Pro-dog
It’s not always easy finding something cheerful to say about Armageddon, but to Sally Ann Grubbs the end of the world had its upside.
No more getting up for work, for one thing. No more days off, true, but then no more playing subway sardines, no more explaining why there’s marmalade in the photocopier, and no more of that bloody Kevin from Marketing. And thanks to the banking collapse she was the joint-richest person on the planet.
She’d miss her walks in the park, of course, or at least without being lasered to death, but once you move aside the debris and the body parts a stroll through an abandoned shopping mall could be quite bracing. The TV had stopped showing General Hospital, which was a shame, especially as they’d have more patients these days, but in an apocalypse you just have to make your own entertainment. It’s surprising how many things you can do with a stick.
The biggest plus, though, the thing that really turned one’s Armageddon frown upside down was that she, Sally Ann Grubbs, thirty-eight years old, dumpy, flat-footed… well, she’d finally be noticed. You simply can’t ignore a fellow survivor of the human race no matter how hard you try. It’s obvious—just like counting your teeth. Was she the only one that did that? Anyhow, people’ll weep tears to see her, and this time tears of joy. No more Sweaty Ann Slugs, or whatever it was that stupid bloody Kevin from Marketing always said behind her back. They’d see Sally Ann for what she really was: still breathing.
Unless, of course, there was no one else. She thought about that for a moment. She hadn’t seen anyone for weeks. Today was December the thirty-first; even she knew normal people went to Times Square on New Year’s Eve. She’d made it all the way across New York State, so you’d think you’d see someone partying, even with an end of days going on. Or sales shopping. Imagine the discounts. Yesterday, she thought she heard a voice, but it was just that small, funny-looking cat who kept tagging behind her, mewing for attention. It was odd how it looked at her with those strange red-and-green eyes, like it knew exactly what was going on. But now, not even that. Nothing. Silence. In the great big apple, no golf signs, no muggings, not a single vagrant trying to pick her pocket. How disappointing, and yet, despite yourself Sally, she thought, here you are, still ducking in and out of those doorways, still wondering where all the cool people go—and not the places they tell you, she knew that much. Always in and out of the shadows. Like this big one, from that cloud blotting out the sun. Funny, didn’t seem to be overcast a moment ago. It must be about to … oh.
As the bright green laser said Hello Sally and lifted her effortlessly from the floor, she drifted into a happy and deep sleep, barely registering the funny-looking cat that had just reappeared, leaping to her shoulder, coiling itself loosely around her not unpretty at all, in fact really rather refined, at least from a distance, but as of now very much exposed, neck.
