1️⃣Chapter One: The Last Cat🐈
The world had ended quietly, not with a bang but with a long, slow exhale, and the last cat on Earth sat in the dust of a shattered kitchen, washing its paws as if the apocalypse were merely a draft under the door. It had no name anymore—names were for people, and people were gone, their voices faded to static on dead radios, their scent washed from the wind. The cat remembered warmth, a lap, a bowl that filled itself, but memory had thinned to instinct: hunt, hide, survive. It prowled the silent cities where grass split the asphalt and deer grazed in parking lots, and at night it climbed to the highest broken window to watch the stars, the only eyes left that did not blink. Sometimes it heard a sound—a can rolling, a bird—and for a moment its tail would lift with hope, but hope, like everything else, had gone feral. Still, it kept walking, because the last cat on Earth did not know it was last; it only knew that morning came, and there was always one more day to live through.
The world had ended quietly, not with a bang but with a long, slow exhale, and the last cat on Earth sat in the dust of a shattered kitchen, washing its paws as if the apocalypse were merely a draft under the door. It had no name anymore—names were for people, and people were gone, their voices faded to static on dead radios, their scent washed from the wind. The cat remembered warmth, a lap, a bowl that filled itself, but memory had thinned to instinct: hunt, hide, survive. It prowled the silent cities where grass split the asphalt and deer grazed in parking lots, and at night it climbed to the highest broken window to watch the stars, the only eyes left that did not blink. Sometimes it heard a sound—a can rolling, a bird—and for a moment its tail would lift with hope, but hope, like everything else, had gone feral. Still, it kept walking, because the last cat on Earth did not know it was last; it only knew that morning came, and there was always one more day to live through.
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