Cats

Cats are among the most conspicuous survivors of the superflu pandemic, a fact that sets them apart from nearly every other domestic animal. While dogs, horses, and rats are either wiped out or driven to the brink of local extinction, cats flourish in the depopulated landscape. Their immunity is total and unexplained, and their proliferation becomes a quiet but persistent ecological and symbolic motif throughout the novel, marking the arbitrary selectivity of the plague and the uncanny indifference of the natural world to human catastrophe.

Survival and Ecological Proliferation

From the earliest days of the pandemic, cats are observed moving freely through scenes of mass death. In the deserted town of Arnette, Texas, after the quarantine has collapsed, dozens of cats weave in and out of the twilit stillness, unaffected by the disease that has killed the human population and most of the dogs lying dead in the gutters . This pattern repeats across the continent. Glen Bateman, the sociologist who survives in New Hampshire, notes the phenomenon explicitly: "Cats everywhere, a plague of cats" . He contrasts their survival with the near-total extinction of horses and dogs, and with the temporary suppression of rats, which are beginning to make a comeback. Bateman speculates that the unchecked proliferation of cats could alter the ecological balance, potentially suppressing the rat population in ways that might have unforeseen consequences . The cats are not merely survivors; they are a new ecological force, their numbers unchecked by predation or disease.

Symbolic and Atmospheric Function

Beyond their ecological role, cats function as a recurring atmospheric detail that deepens the sense of a world emptied of human meaning. In the Stovington Plague Control Center, where Stu Redman is held captive, the facility is eerily silent except for the faint sounds of the air purifier; no cats are mentioned there, but the contrast with the animal-filled outside world is implicit. In the post-plague landscape, cats are often the only moving creatures in otherwise dead tableaux. Their presence is neither threatening nor comforting; it is simply there, a reminder that the world continues on its own terms. When Nick Andros and Tom Cullen travel through the empty towns of Oklahoma and Kansas, they encounter cats but no dogs, reinforcing the sense that a fundamental shift in the natural order has occurred. The cats are not companions; they are witnesses, indifferent to the human tragedy that has unfolded.

Contrast with Other Animals

The survival of cats is thrown into sharp relief by the fate of other species. Dogs, the traditional companions of humans, are almost entirely wiped out. Kojak, Glen Bateman's Irish setter, is a rare exception, and his arduous journey across the continent is a testament to the dog's loyalty and resilience. Horses are also dead, their bodies found bloated in fields. Rats, initially decimated, begin to return. But cats alone seem to have been entirely untouched by the superflu. This selectivity is never explained, but it is noted by Bateman as one of the many "crazy" aspects of the plague's epidemiology . The cats' survival is not a sign of divine favor or natural superiority; it is simply a fact, as arbitrary as the immunity of the human survivors themselves. Their presence in the narrative serves as a constant, silent counterpoint to the human drama, a reminder that the world does not need people to function, and that life, in its most basic forms, will persist regardless of the catastrophes that befall the dominant species.