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Zane Norrison · (04-21-2019)

There I was... kitten sittin', my first act of taking care of something living since... ever. Haha! Living or dead, this wasn't a role that I had to take on. I didn't have pets or younger siblings and I never knocked anyone up when I was alive, so it's not like I had any bastard offspring. Not that I knew of anyway. I did sleep around an awful lot but nothing of that sort was ever brought to my attention, which only leads me to assume that none of my planted seeds ever led to fruition. It would be insane to think of something like that coming to light, now that I'm dead.

Reenactment
"Hey, remember back in August of 2015."
"Um... no, who are you again?"
"Beth and this is lil' Johnnie, he's your son."
"Haha! Uh... well, I think you should know something about me."

Anyway, the point is that it's kinda funny that this was my first endeavor caring for another living creature, being that I was dead. Seemed simple enough though.

As soon as I got into my apartment, I dumped the kitten onto the sofa and went to attend to making dinner. Brain stir-fry. Exactly like regular stir-fry, only made with brains. Then I hit the sofa myself. Sort of surprised to see the kitty still chillin' there but then again, she was tiny and had very small legs. She must have thought the drop to the floor looked like an epic fall to her doom.

This thought produced a chuckle from me as I aided in helping her down to the floor. She did a brief trot around the coffee table, sniffed a boot, smacked said boot with her paw a few times and ended her adventure back at my feet, where she gazed up at me. I was in full on relaxed mode at this point, television on, while I ate dinner, so this act didn't register with me at first, not fully anyway.

After awhile I realized, the kitten wasn't moving and then it hit me, she must be hungry. Not owning a cat myself, meant there wasn't any actual food designed for them in my apartment and it's not like Harper gave me anything to feed the kitty, she just threw the cat at me and ran away, therefor I was at a little bit of a loss. This is where being a zombie sorta hinders things.

Normal folks could be lazy and pitch the kitten something off their plate. My dinner; on the other hand, had a whole lotta brain matter, cut up and mixed within it. That wouldn't fly in this scenario. So with a sigh, I got up and went to the kitchen, in search of a suitable form of sustenance for a feline. With the kitten following right behind me. More than likely, to make sure that I didn't fuck this shit up. I didn't blame her, if I were her I wouldn't trust my judgment either.

Somehow, I found a can of tuna, which we both eyed suspiciously. From my perspective because I've never bought a can of tuna in my life, ergo the chances of me doing it in my death was highly unlikely. Translation: This tuna came with the apartment. Why the kitten did it? I've already established that she was suspect of my choices at this point, I mean I was the dude eating brains, after all.

The lazy asshole in my head briefly made the argument that canned tuna probably didn't get old and gross as fast as normal, fresh fish would. Not in the same capacity that would be harmful to an animal. That thought was quickly followed by a vision of a kitten vomiting somewhere in my apartment and me not finding it until a few days later, when I stepped into it, resulting in the can meeting with the trash bin, almost immediately.

Ultimately, this led to me cutting up some of the sliced, rotisserie chicken breast, lunch meat that I had in my fridge. Which I put on a tiny plate, that I placed on the floor in front of the kitten, before I called it a day and returned to the sofa. Happy that my food was still warm. Several minutes after I started consuming my food, while I was somewhat engrossed in an episode of Fear The Walking Dead (Victor Strand is the shit), the kitten came back and plopped herself, right by my feet. This time she was staring at the sofa and only the sofa, prompting me to lift her up and lay her back onto it.

Everything seemed cool after that, I got to eat my dinner and watch the show, while the kitten appeared to be content. Even chiming in some mews randomly during the show, that weirdly coincided to specific tense moments in the program, which amused me greatly. After I finished eating, I placed the empty plate on the coffee table in front of the sofa and settled back. The kitty dared to curl up in my lap at this juncture but that didn't last long because that's also when I fired up a cigarette.

Not that my cigarette chased her away per se. No, rather it was more like my smoking greatly offended her because this is when she saw my arm... more specifically, my hand as the enemy. Wielding a glowing smoke stick of mass destruction, no doubt. Cause she chose to leap into full on attack mode and sink all of her tiny claws, straight into my hand and wrist.

Once again, this is where the line between zombie and human, becomes very prominent. Had I been alive, I probably would have gotten slightly angry and flung her off. As a full fledged member of the animated deceased, I merely looked on in horror. The sting of the kitty's claws, literally the last thing that I noticed or paid mind to. No. My thoughts were far too entwined with the fact that there was a kitten hanging from my hand by her claws and what that meant, in the grand scheme of things. My reaction must have confused her because she remained hanging there, forgetting all about her reason for doing such a thing, in the first place and simply stared at me. Silently.

The kitten was now infected, there was no question. Kitty was definitely going to die and become a zombie. I knew full well that was going to happen, yet I was more concerned with how to explain all this to Harper. How do you tell your best friend that their gift for their long time girlfriend is now a hazard to humanity? That it would be unwise to allow anyone living to take care of this kitten, lest risk the possible start of the apocalypse? Of course, this is when my cell rang and I observed that it was Harper calling.

Zombie problems... they are very real.

"On the next edition of Wednesday Night Warfare, in Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea at the Sir John Guise Stadium, I am scheduled to take part in a number one contender's match for The X-Treme title. Winner will go on to face Mastermind, aka that guy I already beat. My opponents are Bearded War Pig, Luca Arzegotti and Nathaniel Adolph Zachary Idenhaus. Each of these men are known and regarded as noteworthy opponents, returning to the squared circle with one goal on their mind, destruction. To reap the rewards of a night of immense bodily harm and devastation, taking away the promise of facing the X-Treme Champ and the possibility of revoking his title. A potential fight that leaves no room for chance because you'd have to be a real fucking mess, if you couldn't take a title away from Mastermind. You'd have to basically be some sort of non-functioning, paralyzed in the brain, gimp in order to fail such a task. Or a house plant. Which isn't the case for anyone involved in this match."

"Wait for it, I'm sure a house plant will join the XWF, someday."

"Bearded War Pig seems like a crazy mountain man. Oddly one out of five or six guys in the XWF that look like this. It's like Vinnie Lane hangs out in the woods at random and occasionally passes out wrestling contracts. Weird to assume but the evidence speaks for itself. Bearded War Pig being a predominant piece of that evidence. He seems like a guy that fought a few bears in his lifetime. I am certain that he lives in a cabin and poops in an outhouse as well. Although, there's a good chance that he simply roughs it out in the wild, occasionally sleeping in a cave, when there's inclement weather that's particularly brutal and unyielding. Bet he's also been noodling too. I could see that man punching his way to a catfish. Without any hesitation whatsoever."

"Then there's Luca Arzegotti, the loose canon, drug fueled, wanderer. He doesn't need to be consistent or sober to make his impact known. The man will beat the shit out of you, just for kicks and then do a line off of your unconscious body. He's been absent from wrestling for awhile but that's what he does. It's sorta his thing by now. Disappear and reappear, only to reek havoc for a little while and then drift back off into the sunset, like some meth smoking, pill popping, coke infused cowboy. Underestimating this guy is the last thing that you want to do and his track record, proves it."

"Lastly, there's Nathaniel Adolph Zachary Idenhaus, former Television Champion and self proclaimed, next Führer of the new world, built in his image and brought to life with the rise of the fourth reich. Word on the street says, the guy is also a werewolf. I've taken on a vampire before. Never a werewolf, so it'll be interesting to see how they defer in combat strategies and technique. My guess is that a werewolf is far more savage; however, considering that he's also a man that plans on leading an army to conquer the world, he must have a precise, decisive way of thinking as well. He is clearly a man that can calculate and form battle plans. An immense contradiction from the stereotype that's usually attached to werewolves. This factor alone, gives him the edge of having a unique perspective derived from both worlds."

"What all three men need to understand though, is that I'm a zombie. Unless you plan on making an attempt to smash my skull in or destroy my brain in some manner, I'll keep coming. I don't get tired or lose energy. Pain doesn't really effect me the same way, I can not only endure what might bring most down, I will power through it. In some cases, that might even fuel me to go further and invoke the monster within. Not that it is my intention to lose control and become consumed by rage but that's what happens sometimes. Something clicks in my head and I'm no longer the rational, clear speaking Zane Norrison anymore, I'm a ravenous creature intent on tearing anything and everything, to fucking pieces."

"It comes with the territory of being a zombie. And I am not the slow moving, stumbling, groaning kind either. I'm the rip you to shreds in seconds and rush off to the next target, as a rabid beast might do type. I have been attempting to get a proper control over that and I've made some real strides in that effort. The only problem is that I seem to be able to manage that far better when I'm not in the wrestling ring. Yeah, something about the aggression and rush of combat, it gets things churning and winds up setting the stage for me to go full on zombie rage mode. The XWF really needs to get a scientist to start working on a vaccine already."

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