My sister N was keeping a raccoon at a hotel our family was staying at. We were on some sort of resort thing where my parents had pre-established elderly friends. Anyway everyone seemed ok with the raccoon but me. I kept telling my family that it would bite us in our sleep and give us the rabies. Kept insisting that it had rabies. My sister had set it up a little room inside this massive oven that was in one of the rooms of the hotel suite. He even had little furniture and things. There was a frozen turkey inside the oven that we were just starting there, and she didn’t seem bothered that he kept trying to eat it. No, he won’t eat it, don’t be silly, that sort of thing. My mother was totally unconcerned, saying she had to spend enough time preparing food for the family that she didn’t have any left over for caring about whether or not a raccoon is something to be concerned about.
Zombie apocalypse again. This time, however, it was long after the apocalypse – perhaps generations. I lived in a white octagonal building of about ten floors that housed a community of survivors. There were several such buildings in a circular pattern around the circumference of a grassy plateau in hilly countryside, presumably each housing a community. Because they did not appear to be built with concrete and were far away from roads, it seems likely these buildings were constructed after the apocalypse for the specific purpose of protecting remaining humans.