Cat Ladies of the Apocalypse – #freewrite No. 14, Day 889

The dune buggy leapt the sand ridge, caught air, landed and sprayed me with a choking dust cloud.

It sped by, and through the gloom I could see their scarves blowing in the breeze.

These werenʼt cool, white aviator scarves or anything either. They were multi-colored, yarn, crocheted monstrosities.

Those cat ladies of the apocalypse were grannies. They had survived, when the meteor hit, because they had all gathered at Ethelʼs house, a ranch at the deep end of a box canyon, for their usual needlework Monday. The dirt and small rocks the meteor had kicked up in a wave swept over the canyon and settled so quickly it had formed a cavern over the house that supported itself like a roman archway.

I had survived with them, because I served as their butler on needlework Mondays. Course you know who had to dig them out of that cavern. Took me three damn months to break the surface.

Thankfully, Ethel kept an old stable full of cats. We didnʼt go without meat during that whole fiasco.

I donʼt have much to do with the cat ladies these days. But I guess I wouldnʼt be alive without them.

Illustration by fauzan291, from Pixabay. https://pixabay.com/users/fauzan291-12961367/