The news came from the skies. Or rather, from the pigeons who lived in the skies and shit on everything under it.
"A star's gonna eat the world," announced Tattle, a pigeon with one eye, scorched tail feathers, and a hopeless addiction to expired breadcrumbs. He paced back and forth on a crooked lamppost overlooking Deadman's Alley, head bopping and chest puffed like he had breaking news on live television. "A big fire rock is gonna fall from the clouds in exactly one hundred days."
Below, the alley cats stared up at him, a few licking their lips. "Cool story," muttered Spindle, a wiry gray tabby with one torn ear and a flea infestation he treated by rolling in gutter water. "Heard the local raccoons were startin' a jazz band last month. Turned out it was just mating season."
"This is different!" Tattle cried. "Came from human scientists. White coats, crooked glasses, and the beeping machines. They say this one's real. The Earth's gonna pop like a catnip balloon."
A low hiss spread through the colony.
"Figures," mumbled Grin, a cunning tuxedo tomcat who always looked like he was seconds away from making biscuits on you, got his name from an unfortunate placement of color around his mouth. "Just when I got the good dumpster route memorized."
Kora, the oldest cat in the small colony and resident catnip addict, sat on a splintered fruit crate like a throne. She hadn't blinked in twenty minutes. "The sky's anger is old," she rasped. "The end comes like a shadow's yawn. Slow, then teeth."
Everyone avoided eye contact with her by looking around at nothing.
"So what do we do?" asked Cricket, a wide-eyed black kitten missing half his tail. "We gonna die?"
"Not me," Spindle said, stretching. "I got a plan."
"Oh boy," Grin sighed. "Here it comes."
"We storm the Royal District."
The Royal District was everything Deadman's Alley wasn't - pristine lawns, hummingbird feeders, cat towers gilded in aged catnip, and not a single overturned trash can in sight. It smelled like roses and depression. There, cats wore collars with literal gems in them, bathed in porcelain sinks, and ate pate off crystal saucers.
"We get in," Spindle said, "and survive the end of the world."
"You got kicked out of a hamster funeral last week," Grin replied. "Your plans have flaws."
"Hamster faked his death," Spindle muttered. "Long story."
They reached the edge of the Royal District just past midnight. There, lounging on a marble pillar like a villainess in a Disney film, was Vesper, with snow white fur and crystal-blue eyes. She glowed like a snow angel dipped in cat ego. Spindle tried not to stare or trip over his own tongue. She was the rumored queen of the House Cats. She was elegant, untouchable, and possibly spayed.
Behind her rose a mountain of muscle. Rex, a smoky Maine Coon and head of security. "You've entered a restricted area," Rex said, his voice low and growlty.
"We're here to negotiate," Spindle said confidently.
"You have leaves in your tail."
"That's a fashion choice."
Vesper sniffed. "Let me guess. You want sanctuary, entry to the Ark, provisions, and possibly even a scratching post."
"Yes," said Grin. "And maybe a complimentary paw massage?"
Before Rex could respond, the gate behind them exploded open. "HELLO!" barked a massive golden retriever as he sprinted through, skidded across the grass, and collided with a hedge. "Whassat?! Are we playin'? Is this playtime?! I love playtime!!" A pot of petunias flipped into the air and landed on his head. Duke, the security dog, big heart, small balance. "WAIT! DID SOMEONE SAY METEOR?!"
Rex groaned. "No one say anything. He'll spiral."
"I like spirals!" Duke added happily, wriggling to his feet and immediately tripping again.
The cats stared. "Is that your security system?" Spindle asked, genuinely appalled.
"I'm the backup," Duke replied, tail thudding like a drum. "I also handle hugs and stick retrieval."
Duke bounded over to Spindle, tripping on a root and somersaulting into a recycling bin. He popped out a second later, wearing a yogurt cup like a helmet. "I'm the security detail! I got promoted 'cause I found my own tail twice!" he barked proudly. "Which means I can let you in! I think."
"Absolutely not," Rex hissed again. "They're strays and will scratch the furniture."
"But I like them."
"No."
"Please?"
"No, Duke."
"Please?? I like 'em, also, one of 'em smells like cheese."
"That'd be me," Grin grinned. "Dumpster fondue. Long story."
Rex rubbed the bridge of his nose with a dark paw, looking like he wanted to throw himself in front of the nearest rocking chair.
Vesper squinted down like she was trying to recognize a weird smell. "So let me get this straight," she said, her words dipped in tuna oil and thinly veiled disgust. "You mongrels want access to my bunker."
Spindle nodded. "Short-term stay. Friendly visit. Maybe a tasting menu."
Grin leaned in. "We're very clean. I only have two fleas and they're dating."
"Impossible," Rex grunted. "You're filthy. He's limping. That one's cross-eyed." He pointed a paw directly at Cricket.
Cricket blinked one eye, then the other. "I feel called out."
"We come in peace," Spindle said. "Mostly. I mean, I left the broken bottle at home."
Vesper rolled her crystaline eyes. "You're asking for a seat at my table. In my bunker. During an extinction-level event. What, pray tell, do you offer in return?"
Tattle flapped down from the nearest trellis. "Intelligence, surveillance, and breadcrumb analysis. I can also poop in very strategic places."
Vesper stared at him like he was a cucumber.
Spindle gestured between them. "Look, your floofy majesty. We ain't here to ruin your spa bunker or steal your organic kibble. We just want a shot at not dying."
There was a long, dramatic pause. Rex twitched. Tattle sneezed (who the fuck knew pigeons could sneeze).
Duke finally piped up from where he'd gotten his head stuck in a watering can. "I think we should let 'em in! They're fun! The gray one called me 'golden disappointment' and I liked it!"
Vesper let out a slow, painful sigh. "Fine. One day, and I swear, if any of you defecate in a silk planter, I will launch you into orbit using Duke's tail."
Spindle grinned. "Appreciate the hospitality."
Grin added, "I only pee on rugs if they're rude to me first."
The "bunker" was hidden beneath a rose garden, with a shiny metal staircase that led to an underground chamber arrayed with pillows of every color, water fountains -fountains-, stacks of tuna, Sensation treats, and a battery-powered disco ball (Vesper's request). Spindle immediately felt unworthy breathing near it.
"Stars above," whispered Cricket, his eyes like saucers. "It's magic."
Tattle fluttered in behind them, somehow having gotten in through an open skylight. "They got a catnip vault, too. Vesper's got it triple-locked. Paranoid much?" He gave a whole-body shake that left one wing sitting crooked. "I saw them bringing in crates of freeze-dried salmon and a box labeled catnip reserves: do not open unless meteors," he cooed arrogantly. "They're hoarding."
Spindle's eyes narrowed. "We're gonna take this bunker."
"You mean sneak in?" asked Duke, chewing on his own foot.
"I mean steal it."
Grin grinned. "Oh, this'll go well."
Over the next several days, the strays prepared. Spindle mapped the sewer tunnels. Tattle stole blueprints (and half a muffin). Kora whispered cryptic things like, "The button watches when you blink." Duke defected. "I like rebellion! It tastes like carpet!" And Lumi, a pale Siamese who'd been watching from the shadows, joined them too. "She banished me for hissing in my sleep," Lumi said flatly. "I'll short-circuit her glitter fridge and feel nothing."
"You're hired," Grin said, impressed.
84 Days Left
They launched the heist. It began with a distraction. Kora perched on a fence and howled poetry at 3 AM. Vesper ordered Rex to "silence the banshee," which bought the others five minutes of uninterrupted tunneling. Grin and Lumi popped up in the rose garden, snipped the keypad wires with their sharp teeth, and unlocked the bunker door. Spindle, Duke, and a sack of supplies (mostly sardines and a few stress balls with jingle bells inside) rushed in. Then the alarm sounded.
WEEEOOOOOP.
All ears pressed backward over heads. At the top of the stairs stood Vesper. "You mutts and misfits dare invade my sanctuary?" she hissed. "Do you even know how to use a litterbox?!"
"Do you know how to climb a fence, Princess Powderpuff?" Spindle shot back.
She flicked her tail. Rex lunged.
"Aww, NOOOOOOPE!" Duke yelped, slamming into him midair and flattening them both into a beanbag chair.
Grin wielded a curtain rod like a rapier. Lumi launched herself at Vesper with a hiss that sounded like betrayal and unpaid vet bills. Cricket bit a tabby housecat on the tail and was immediately flung across the room. He landed in the pillow pit and declared it "awesome." Kora crawled under the snack station, muttering, "Yes, yes, yes, let the biscuit burn." In the chaos, Spindle found himself face-to-face with the disco ball. He knocked it from the ceiling and sent it spinning across the floor. Cats scattered to chase the new threat.
"Revolution!" Tattle shrieked from the air vents.
"BLACKOUT!" Lumi shouted.
Click
The strays who were born in darkness began grooming themselves in the dark. When the lights returned…Vesper and her House Cats were gone. The Ark? Was theirs.
Day 60
Strays began trickling in from nearby streets. Duke appointed himself the welcome wagon, often arriving with a mouthful of kittens and zero explanation. "I brought cookies and kittens! And by cookies, I mean twigs! BUT I TRIED!" Even Rex, tail bruised but ego intact, returned. He never apologized, but he did clean the litterbox once. Which, frankly, said it all. Vesper never returned. Well, she showed up once to steal back her gold food bowl and left without a meow.
40 Days Left
"This place smells like someone's unlicked butt," Grin muttered.
"That's your blanket," Lumi said without looking up. "You peed on it last night."
"I was marking my territory."
"You were sleep-running and dribbled fear juice."
Across the bunker, Spindle was leading a "training session" for the new arrivals, which mostly involved him shouting things like "YOU'RE NOT SCAVENGING FAST ENOUGH!" and them throwing sardine tins at his head. "I'm doin' my best!" Cricket squeaked, ducking behind a cardboard box labeled In Case of Panic – Eat These First.
"Yer best got ketchup on it, kid!"
Meanwhile, Duke had invented a new job for himself - emotional support tail wagger. "I'm checkin' on morale!" he barked, crashing into a flower vase. "EVERYONE OKAY? FEELIN' GOOD? WANNA HUG? NO? OKAY!"
He skidded into Rex, who glared at him like he was a hacked-up hairball. "You're loud."
"I'm enthusiastic!"
"You're makin' the floor vibrate."
"Thanks! I work out!"
Later that evening, Spindle called an emergency "Bunker Strategy Meeting" (which consisted of just five of them sitting in a circle, eating catnip-flavored treats). "Alright," he began, licking his paw. "We've had food thefts. Someone broke the emergency disco ball replacement and someone-" he shot a look at Grin "-has been painting fake tunnels on the walls."
"They look nice," Grin shrugged. "I used to watch cartoons with my human."
"I walked face-first into a brick wall!" yelled a Siamese from across the room.
"That's called immersion. You're welcome."
Kora interrupted the chaos by dragging in a moldy newspaper and laying it flat in the middle of the room like a tarot card. "The stars whisper," she said solemnly. "Soon the sky will scream."
Everyone stared. "I vote we stop lettin' Kora read the obituaries," Spindle muttered.
30 Days left (The Great Fluffback Siege.)
It started with a knock. Spindle opened the hatch and squinted. On the rose garden lawn above stood Vesper, her fluffy tail held high, flanked by five elite housecats in reflective collars and judgmental glares.
Spindle blinked. "What in the boutique hell is this?"
"I have arrived," Vesper announced, dramatically stepping onto the bunker stairs. "You may begin weeping with gratitude."
Behind her, Tapioca, a fluffy Himalayan with the posture of a disappointed puppy, sneered. "It smells like... canned food and carpet throw up."
"We've come to reclaim the Ark," Vesper said. "By House decree."
"You got kicked out by a dog and three feral cats," Spindle replied. "Pretty sure your reign expired."
Vesper flicked her tail. "You strays may be dirty, disorganized, and riddled with fleas, but I will not let you fumble through the apocalypse unsupervised." Then she stepped forward right onto a banana peel. SPLAT. Vesper hit the steps with a thud that echoed like justice.
"Oh stars, she fell!" cried Cricket.
"I'm still elegant," Vesper muttered, her pink nose buried in her own tail fluff. "No one look at me."
Tapioca hissed. "Get up, darling, your disdain is showing."
Below, the strays gathered like it was daytime TV.
Duke gasped. "Is this a play?!"
Rex stood like a sentry, unamused. "Want me to throw 'em?"
"No," Spindle said, eyes glinting. "Let's see what else they got."
A bell flew off someone's collar, and Vesper panicked, "Run away!"
Tattle landed beside Spindle with a dramatic flutter. "Their strategy is flawed."
Vesper hissed, fluff sticking to one ear, turned, walked into the hedge, and got stuck. Again. They watched her angrily wiggle free for six full minutes. No one helped.
Duke barked and spun in a circle. "BEST. PERFORMANCE. EVER."
Spindle scratched a new line into the wall: The Siege of Fluffington. Status: repelled by gravity and bad fur.
14 Days left
Tattle spotted the meteor. "A flaming egg in the sky," he whispered. No one argued with Tattle this time. That night, the Ark was quiet. The usual sounds of Duke snoring with his tongue out, Grin humming a song he swore he made up (but was definitely Never Gonna Give You Up) were all absent.
Cricket curled into Spindle's side, his eyes wide and unblinking. "Is it gonna hurt?" he asked softly.
Spindle hesitated, then wrapped his tail around the kitten. "Nah. We'll sleep through it. Like a really, really bad nap."
Across the room, Grin stared at his reflection in the water dish. "I should've kissed that Siamese from Westwood," he muttered. "She had a great tail."
"You're a disaster," Lumi said without heat.
"Gotta be remembered for somethin'."
Kora, huddled on her crate throne, stared at the ceiling. "I was wrong 'bout them teeth." Everyone turned, and she blinked slowly. "It ain't teeth coming down. It's the whole mouth."
Duke whimpered quietly, laying his head on Rex's side, who actually let him.
Spindle cleared his throat. "Alright," he said. "Since we might not make it... I just wanna say-"
Grin held up a paw. "If you get sappy, I'm biting you."
"I was gonna say you still owe me a sardine tin."
Cricket giggled.
0 Days left
The meteor came. The Ark groaned, metal creaked. A pipe burst with a hiss, spraying a stream of lukewarm water. Somehow, it held. Hours passed. They lay pressed together, tails overlapping, hearts thudding in unison. They emerged slowly.
Spindle jumped up on a broken mailbox, staring out at the horizon. Grin hopped up beside him. "We actually made it."
"Barely."
"Still counts."
Cricket tumbled out of the bunker with a daisy in his mouth.
Tattle flew in excited circles above the group. "I WAS RIGHT! I SAVED YOU ALL!" he cried, wings flapping like a victory flag. "Bow to the bird who foretold doom!" Then the sky dimmed, his flapping slowed, and his one good eye widened. "...IT'S BACK!" he shrieked. "THE SECOND METEOR!! THE AFTER-ROCK!! THE COSMIC SEQUEL!"
Lumi looked up, completely unbothered. "That's the moon."
"No, no! It's-It's EATING THE SUN!!" Tattle screeched in horror, spiraling lower. "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE AGAIN!"
"It's a solar eclipse," Rex said flatly. "Bird brain."
Grin squinted skyward. "Yep. Moon's just photobombin the sun. Happens."
Even Duke stopped chewing on a stick to look up and whisper, "Ooooooohhh."
They all turned to stare at Tattle. Even Kora blinked. The possum by the rose bush stopped rummaging through the trash to judge the pigeon.
Tattle hovered mid-air, his flapping slowing to an awkward hover. "…Okay," he said finally, "maybe I was mildly wrong." He fluttered to the ground, ruffled and indignant. "But let's be honest, none of you knew that sun-eatin' sky rock wasn't round two."
Grin smirked. "You gonna predict next week's weather, too?"
Tattle lifted his chest. "Absolutely. I foresee... mild embarrassment, unfair judgment, and a 100% chance of gratitude that I was only wrong today."
Duke wagged. "I still think he's cool."
"I still think he's loud," Rex muttered.
They rolled their eyes, but they let the misinformed bird strut. The sky brightened again, and for once, the only thing falling…
…was Tattle's credibility.
THE END
(Fur real)
"A star's gonna eat the world," announced Tattle, a pigeon with one eye, scorched tail feathers, and a hopeless addiction to expired breadcrumbs. He paced back and forth on a crooked lamppost overlooking Deadman's Alley, head bopping and chest puffed like he had breaking news on live television. "A big fire rock is gonna fall from the clouds in exactly one hundred days."
Below, the alley cats stared up at him, a few licking their lips. "Cool story," muttered Spindle, a wiry gray tabby with one torn ear and a flea infestation he treated by rolling in gutter water. "Heard the local raccoons were startin' a jazz band last month. Turned out it was just mating season."
"This is different!" Tattle cried. "Came from human scientists. White coats, crooked glasses, and the beeping machines. They say this one's real. The Earth's gonna pop like a catnip balloon."
A low hiss spread through the colony.
"Figures," mumbled Grin, a cunning tuxedo tomcat who always looked like he was seconds away from making biscuits on you, got his name from an unfortunate placement of color around his mouth. "Just when I got the good dumpster route memorized."
Kora, the oldest cat in the small colony and resident catnip addict, sat on a splintered fruit crate like a throne. She hadn't blinked in twenty minutes. "The sky's anger is old," she rasped. "The end comes like a shadow's yawn. Slow, then teeth."
Everyone avoided eye contact with her by looking around at nothing.
"So what do we do?" asked Cricket, a wide-eyed black kitten missing half his tail. "We gonna die?"
"Not me," Spindle said, stretching. "I got a plan."
"Oh boy," Grin sighed. "Here it comes."
"We storm the Royal District."
The Royal District was everything Deadman's Alley wasn't - pristine lawns, hummingbird feeders, cat towers gilded in aged catnip, and not a single overturned trash can in sight. It smelled like roses and depression. There, cats wore collars with literal gems in them, bathed in porcelain sinks, and ate pate off crystal saucers.
"We get in," Spindle said, "and survive the end of the world."
"You got kicked out of a hamster funeral last week," Grin replied. "Your plans have flaws."
"Hamster faked his death," Spindle muttered. "Long story."
They reached the edge of the Royal District just past midnight. There, lounging on a marble pillar like a villainess in a Disney film, was Vesper, with snow white fur and crystal-blue eyes. She glowed like a snow angel dipped in cat ego. Spindle tried not to stare or trip over his own tongue. She was the rumored queen of the House Cats. She was elegant, untouchable, and possibly spayed.
Behind her rose a mountain of muscle. Rex, a smoky Maine Coon and head of security. "You've entered a restricted area," Rex said, his voice low and growlty.
"We're here to negotiate," Spindle said confidently.
"You have leaves in your tail."
"That's a fashion choice."
Vesper sniffed. "Let me guess. You want sanctuary, entry to the Ark, provisions, and possibly even a scratching post."
"Yes," said Grin. "And maybe a complimentary paw massage?"
Before Rex could respond, the gate behind them exploded open. "HELLO!" barked a massive golden retriever as he sprinted through, skidded across the grass, and collided with a hedge. "Whassat?! Are we playin'? Is this playtime?! I love playtime!!" A pot of petunias flipped into the air and landed on his head. Duke, the security dog, big heart, small balance. "WAIT! DID SOMEONE SAY METEOR?!"
Rex groaned. "No one say anything. He'll spiral."
"I like spirals!" Duke added happily, wriggling to his feet and immediately tripping again.
The cats stared. "Is that your security system?" Spindle asked, genuinely appalled.
"I'm the backup," Duke replied, tail thudding like a drum. "I also handle hugs and stick retrieval."
Duke bounded over to Spindle, tripping on a root and somersaulting into a recycling bin. He popped out a second later, wearing a yogurt cup like a helmet. "I'm the security detail! I got promoted 'cause I found my own tail twice!" he barked proudly. "Which means I can let you in! I think."
"Absolutely not," Rex hissed again. "They're strays and will scratch the furniture."
"But I like them."
"No."
"Please?"
"No, Duke."
"Please?? I like 'em, also, one of 'em smells like cheese."
"That'd be me," Grin grinned. "Dumpster fondue. Long story."
Rex rubbed the bridge of his nose with a dark paw, looking like he wanted to throw himself in front of the nearest rocking chair.
Vesper squinted down like she was trying to recognize a weird smell. "So let me get this straight," she said, her words dipped in tuna oil and thinly veiled disgust. "You mongrels want access to my bunker."
Spindle nodded. "Short-term stay. Friendly visit. Maybe a tasting menu."
Grin leaned in. "We're very clean. I only have two fleas and they're dating."
"Impossible," Rex grunted. "You're filthy. He's limping. That one's cross-eyed." He pointed a paw directly at Cricket.
Cricket blinked one eye, then the other. "I feel called out."
"We come in peace," Spindle said. "Mostly. I mean, I left the broken bottle at home."
Vesper rolled her crystaline eyes. "You're asking for a seat at my table. In my bunker. During an extinction-level event. What, pray tell, do you offer in return?"
Tattle flapped down from the nearest trellis. "Intelligence, surveillance, and breadcrumb analysis. I can also poop in very strategic places."
Vesper stared at him like he was a cucumber.
Spindle gestured between them. "Look, your floofy majesty. We ain't here to ruin your spa bunker or steal your organic kibble. We just want a shot at not dying."
There was a long, dramatic pause. Rex twitched. Tattle sneezed (who the fuck knew pigeons could sneeze).
Duke finally piped up from where he'd gotten his head stuck in a watering can. "I think we should let 'em in! They're fun! The gray one called me 'golden disappointment' and I liked it!"
Vesper let out a slow, painful sigh. "Fine. One day, and I swear, if any of you defecate in a silk planter, I will launch you into orbit using Duke's tail."
Spindle grinned. "Appreciate the hospitality."
Grin added, "I only pee on rugs if they're rude to me first."
The "bunker" was hidden beneath a rose garden, with a shiny metal staircase that led to an underground chamber arrayed with pillows of every color, water fountains -fountains-, stacks of tuna, Sensation treats, and a battery-powered disco ball (Vesper's request). Spindle immediately felt unworthy breathing near it.
"Stars above," whispered Cricket, his eyes like saucers. "It's magic."
Tattle fluttered in behind them, somehow having gotten in through an open skylight. "They got a catnip vault, too. Vesper's got it triple-locked. Paranoid much?" He gave a whole-body shake that left one wing sitting crooked. "I saw them bringing in crates of freeze-dried salmon and a box labeled catnip reserves: do not open unless meteors," he cooed arrogantly. "They're hoarding."
Spindle's eyes narrowed. "We're gonna take this bunker."
"You mean sneak in?" asked Duke, chewing on his own foot.
"I mean steal it."
Grin grinned. "Oh, this'll go well."
Over the next several days, the strays prepared. Spindle mapped the sewer tunnels. Tattle stole blueprints (and half a muffin). Kora whispered cryptic things like, "The button watches when you blink." Duke defected. "I like rebellion! It tastes like carpet!" And Lumi, a pale Siamese who'd been watching from the shadows, joined them too. "She banished me for hissing in my sleep," Lumi said flatly. "I'll short-circuit her glitter fridge and feel nothing."
"You're hired," Grin said, impressed.
84 Days Left
They launched the heist. It began with a distraction. Kora perched on a fence and howled poetry at 3 AM. Vesper ordered Rex to "silence the banshee," which bought the others five minutes of uninterrupted tunneling. Grin and Lumi popped up in the rose garden, snipped the keypad wires with their sharp teeth, and unlocked the bunker door. Spindle, Duke, and a sack of supplies (mostly sardines and a few stress balls with jingle bells inside) rushed in. Then the alarm sounded.
WEEEOOOOOP.
All ears pressed backward over heads. At the top of the stairs stood Vesper. "You mutts and misfits dare invade my sanctuary?" she hissed. "Do you even know how to use a litterbox?!"
"Do you know how to climb a fence, Princess Powderpuff?" Spindle shot back.
She flicked her tail. Rex lunged.
"Aww, NOOOOOOPE!" Duke yelped, slamming into him midair and flattening them both into a beanbag chair.
Grin wielded a curtain rod like a rapier. Lumi launched herself at Vesper with a hiss that sounded like betrayal and unpaid vet bills. Cricket bit a tabby housecat on the tail and was immediately flung across the room. He landed in the pillow pit and declared it "awesome." Kora crawled under the snack station, muttering, "Yes, yes, yes, let the biscuit burn." In the chaos, Spindle found himself face-to-face with the disco ball. He knocked it from the ceiling and sent it spinning across the floor. Cats scattered to chase the new threat.
"Revolution!" Tattle shrieked from the air vents.
"BLACKOUT!" Lumi shouted.
Click
The strays who were born in darkness began grooming themselves in the dark. When the lights returned…Vesper and her House Cats were gone. The Ark? Was theirs.
Day 60
Strays began trickling in from nearby streets. Duke appointed himself the welcome wagon, often arriving with a mouthful of kittens and zero explanation. "I brought cookies and kittens! And by cookies, I mean twigs! BUT I TRIED!" Even Rex, tail bruised but ego intact, returned. He never apologized, but he did clean the litterbox once. Which, frankly, said it all. Vesper never returned. Well, she showed up once to steal back her gold food bowl and left without a meow.
40 Days Left
"This place smells like someone's unlicked butt," Grin muttered.
"That's your blanket," Lumi said without looking up. "You peed on it last night."
"I was marking my territory."
"You were sleep-running and dribbled fear juice."
Across the bunker, Spindle was leading a "training session" for the new arrivals, which mostly involved him shouting things like "YOU'RE NOT SCAVENGING FAST ENOUGH!" and them throwing sardine tins at his head. "I'm doin' my best!" Cricket squeaked, ducking behind a cardboard box labeled In Case of Panic – Eat These First.
"Yer best got ketchup on it, kid!"
Meanwhile, Duke had invented a new job for himself - emotional support tail wagger. "I'm checkin' on morale!" he barked, crashing into a flower vase. "EVERYONE OKAY? FEELIN' GOOD? WANNA HUG? NO? OKAY!"
He skidded into Rex, who glared at him like he was a hacked-up hairball. "You're loud."
"I'm enthusiastic!"
"You're makin' the floor vibrate."
"Thanks! I work out!"
Later that evening, Spindle called an emergency "Bunker Strategy Meeting" (which consisted of just five of them sitting in a circle, eating catnip-flavored treats). "Alright," he began, licking his paw. "We've had food thefts. Someone broke the emergency disco ball replacement and someone-" he shot a look at Grin "-has been painting fake tunnels on the walls."
"They look nice," Grin shrugged. "I used to watch cartoons with my human."
"I walked face-first into a brick wall!" yelled a Siamese from across the room.
"That's called immersion. You're welcome."
Kora interrupted the chaos by dragging in a moldy newspaper and laying it flat in the middle of the room like a tarot card. "The stars whisper," she said solemnly. "Soon the sky will scream."
Everyone stared. "I vote we stop lettin' Kora read the obituaries," Spindle muttered.
30 Days left (The Great Fluffback Siege.)
It started with a knock. Spindle opened the hatch and squinted. On the rose garden lawn above stood Vesper, her fluffy tail held high, flanked by five elite housecats in reflective collars and judgmental glares.
Spindle blinked. "What in the boutique hell is this?"
"I have arrived," Vesper announced, dramatically stepping onto the bunker stairs. "You may begin weeping with gratitude."
Behind her, Tapioca, a fluffy Himalayan with the posture of a disappointed puppy, sneered. "It smells like... canned food and carpet throw up."
"We've come to reclaim the Ark," Vesper said. "By House decree."
"You got kicked out by a dog and three feral cats," Spindle replied. "Pretty sure your reign expired."
Vesper flicked her tail. "You strays may be dirty, disorganized, and riddled with fleas, but I will not let you fumble through the apocalypse unsupervised." Then she stepped forward right onto a banana peel. SPLAT. Vesper hit the steps with a thud that echoed like justice.
"Oh stars, she fell!" cried Cricket.
"I'm still elegant," Vesper muttered, her pink nose buried in her own tail fluff. "No one look at me."
Tapioca hissed. "Get up, darling, your disdain is showing."
Below, the strays gathered like it was daytime TV.
Duke gasped. "Is this a play?!"
Rex stood like a sentry, unamused. "Want me to throw 'em?"
"No," Spindle said, eyes glinting. "Let's see what else they got."
A bell flew off someone's collar, and Vesper panicked, "Run away!"
Tattle landed beside Spindle with a dramatic flutter. "Their strategy is flawed."
Vesper hissed, fluff sticking to one ear, turned, walked into the hedge, and got stuck. Again. They watched her angrily wiggle free for six full minutes. No one helped.
Duke barked and spun in a circle. "BEST. PERFORMANCE. EVER."
Spindle scratched a new line into the wall: The Siege of Fluffington. Status: repelled by gravity and bad fur.
14 Days left
Tattle spotted the meteor. "A flaming egg in the sky," he whispered. No one argued with Tattle this time. That night, the Ark was quiet. The usual sounds of Duke snoring with his tongue out, Grin humming a song he swore he made up (but was definitely Never Gonna Give You Up) were all absent.
Cricket curled into Spindle's side, his eyes wide and unblinking. "Is it gonna hurt?" he asked softly.
Spindle hesitated, then wrapped his tail around the kitten. "Nah. We'll sleep through it. Like a really, really bad nap."
Across the room, Grin stared at his reflection in the water dish. "I should've kissed that Siamese from Westwood," he muttered. "She had a great tail."
"You're a disaster," Lumi said without heat.
"Gotta be remembered for somethin'."
Kora, huddled on her crate throne, stared at the ceiling. "I was wrong 'bout them teeth." Everyone turned, and she blinked slowly. "It ain't teeth coming down. It's the whole mouth."
Duke whimpered quietly, laying his head on Rex's side, who actually let him.
Spindle cleared his throat. "Alright," he said. "Since we might not make it... I just wanna say-"
Grin held up a paw. "If you get sappy, I'm biting you."
"I was gonna say you still owe me a sardine tin."
Cricket giggled.
0 Days left
The meteor came. The Ark groaned, metal creaked. A pipe burst with a hiss, spraying a stream of lukewarm water. Somehow, it held. Hours passed. They lay pressed together, tails overlapping, hearts thudding in unison. They emerged slowly.
Spindle jumped up on a broken mailbox, staring out at the horizon. Grin hopped up beside him. "We actually made it."
"Barely."
"Still counts."
Cricket tumbled out of the bunker with a daisy in his mouth.
Tattle flew in excited circles above the group. "I WAS RIGHT! I SAVED YOU ALL!" he cried, wings flapping like a victory flag. "Bow to the bird who foretold doom!" Then the sky dimmed, his flapping slowed, and his one good eye widened. "...IT'S BACK!" he shrieked. "THE SECOND METEOR!! THE AFTER-ROCK!! THE COSMIC SEQUEL!"
Lumi looked up, completely unbothered. "That's the moon."
"No, no! It's-It's EATING THE SUN!!" Tattle screeched in horror, spiraling lower. "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE AGAIN!"
"It's a solar eclipse," Rex said flatly. "Bird brain."
Grin squinted skyward. "Yep. Moon's just photobombin the sun. Happens."
Even Duke stopped chewing on a stick to look up and whisper, "Ooooooohhh."
They all turned to stare at Tattle. Even Kora blinked. The possum by the rose bush stopped rummaging through the trash to judge the pigeon.
Tattle hovered mid-air, his flapping slowing to an awkward hover. "…Okay," he said finally, "maybe I was mildly wrong." He fluttered to the ground, ruffled and indignant. "But let's be honest, none of you knew that sun-eatin' sky rock wasn't round two."
Grin smirked. "You gonna predict next week's weather, too?"
Tattle lifted his chest. "Absolutely. I foresee... mild embarrassment, unfair judgment, and a 100% chance of gratitude that I was only wrong today."
Duke wagged. "I still think he's cool."
"I still think he's loud," Rex muttered.
They rolled their eyes, but they let the misinformed bird strut. The sky brightened again, and for once, the only thing falling…
…was Tattle's credibility.
THE END
(Fur real)
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