Jack stuffed one last item, a box of matches, in to their backpacks. “There! It’s more than I wanted to take, but since you insisted we bring Jenga and chess…” Greta shrugged. She imagined it would get bored during the apocalypse. Jack would thank her in the down time, when they weren’t fighting zombies and were bored out of their mind. In fact, Jack should be grateful she didn’t insist upon bring Life. Not that she would ever insist on bringing that game. That would be the worst game to bring in an apocalypse.
“Alright Gumbo!” Greta called for her cat. “Gumbo! Let’s go!”
“Greta…” Jack tenuously addressed Greta, standing aside from the packs.
“I had a fantasy,” Greta said. “It wasn’t a good fantasy, like most people assume when one says ‘I had a fantasy’ but it was a thought displaced from reality so it was a fantasy. Anyway, I had a fantasy once this whole thing got started—”
“So this elaborate fantasy took place in the past couple of hours.”
“Yes. I never said it was elaborate, but yes. I had a fantasy that I would have to kill Gumbo. Or leave him to die. That if we did end up going on this crazy quest—”
“It’s not a quest, Greta, this isn’t Lord of the Rings.”
“That if we did end up going on this crazy quest you would make some argument about why Gumbo has to die. You would say something like how it’s hard enough looking out for ourselves, about how this is no world for a cat, etcetera, etcetera. But then I thought to myself, in my fantasy I did, who gives a fuck? It’s no world for a human either. I’m not leaving Gumbo.”
“So that’s it, I told myself. This is already a bat shit insane scenario we’re in, why not add a cat? I’m pretty resolved on this and as you’ve said more times than Clinton denied sex, we don’t have much time.”