, duck, mice, or rabbits—even if I had raised them on wolves, they couldn't stand in for me against zombies.

The clock ticked down: less than 23 hours to the end of the world.

I couldn't bear to sacrifice my cats. But with the little money I had, I couldn't buy loyal, strong pets—and wild beasts couldn't be tamed in time.

What to do? Just wait to die?

After weighing the options, I clenched my teeth and decided: fine. I'd prepare. I wouldn't fight zombies head-on.

As long as I had enough food, I could hole up in my apartment and survive. One extra day was a win.

With that decided, I wasted no time. I joined the chaos of looters scavenging for supplies.

Society was collapsing. Everyone was scrambling to find the strongest pets to survive.

I used the confusion to slip into the supermarket warehouse, carrying out hundreds of pounds of rice, flour, and cooking oil in batches. Nothing on the shelves escaped my haul.

Even my tiny, secondhand car couldn't hold it all. I stocked half my apartment with drinking water alone.