Tumultuous, the noises from down below become ever more severe. To be sure, soon the tides will turn against us and action must be taken to prevent a full blown mutiny. The first mate, a man with whom I entrust my entire existence, assures me the siege cannot last, that soon we must turn to more harmonious waters.
The man is a fool. A hungry fool.
Never before has there been such an uprising. Never before have we been beset by such a monstrous foray into hells own oblivion. Down into the depths we descend. Skeletal rumblings, those first autumnal stirrings of a humanity we’d rather ignore chase us from the relative safety of our bedroom to the near abandoned fallout of the living room. Together we pass a slumbering mountain of flesh. Beans, a patch of light colored fur highlighted by the darkness. Big, his stripped fur blending him with the shadows so only his tail and the yellow cast to his eyes stand out against the couch.
The first mate reaches out his hand.
“Don’t wake the damnable beasts.” I tell him. “Won’t be nothin’ left if you let em’ know what we’re up to.” The first make nods his head and we move off from the sleeping felines. Our bare feet carry us over the tiled wasteland of the kitchen to the haven of florescent light.
“Whaddya thinks in there?” The first mate asks me.
The truth is I don’t know. The truth is no myth or legend could prepare us. With stout hearts and shaking hands we open the fridge together.