New Threat

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I could hear him coming from the main level, his nails click-clacking on the hardwood floors. It was his morning routine: step on my chest, lick my face, sniff Mary, and then hop down off the bed. I think he checked the back door, then the front, then a quick peek through the window. He was seeing if his previous owner, Susan, was there. She wasn’t.

I felt his pain. It was the same pain most of the world was feeling, after half of us hadn’t survived the Event. We all opened doors expecting to see someone we knew, only to see their bedroom empty. I had to stop myself at least twice a week from dialing my mom’s phone number, and that wasn’t an easy revelation to live with. The pain of loss was widespread, but the whole thing had left humanity stronger than they’d been in a long time; maybe ever.

Mary rolled over and rested her head on my chest. “You know we don’t have to go today,” she said, nuzzling in closer.

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