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.

The three cats had slept through all the commotion, not waking once. Lately, it seemed they were sleeping even more than usual…

The apartment was packed floor to ceiling with supplies. I was drenched in sweat, nearly collapsing from exhaustion.

But there was no time to rest. I bought steel plates from the hardware market and reinforced every door and window—anything to buy a few extra minutes if the zombies arrived.

Exhausted, I collapsed to the floor, ready to close my eyes for just a moment.

Then came the unmistakable sound of a lock turning.

The landlord had barged in—with a group of people in tow.

"Everything stays! Get out! I'm taking back the apartment!"

…

"What gives?"

My heart lurched as I glared at him, anger boiling.

The landlord's arrogance was unbearable. He brandished a wooden stick like a weapon.

"This apartment is mine. I can do whatever I want."

I was pinned to the floor by his men, unable to move.

Helplessly, I watched my supplies being carted off while a custom fish tank was assembled in the apartment.

The landlord had somehow brought several crocodiles. Their jaws were bound with wire, but sharp teeth gleamed ominously whenever they yawned.

Grinning proudly, he grabbed the sleeping Snowy from the floor.

He swung the tiny cat by its tail, laughing maniacally.

"Ha! You really think this little kitten can protect you? Two ounces of fur and meat! Not enough to even stuff my crocodile's teeth."

Snowy, usually ferocious, was utterly limp in the landlord's hands. Even Leo and Luna—usually so protective—showed no hint of vigilance, heads drooped in deep sleep.

The landlord was about to toss the cat into the fish tank.

"NO!" I screamed, heart hammering. "I'm taking them with me. Don't hurt them!"

Finally, he flung Snowy into my arms.

"You've got some sense. Get out of here—and stay far away. Come back, and I'll feed you to the crocodiles!"

With less than an hour to the apocalypse, my three cats and I were ejected from our fully prepared home into the street.

This was it. Our lives were truly over.

I held one in my arms, strapped two to my back, and slunk along the streets, hiding wherever I could.

Turning a corner, I ran into two people. Looking up, I saw my best friend, Vicky Ashford, and Dominic.

They were arm in arm, walking three Tibetan mastiffs like nothing had happened.

"Well, well, if it isn't Scarlett," Vicky mocked. "Still haven't forgotten your little cat overlords, even now?"

I couldn't hear her taunts. My eyes were locked on their intertwined hands.

"We broke up just a few hours ago. How are you with her?"

Dominic dropped the act, revealing his true self.

"Scarlett, you really thought I liked some skinny, broke loser like you? Truth is, Vicky and I have been together for a while.

"I planned to trick you into raising strong pets so we could toss you to the zombies and have nine guardians ourselves.

"But you… you were stupid enough to cling to those dead cats."

Vicky giggled, swaying Dominic's arm.

"Honey, why bother? Now, we've got Tibetan mastiffs and a lion. Who cares if she dies? Might as well let our little ones have a snack now."

Her words made me freeze. Was I going to be eaten by the mastiffs even before the zombies arrived? Their teeth looked terrifyingly sharp.

The mastiffs, apparently understanding their owners, lunged at me, barking furiously.

Vicky clapped and laughed. "Yes, my babies! That's right! Tear that wretch apart!"

The mastiffs opened their jaws wide. A wave of fear and the stench of blood hit me. My legs felt nailed to the ground. I had nowhere to retreat.

I closed my eyes, bracing for the worst.

Then, just in that moment, my cats woke up.