My day started out normally, as most days involving Zombie Apocalypses do. I got up at five AM and had my oatmeal. Filling my metal SIGG water bottle in case of hungry cougars or bobcats, I set out on my walk to the train station. When I got there the train was late. Finally the locomotive pulled up to the platform, having already picked up passengers from other cities.

 

Stepping carefully up the tall metal steps, I boarded the train with my book and my French exercises tucked neatly into my purse. Walking down the aisle I searched for someone who looked both quiet and petite like me because there’s nothing worse than having to share an arm rest or horror of horrors, a  part of your seat with someone larger than you.

 

I settled down next to a young woman wearing tights that were dyed to look like acid washed jeans. Unfortunately she was watching a live-action, whodunit movie. The constant flipping of scenes and light coming from her tablet was distracting, it was difficult to read my book let alone concentrate on learning another language. Quickly as the train started to move I hopped into the next empty seat I saw.

 

You know that feeling when something isn’t quite right? Maybe it was the heavy manner that my new neighbor breathed in. Maybe it was the blood shot eyes and the mouth that hung slightly open. But it was probably the fact that he looked like he enjoyed kidney and small intestine salad for breakfast which caused me to suspect he was a zombie.

 

Remembering the metal SIGG water bottle I had packed in case of cougars, I reached into my purse. SIGG water bottles are excellent. BPA free and good for the environment, they also function as weapons in the event of an attack.

A handful of years ago a Mom and her son were hiking in Algonquin Park when a wildcat decided that the nine year old boy would make a delicious appetizer before his venison main course. As the animal’s jaws bit into her son’s head, the mother attempted to bash the cat’s head in with her half full SIGG water bottle. Freshly concussed, the predator took off, leaving the boy who needed ten stitches and a funky hat to cover the thread train tracks before starting school the next week.

 

This is why I always carry a full metal container of water with me. Reaching down into my purse I weighed the possibility that my seat-mate was a zombie against the likelihood of my bludgeoning an innocent passenger when he stood up to use the bathroom.

 

While I was ninety-eight percent certain this man was moments away from feasting on my brains, I remembered an incident of mistaken identity from earlier in the week.

 

~Four days prior~

 

The Great Unwashed hears rustling while walking up the steps to the house – “AHHHHHHHHHH!!! There’s a wolverine under our porch!”

The Great Unwashed runs up the stairs faster than the speed of sound and slams the door repeating her message at top volume.

 

Roscoe emerges from the office – “What’s this about Hugh Jackman?”

 

The Great Unwashed in a flustered manner- “Not Wolverine, a wolverine. If Hugh Jackman was under our porch I would already have crawled under there and offered to have his babies.”

Moral of the story: We have unconscionably large squirrels.

 

Loosening my grip around the neck of my water bottle on the train, I sat up in my seat, still feeling very wary of the man next to me but not quite ready to beat him over the head with a blunt object.