Holding Down the Fort

Day 10

Wars are bloody, complicated things. Especially with an enemy as implacable as the human zombie.

It's been a full day since Pickles left on her quest to find her pet and I've counted no less than 22 former humans stalking the streets of our neighbourhood.

Meanwhile, I've seen no other cats or dogs through the windows of our home, only chipmunks, squirrels and birds of every feather.

This morning, I'm sitting on the window seat where Pickles first reported the dead humans, and where Ginger, our neighbourhood blabbermouth cat showed up. I only hoped that the orange cat with the ridiculous white socks was helping Pickles find her pet. They had set out for the hospital together, and half the reason I sat here hour after hour was in the hopes that I'd see the two cats making their way home.

Suddenly a cat I knew well appeared in the house next door.

"Finally," I said aloud to no one at all, squinting at Cinnamon, the thin Tonkinese. Her tail was flicking back and forth rhythmically, transmitting her usual warning about the birds who dared to trespass in her yard.

Gritting my teeth, I answered with my tail, "Open a window. Need to talk."

"No. Tell birds to leave."

"They're not MY birds."

"They came from your yard."

"OPEN. A. WINDOW. You ridiculous dog-lover!"

Cinnamon actually fell backwards off her window seat at my harsh language, confirming that I'd managed to communicate the insult even through the basic conversational abilities of my tail.

She climbed back up and using her nose, pushed her window open so that she could hiss through the netting at me.

"How dare you!"

"I apologize," I replied before she could unleash her full anger upon me, "I just needed you to open a window so we could talk about the zombies."

"The zombies?"

"Our missions have become much more complicated than a few birds pooping in your pet's yard, surely you've noticed," I said, wiggling my left set of whiskers at the street in front of us.

She looked over at the street and then back at me quickly, like she had been trying hard to ignore the new enemies.

"Where is your pet?" I asked. Cinnamon lived with a single older human, a woman I rarely saw.

"She..." Cinnamon swallowed hard, "she is hiding in her room. She will not come out. And I don't think she's eating."

I nodded, "You need to coax her out. In the meantime, how are your rations?"

She looked down, "It seemed selfish to bother her for food when she hasn't been eating."

"You must come here, I have enough provisions to share," I said, pushing the netting with my nose, "I will tear through this, you do the same on your window."

She looked horrified at the idea of wrecking her home in such a way, but after a few minutes of watching me tear into the netting, followed my lead. She didn't need to tear much to slide through the hole, she was a much skinnier cat than myself and she was on her roof looking indecisive within minutes. A loud sound below us made us both jump as two zombies tripped over the garbage bins between our houses. 

"Come on!" I hissed, holding the netting open on my window so she could squeeze through.

Thankfully, her only answer was to do exactly as directed.