Mornings with Our River Friend

29

Since then, we've gone to the river to fetch water every week.

Without exception, we always choose to go in the latter part of the night.

When the virus outbreak occurred, all citizens were in a state of home isolation, which effectively prevented the spread of the zombie tide.

Previously, Anne had dealt with a zombie in 802, and Chris had dealt with two in both 302 and 202.

Due to their lack of intelligence, over eighty percent of the zombies were trapped inside their homes by the front door. Only a few had chased survivors outside and still wandered within the neighborhood.

Although the proportion might seem small, the large base number made it significant. Our neighborhood had over forty residential buildings.

Based on our building's situation, even if only one person in each of the 21 open apartments had turned into a zombie, the entire neighborhood's zombie population would be nearly 900.

So, to be cautious, we always return home by sunrise.

Last week, we encountered the black cat again.

That day, it was returning from a hunt, carrying a small sparrow in its mouth and walking briskly across the riverside grass.

I waved at it and tossed a small fish from the bucket over.

"Helen, that fish originally belonged to the cat," Anne reminded me.

"Don't worry about the details," I remained unfazed and tossed another fish over.

"Even if you confess to the owner after stealing, you still have to go to jail," she teased.

Nonsense. The cat is so cute;

it wouldn't hold a grudge against me, would it?

I wondered if we would see it again today.

Lying on the grass with my arms behind my head, Anne sat beside me. The morning dew slightly dampened our coats.

Sunrises are fascinating.

They take a long time to transition from night to dawn, but when the sun finally breaks the horizon, it's often a matter of moments.

Once the sun rose, the heat quickly dissipated the early morning chill, along with the damp scent of the soil.

Thinking about the cat, I turned and saw it lying behind us.

Its glossy black fur shone like satin in the dawn light.

"Good morning, Master of the Pond," Anne greeted it respectfully. "What have you been busy with lately?"

The cat glanced at her, then turned away and began grooming itself.

"Did we get it wrong?" I stared at it for a while. "The cat seems to be a girl."

"Really?" Anne sat up.

"Aren't you a vet? How could you mistake that?" I teased her.

"An oversight," she scratched her head. "So, do we still call it 'Blacky?"

"What would you call it?" I asked.

"How about we call her 'Whitey?" I suggested.

"Are you crazy? She's obviously black," she stopped me. "No cognitive dissonance here."

"A black cat named Whitey is cool," I tried to broaden her perspective. "Besides, Shin-chan's family also has a dog named Shiro (Whitey)."

"I told you to stop watching Crayon Shin-chan," Anne grumbled. "I'll hold Chris accountable for this."

In the end, we didn't rename her and decided to stick with the original name.

The cat yawned languidly, bored with being the center of our attention.

"It's time to go," I checked the time, stood up, and brushed off the grass. "I'll go get Chris."

Chris really enjoyed fishing.

He could sit by the river for hours, not caring about work hours.

Strangely, the fish seemed to line up to bite his hook.

I couldn't see anything special about his fishing technique, but he always returned with a full catch.

Anne and I concluded that his brainwashing skills had improved, possibly achieving cross-species mind control.

When I reached him, he appeared to be asleep, eyes closed.

I waved my hand in front of his face, getting no response.

I squatted down to look at him.

Chris didn't have the kind of prominent features one might expect. Instead, his features had a kind of cold elegance, like ink wash painting on paper.

As I stared, his eyelashes fluttered.

The next moment, his eyes opened suddenly, and my face was reflected in his brown pupils.

"Helen, spying on me," he said.

Startled, I nearly fell over, but he quickly grabbed my wrist.

"Nonsense," I immediately denied. "You were so still; I was just checking if you were still breathing."

"What if I wasn't?" he asked, unscrewing his water bottle and taking a sip.

"I'd take your position as captain, and Anne would get your spade," I replied, arranging his affairs without missing a beat.

Ever since she confiscated the dumbbells, Anne had been training like crazy at home, just in case she ever needed to inherit Chris's spade.

"Good, you two," Chris said, coughing from laughing.

"Let's go, let's go," I decisively picked up the bucket full of fish and started to leave.

As I passed the grass, Anne was still clumsily trying to approach the cat.

I picked a big fish from the bucket and tossed it over, immediately catching the cat's attention.

This time, the cat accepted my offering.

Without disturbing it further, we packed up and began heading home.

Chris had caught so many fish that the freezer couldn't hold them all.

So, I came up with another plan.

There was a pond in the neighborhood, but the fish stocks had long been depleted by the residents, leaving an empty pool.

I replaced the dirty water, keeping the pond's mud and aquatic plants intact.

The larger fish Chris caught were taken home,

while the rest were kept in the pond, fed daily with crushed corn.

Sometimes, I'd throw leftover fish innards into the water to feed them too.

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