Chương 38: Everyone Needs a Cat

I did not need a cat. No, really, I did not need a cat. But somehow, I found myself saying, "You may stay here as long as you like, General. I picked up some food at the store for you today. Would you like your dinner now?" The twitch of his ear conveyed his relief. That would be much appreciated, he said with a dignified meow. I see that you are a very superior Human Servant. The corners of my lips lifted as I tried to smother my smile, but Zelda's hackles rose. Servant! She sputtered with her fur.

My person is not your servant. I opened my fingers, palm down, telling her not to argue with him, that we'd discuss it later. Smoothly, I said to him, "Meals are served in the kitchen, but until you and the pack have had a chance to get to know one another, you might be more comfortable in here. If you'll wait here, I'll be right back." That will do. Thank you. The General had a touch of humor in his tone. It was just a touch, but it felt like a good sign.

He really couldn't spend the rest of his life in my dad's office. I closed the door behind us as we exited the office. Riley was conked out on the dog bed by the fireplace, but Bear was on her rag rug. She thumped her tail a couple of times as we headed toward the kitchen, eyes open, but without lifting her head. She knew it wasn't a meal time, but she was always interested in events taking place near food. She got a lot more interested when I opened a can of cat food and dumped it into a small bowl.

I held it up to read the label, because I had no idea how much food cats were supposed to get, and she whuffled her nose under my arm. Smells good. Her entire back half was in motion. Good food?

"It's cat food," I told her.

"For the cat that was visiting us this morning. I need you to be nice to him, okay? And if you are, I'll let you lick out the can." Dogs don't really understand conversational English, but I'd always talked to them in complete sentences anyway. They get the tone of voice, they get the interaction, and if the words are all blah-blah-blah to them, so what? But Chelsea had said communication went both ways. Was the System changing my dogs as much as it was changing me?

While I was looking down at Bear, earnestly telling her to be nice, I used [Analyze]. Name: Bear Species: Canine Class: Scout Level: 3 Condition: Optimal I focused on her class until the tooltip popped up. Scout: A common class attuned to exploration and awareness. Scouts range ahead of their companions, quick to investigate new territory and uncover both dangers and opportunities.

Innate abilities emphasize perception, initiative, and survival instincts, such as sharp sensory awareness, directional tracking, and danger sense. Class progression may deepen sensory acuity, stealth, or adaptability to varied terrain. That sounded like Bear. Was the System just taking our strengths and making them stronger? Forget well-rounded, just decide what you're already good at and go all in? Then why the hell had it made me a gardener? Except it hadn't really, had it?

Sure, I had the deadly bougainvilleas and the shovel, but mostly I had animal bonds and sanctuary spaces. That was uncomfortably insightful on the System's part. Creepy Santa Claus understood me far too well. I should probably learn from it. I still had some free attribute points to allocate. I'd try to get to that later, after I fed the cat, printed out my survivalist tomes, did the rift management tutorial, got some sleep… Okay, I'd get to it eventually. Hopefully before I had more monsters to fight.

I put the cat food can on the floor for Bear to appreciate, and took a tray with a bowl of food and one of water into the office, closing the door behind me, all dogs on the outside. Zelda might be a little vexed by that, but it wouldn't hurt her, and the General deserved some peace while he ate. I set the tray on the end table next to the chair, not letting myself think about the number of times I'd done the same for my dad near the end. Well, not cat food. But soup and coffee.

Put it this way: serving someone food in the office was a familiar experience.

"I'm going to be using the printer in here for a bit," I told the General as I moved over to the desk and started rummaging. The General stepped off the back of the chair, not a jump but a careful drop, landing on the table next to the food with an almost soundless thump. He sniffed the food and began to eat.

"After you've eaten maybe we can talk a little more about where you came from and how you got here. I'm sure your people are worrying about you." The General lifted his head from his food and meowed. They are not, the meow said, with immense finality. He returned to eating. I paused, paper in hand, then continued loading the printer. I wanted to ask, and I didn't want to ask. If these were normal times, I'd assume he'd been abandoned. But something about the way he'd said it…

Not too obviously, I hoped, I used [Analyze] on him. Name: The General Ulysses S. Grant Species: Feline Class: Prowler Level: 1 Condition: Stable, recovering from trauma He was in the System, which meant, I thought, that he'd killed something. Fought back against something trying to kill him. Or kill his people? Maybe I was jumping to conclusions. The Prowler class tooltip read: Prowler: A common class for the roaming independent.

Prowlers are territorial scouts and opportunistic hunters, thriving on adaptability and solitude. Innate abilities include stealth, wide-range patrol sense, and resilience when alone. Class progression may emphasize environmental blending and resource acquisition. Independent and solitary. Well, he'd fit right in. But maybe that was a good sign. Perhaps he'd already been a stray, living in the forest and thriving until the System came along and made it too dangerous.

He didn't seem feral, but he wouldn't be the first farm cat to survive in the wild. The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. The General ate quietly, and then we sat in silence while I skimmed books on the computer and the printer shooshed out pieces of paper. I'd had so little idea of what was going to be helpful. No book was going to teach me to be a better fighter.

The ones I'd found on the subject tended to be about clear communication and appropriate boundaries, not about killing monsters quickly. I'd bought a wilderness survival guide, but I wrinkled my nose as I skimmed it before deciding not to print it out yet. It wasn't going to be much use, because come hell, high water, or mana-crazed monsters, I intended to stay in my house.

The description of the passive ability for my class, [Verdant Sanctuary], said, "Territory under Guardian protection develops natural defenses over time." I was pretty sure that meant my home base would become safer the longer I stayed here. If I had to leave, I could use Wild Sanctuary, of course, but it had a time limit. Verdant Sanctuary didn't say anything about stopping. But still, I'd need water, food, plumbing.

That bath I took this afternoon might be the last for a very long time if the water stopped flowing. I had my magic water bottle, so clean drinking water wouldn't be a problem, but I should drag out the rain barrels that were in the shed. I put that on my mental list for the morning. I'd gotten several books on gardening and foraging in Florida. Regardless of the System's opinion, I was not a fan of things that involved bugs, dirt, and sweaty work outside, but if our survival depended on it, I'd deal.

Or maybe we'd be eating a lot of mana-crazed squirrel meat. Would the meat be poisonous if the animal it came from was mana-crazed? I'd have to keep an eye on Bear so we didn't find out the hard way. The prepper's handbook was less useful for the obvious reason: it was about preparing for the disaster, not surviving it. Good news, now I knew what I should have in my first aid kit, the right packaged meals, even weapons with easy-to-access ammo. It should have been called the Shopper's Guide to Survival instead.

Sadly, shopping was no longer an option. Yawning, I shut the open windows on my computer screen and turned off the monitor. The printer was still printing, so I pulled up my HUD. I could take care of those free attribute points while I was waiting for it to finish. Before I made it to the Attributes section of my status sheet, though, my eyes landed on Affiliations. It read: Affiliations: Soul Bonded to Zelda, Thorn's Edge Pack Member. Thorn's Edge Pack Member? When had that appeared?

I was honestly kind of charmed. Delighted, even. I wanted the T-shirt. Okay, maybe it sounded a little werewolf-ish, like it came out of a paranormal romance, but we were a pack, my dogs and me. I wondered why and how. I didn't think it had been there the last time I looked at my sheet. When had that been? Before Riley entered the System, that's when. Instead of moving to my attributes, I tapped the Companions pane. The last time I'd looked at the Companions pane, it was basically Zelda's status sheet.

Now it listed Riley and Bear, too. So they weren't soul-bonded to me, like Zelda was, but they were my companions. That felt fair. I loved all my dogs, but it would be a blatant lie to say I loved them all equally. Riley was a rock. Strong, solid, stable, with the most peaceful energy. I'd once watched him defuse an impending battle between two other dogs just by walking up and putting himself between them. Not the slightest hint of aggression, just a mellow attitude that immediately made the aggressor sheepish.

I opened his status sheet with a mental click. Name: Riley Title: Thorn's Edge Pack Leader Species: Canine Class: Protector Level: 2 Condition: Optimal Affiliations: Thorn's Edge Pack Of course, he was. I looked through the office door to where he was sleeping on the couch, head on the armrest, seventy pounds of pure dog. The tooltip for his title read: Pack Leader Calm is its own kind of strength. You hold the center so the others can move freely. Title Award: +1 Spirit per pack member.

His class description read: Protector: A common class for those who hold the line. Protectors anchor their group through steady presence and territorial awareness. Innate abilities emphasize defensive positioning, threat recognition, and calming influence on packmates. Class progression may deepen endurance, area defense, or the ability to shield others from harm. Yep, that was Riley. Since I was there and the printer was still printing, I tapped Zelda's status sheet.

She'd reached Level 16, reminding me that I really ought to level up, not just assign my free points. The most interesting things on her status sheet, though, were her titles. She had the same Preliminary Challenger Top 1% that I had, plus one called Champion of the Pack. I hovered over the first one, waiting for the tooltip to open.

Preliminary Challenger Top 1% Technically, you weren't invited to this challenge scenario, but since all the humans would've died without you, let's give the credit where it's due: to you. You were the MVP, the superstar, the bona fide Best Girl. Good job, you good girl! Title Award: +10% to all stats. I didn't laugh, but only because I didn't want to disturb the cat. I just couldn't hate the System as much as I felt like I should. Every time I tried, it did something like that.

Her other title's tooltip read: Champion of the Pack You're not the leader of the pack, and you never wanted to be. But you understand, instinctively, that what's good for the pack is good for you. When the System offered you a reward, you didn't choose a treat. You chose your pack. And you decided that your pack was the pack of all dogs. Although not an endangered species, because of your actions, all dogs now qualify for Sanctuary access. I hoped they had a lot of kibble ready.

And some good comfy dog beds, plenty of chews, a vet or three on staff… I took a deep breath and stopped myself from spiraling over whether the Multiverse—the folks that brought you today's apocalypse—could handle an influx of dogs. Obviously, they'd have plenty of magic to help them out. Meanwhile, Zelda might be a member of the world's pack, but she also had the Thorn's Edge pack listed under her affiliations. Given that the world pack was not going to have her back when we went into battle, I was glad.

I yawned again and rubbed my eyes, just as the printer stopped its swooshing. It did the little beep-beep that signaled job completion, and I reached over and turned it off. I did need to use those free attribute points and maybe level up a couple of times, but I'd do it tomorrow when I'd be making decisions well-rested. The General had returned to his previous position on the back of my dad's armchair. His eyes, half-slitted, regarded me as I turned to face him.

"Will you be okay in here tonight?" I asked.

"Do you need anything else?" A slow blink was his only answer. That was probably as close to goodnight as I was going to get. I left him to his perch and stepped back into the living room. Riley barely lifted his head from the dog bed, but Zelda and Bear were already watching me expectantly. Of course. Last pee time. Most of the time, I let them out in the back.

Not that it made the slightest bit of difference which door I used, but I was more likely to be sitting in the sunroom this time of night than in my dad's office or on the living room couch. Tonight, though, I didn't want to go in the backyard. The rift was there, and I didn't want to see it, didn't want to think about it, and definitely didn't want Bear jumping into it again. I crossed to the front door, slipped on my sandals, and grabbed one of the leashes hanging by the door. How much did I trust Bear?

Enough to not make her wear a leash right away, but not enough to let them outside without having it close. If I had to go running into a rift again, I was doing it with shoes on, leash in hand. I opened the door. The dogs trotted out ahead of me into the darkness, tails swishing, already heading to their favorite corners. Crickets chirped, a barred owl in the distance gave its distinctive long hooting call, and for a moment it felt like a normal night. Only for a moment, though.

My solar lights were on, marking the walkway to the driveway, with one tall lamp post shining out across the grass, casting shadows along the fence line. Shadows that didn't belong. Heart racing, mouth abruptly dry, I opened my mouth to call the dogs back to me. Then I closed it again. The shadows weren't moving. I took several steps away from the door, across the porch, and stopped at the top of the stairs. Yesterday morning, I'd spent hours hacking at the bougainvillea.

I hadn't managed to rip it out of the ground, but I'd at least cut it down below the fence line before the System arrived and threw me into the challenge scenario. Now it was back. Sprawling like a dense, thorny wall, vines reaching up and out like tangled whips. Goddamnit. That was [Verdant Sanctuary]? Seriously? Nightmare bougainvilleas? I rubbed absently at my leg, remembering the bite of goblin claws, the way the bougainvilleas from [Verdant Reprisal] had shredded their bodies.

I knew exactly how deadly the plants could be, but still. Couldn't I have had a nice blue energy wall like the enclaves? An electrified chain-link fence, maybe? But no, the System gave me bougainvilleas. I shouldn't have been surprised. The dogs seemed utterly unconcerned, doing their business just as if it was an ordinary night. Riley was the first to finish, slipping past me to go back to bed as soon as he was done. Zelda sat next to me on the porch, and we waited for Bear together.

Bear took her own sweet time, but I didn't rush her, just kept watch to make sure she didn't head toward the rift. Finally, she finished and joined us. I stood on the porch for another minute, looking out into the darkness, before waving the dogs into the house ahead of me. We'd been lucky so far, with our quiet day, but no luck lasts forever. Bougainvilleas weren't going to keep us safe. I needed to get stronger. No, we needed to get stronger.