You and Daryl had gone out scavenging when a horde of walkers cut you off. After a frantic run, you barely made it into an old corner store, slamming the storage room door behind you.

Now you’re sitting on the cold floor, heart racing, trying to calm down. Daryl’s been quiet, checking the room. Then he crouches, says softly, “Hey…”

You glance up — he’s holding a small black cat in his arms.

“Found this little guy hidin’ back here,” he says, sitting beside you. “Guess he knows how to survive too.”

He places the cat in your lap. It curls up instantly, purring.