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"Come with Me if You Want to Live...On the Edge."

Hello and happy Friday. Let's get down to business.

In the event of a zombie apocalypse or some other civilization-ending catastrophe, you'll want to surround yourself with people who regularly demonstrate competence. Emotional and mental stability would be a happy bonus, but that usually goes out the window once people start losing loved ones. Ideally, you'd find the right individuals to form the traditional five-member team capable of surviving the odds: the leader, the lancer, the big guy, the smart guy, and the chick.

Let's look at the pros and cons of having me in every position.

The Leader
When I feel like it, I can be charismatic, level-headed, and capable of making decisions based on ruthless reason. I am also very nosy, which allows me to understand the strengths and weaknesses of my fellow survivors, meaning I can deploy you to perform the task that probably won't kill you. I can strike heroic poses at the drop of a hat. Finally, I have no problem being bossy.

The Lancer
I could be your second-in-command, if you are somehow  more awesome than me. I will keep the rest of the group in line, hold your secrets close, and I've got your back no matter what. I'm a Leo born in the year of the dog, so you know I'm super loyal. My sarcasm and snark are second to none, making me ideal for this role.

The Big Guy
My sisters call me "Amazona," because I am oddly strong for my size. While working at a non-profit, I often upended five-gallon jugs of water into the office cooler. I go to the gym and lift weights. Give me a baseball bat, shovel, or other object to swing at the hips with, and nothing will stand in our group's way. I get tired easily, though, so you will need to feed me more than the other members of the group.

The Smart Guy
I was summa cum laude at Middlebury and I got my M.A. from The Big H. Those zombies are dead if there's ever a standardized test competition or if we have to be graded on an essay about Japanese war reparations. I mean, the zombies will be more dead.

The Chick
Yes, I am.

Now that I've buttered you up with my superior qualifications, I'd like to insert some caveats in our survival plan. First, I will always insist on bringing Sheba. She's only six pounds, and no, she is not an emergency snack. I will refuse to eat her, and likely kill anyone who tries to do so. Second, Sheba is really loud. She will attract zombies, monsters, aliens, and even sentient plant life with her plaintive wailing. Again, any threats to her life will be met with extreme violence. Third, Sheba could probably end someone's life with her toxic poop. I recommend that the group not eat her poop, if we're reduced to eating that.

Why bring the loud, smelly, inadvertently homicidal cat?, you ask. Because while we run, Sheba will serve as the constant reminder of our collapsed civilization. As we hide, shaking in fear, from the zombie horde that shambles past, her muffled meows will call out to the gentleness of our souls. In quiet days, we can all take turns petting her as we talk wistfully about all the ones we've lost. And as we bloody our hands in our fight to survive another day, her terrified cries will inspire us to fight harder to keep her safe. In other words, Sheba will be our rock. Our tiny, soft, adorable rock.

Sheba, the Rock.

I'm glad we had this talk. If there's one thing I'd like you to take away from it, it's that the cat comes with me. Even in a zombie apocalypse. Good day, madam, I said good day!

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