The end of the world began with a perfect day. The weather was perfect, the air was perfect, everybody's luck was perfect. In retrospect, we should have known it was the end of the world when all the starving children in Africa were suddenly well-fed and when there was an overabundance of quality programming on network television, but I guess we just wanted to believe that it was the beginning of an improved world, not the end of an old one.
The second stage was when it started getting weird. Mankind had a collective dream, a group vision, at 7:06am EST. There was a radiant cloud, and from that cloud extended a mighty paw. It demanded sacrifice. "Bring your precious material possessions, your automobiles, your family photographs, your cellular telecommunication devices, your PDAs, bring them all to the altar, and burn them for my pleasure. If you do this, the world will not end," it purred. Apparently it was not aware that nobody used PDAs anymore. Needless to say, nobody complied.
The third stage... the third stage was horrible. Storm clouds gathered, ominous on the blackening horizon. It began raining cats and cats. And cats and cats and cats. Static lightning from all the falling fur made hissing cracks, a sign of the fury of the feline god/goddess/godimal.
The fourth stage was perhaps the most crushing of all. Literally. The falling felines flattened all of humanity's precious structural accomplishments with the combined weight of their kitty blubber. Few humans survived the supple suffocation. Nothing is worse than fuzzy retribution.
The fifth stage was... survival. Coping. We were right after all: This was the beginning of a new era. The Age of the Cat. We stacked cats to make new buildings. We milked cats for sustenance. We poked cats for entertainment. Society had become a grandiose human/cat symbiotic amalgamation of skin and fur, finger and claw, speech and constant, haunting mewing.
Humanity has averted... or rather, re-appropriated, yet another catastrophe.
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