Cat's Last Friday Night

The zombie apocalypse everyone talks about? It started on a Friday night. I was sixteen, halfway through beating my high score on Mario Kart, when my phone blew up with texts from Maya.

"dude r u seeing this"

"actual zombies outside walmart"

"no cap"

I paused the game and peeked through my blinds. There it was—the scene straight out of every dystopian Netflix binge: people running toward the parking lot, chaos everywhere, and weirdly, a cat sitting calmly on a brick wall like it was just another regular Tuesday.

My hands started shaking. This wasn't some movie plot anymore. Maya messaged again: "my parents r freaking out, hiding in the basement. what do we do??"

I typed back: "idk but my parents went to the movies 2 hours ago and aren't picking up"

That's when it hit me—this wasn't about fighting off walkers with a baseball bat or becoming the hero. It was about how much I'd been taking for granted. The spinach casserole my mom made every Sunday (gross but secretly loved). The way my dad always asked about my day even though I just grunted. Friday night pizza runs.

The cat on the wall flicked its tail, completely unbothered. I envied that cat. It had zero anxiety, zero existential dread about missing out on prom or graduation or whatever normal life was supposed to look like now.

Maya: "im scared"

Me: "me too. but we got this. you, me, and the cat outside my window"

Maya: "lmao the cat is ur emotional support animal now"

I smiled. My phone lit up—my parents calling. They were safe, heading back.

Some first experiences aren't what you expect. My first real Friday night excitement wasn't a party or a date. It was the end of everything normal, the beginning of whatever came next. The cat finally moved, stretching like nothing mattered.

Somehow, that made it okay.