My Cats Ruled the ApocalypseThe zombie apocalypse had arrived, and pets could transform into guardians to protect their owners—each person was allowed no more than three.
My best friend had spent a fortune on three Tibetan mastiffs. The landlord cleared out a fish tank to raise a crocodile. My boyfriend? He had stormed the zoo and dragged a lion home.
And me? I only had three stray cats. The eldest was blind, the second one limped, and the youngest had just turned one month old.
The moment the apocalypse system announced that pet slots were locked, I knew I was doomed.
I tried to hide with my three disabled cats, hoping to survive quietly.
Day one of the apocalypse: terrified…
Day two: helpless…
Day three: my cats sauntered over, tails swishing, carrying some unidentifiable object.
"Mama, I bit off all the zombie heads on this street. How's that? Solid enough?"
I was rendered speechless.