Work Text:
It's a beautiful day out. Always is it seems these days, bright blue Albuquerque sky and the sun on just the right side of too warm. Carol does not care, barely even notices as she walks -- stomps, really -- through the city with no real destination in mind besides a change of scenery, a need to get the fuck out of the house before she loses her mind from boredom and whatever psychological effects come from being in solitary confinement from the rest of humanity. She stops only when she nearly trips over something soft in front of her feet on the sidewalk.
She looks down and blinks at the white ball of fur she sees there. "The fuck?" she mumbles, disoriented at being dragged out of her own spiraling thoughts and surprised at seeing another living creature for the first time in... however long it's been. She's lost count.
The creature meows in response, sounding about as forlorn as Carol herself feels. She looks into the green eyes peering up at her, reflecting back something from deep inside herself. There's something about it that makes her inexplicably feel like crying. Without thinking Carol kneels down to stroke the cat's soft fur. A shaky breath drags itself out of her throat as the cat presses its head solidly into her palm, seeking the affection. It purrs loudly, satisfied.
"You're all alone, huh?" Carol whispers, voice wobbling slightly. It meows again as if it can understand her. "Yeah, me too, buddy." She sniffs. "You and me both."
Carol always wanted a kitten when she was a child. Her parents didn't let her of course, didn't want any pets in the house. A child is difficult enough to deal with on its own, they used to say, laughing. Carol always understood it was more of an accusation than a joke. Maybe if she'd been easier -- easier to take care of, easier to raise, easier to love -- they'd have considered it. But probably not. Regardless, she had never tried particularly hard.
And after she left home, Carol sort of forgot about the wish. Too busy or too unstable to care for another living thing anyway. For years she barely even managed to keep herself alive. And then... well. Helen was allergic, a fun fact shared on a second or third date, maybe -- ("Are you a dog person or a cat person? I can't be around either, but I always thought cats were cuter," she had said, and Carol had grumbled "I fucking hate dogs," which maybe wasn't really in the spirit of a question asked to try to figure out what she liked, but lucky for her Helen had found it charming enough anyway) -- and besides, they'd end up traveling too much for the idea of owning a pet of any kind to ever really have worked out. Which was fine. Carol knew she didn't need anyone or anything else in her home or in her life.
The cat rolls over on the sidewalk, stretching its limbs wide. Basking in the sunlight and Carol's attention. She wonders who it used to belong to, the poor thing. Whose bed it used to curl up in to be a beloved nusiance. Whose warm bright kitchen it used to beg for food in.
Carol hadn't thought about it really, the issue of all the animals being released, when the other survivors had brought it up. She'd been too busy worrying about all the things that seemed more imminently important. But it hits her now how fucked up the whole thing is. Carol's no biologist or zoologist or whatever the fuck, but she knows there's no way every domesticated animal in the world could survive on their own in the wild or on the streets. How many people were forced to send their beloved pets to their deaths in the name of some childish idea of freedom? She thinks about the wolves in her backyard, about how many people's dogs ended up as lunch. She thinks about all the reasons you're not supposed to keep outdoor cats.
Just another part of them that is utterly inhuman, she supposes. No more of that love people used to show for the creatures they shared their lives with, just like there's no more respect for the dead. She shouldn't have been surprised by that really. She's not sure anything will surprise her again. She's just so fucking angry about it all.
As if sensing her distress, the cat tilts its head to look up at her and lets out an inquisitive mew? just as Carol stands up and takes a deep breath to try to calm herself down, blinking back unexpected tears. She's not going to have a breakdown in the middle of the street even if her one and only witness would be a cat.
Ignoring the feeling that she's running from something, she follows the desire to get home and have a drink by turning on her heel to start walking back the way she came, not looking back. She doesn't really want to think about the cat anymore, or about anything else for that matter, but--
--but there it is anyway. Following her, walking alongside her while it presses itself against her leg, purring. Her pants are already covered in white fur.
She looks at it from the corner of her eye. "What do you want?" she asks, voice cracking.
Mrow, it says, looking at Carol like she's supposed to know what that means. And maybe she does.
"Alright." She nods to herself. "Alright, why not. You wanna come home with me?" She takes a couple more steps, just to make sure. The cat keeps following her. Alright then.
Carol bends down and scoops the animal into her arms. She doesn't remember ever actually doing something like this before, and it's a little awkward. It sinks its claws into the sleeves of her sweater, but thankfully doesn't reach skin. There's fur all over her now, but Carol doesn't care. Holding the cat like this against her chest, feeling it breathing, feeling it alive, is almost enough to make her burst into tears.
And as she begins to walk back to the car, she thinks about the men from Istanbul and Yemen, two people who love cats enough for Zosia to have mentioned it as something as important to who they are as their names and ages and professions. She wonders what they're doing now, somewhere across the planet, if they too are trying desperately to cling to the comfort of some small remaining part of how the world used to be. The uncomplicated love of a pet. She wonders if they're going to be the last people in the world to feel something like this.