FLORA AND FAUNA
What remains is little on the outside; it is the shrubs and the occasional bushel of hardy flowers and herbs, seeking shelter under the spindly branches of young, stunted trees unable to grow to their full potential, tucked in grass that has begun to feel brittle and dry underfoot. Though it tries to linger on, the greenery does not thrive anymore, all flecked with blight and burns from acidic bouts of filthy rain. The more fragile of plants - tender or particular about their conditions - have become far and few to find, and stumbling on one is a delight that could have you glowing for the rest of the week.
The coyotes and foxes and raccoons and rats are resourceful and adaptable scavengers, and so are the ravens and crows and vultures and the more persistent of insects. However, to see much else is now uncommon - hooved animals move in desperately small groups now, to the point seeing them move in any number more than two is bizarre, and those that you spot seem to walk in wasting circles shaking their sickly heads; there are not enough bumblebees to clumsily pollen-drunk bump into one another anymore; and you cannot recall when you last saw anything else that was once normal to hide from or observe quietly anymore.
Within the cities it is similar; a concrete jungle, whose constant and unsleeping neon is muted by car exhaust and industry. There is little greenery, aside from the wilting plants humans try to keep on their windowsills and plastic-wrapped produce that never looks quite fresh, all that remains is skyscrapers and slabs of stone, electric billboards and the magnetic hum of train tracks.
Similar to outside of the glass, the coyotes and foxes and raccoons and rats find their way in the city alleys, scavenging for garbage and drinking from filthy puddles. More common are the pet dogs on their leashes, or the housecats circling in their beds from high-rise apartments. Pigeons, crows and seagulls still waddle along the sidewalks, maneuvering through the crowds of legs as they forage for measly scraps of food.
SETTLEMENTS
On the outside, there are settlements scattered across all corners of the landscape; cats here live simple lives, trying to make home out here as things continue to dwindle, and simply survive. The ebbing resources leaves their numbers suffering as well, the biggest of colonies usually never exceeds 30-40 felines attempting to survive but never quite thrive. Not all are welcome to visitors, but those that are see a normal flow of drifters, travelers, and traders coming and going consistently to add some normalcy and bustle to a growing-bleak daily life.
These settlements, colonies, clowders and homesteads come in many forms - whether they are reclaimed tin shacks that were built by humans settlers recently, in the abandoned and quiet houses in derelict suburbs or eerie hotels, or even those attempting to sleep under a smog sky in whatever patches of nature they try to preserve.
There have been few that whisper about being brought back from the brink from strangers offering gifts at no charge or burden, where they have been taught how to use medicines and how to maintain a decent garden, or their water source tasting cleaner than it had in years. You see the specklings of these places when you travel, holding stronger than the rest, and now established enough to trade with other settlements, sending supplies in packs back-and-forth on ever-changing routes and schedules for the safety of resources and lives on quiet paths and old roads.
THE CITIES
The puddles of artificial rain on wet pavement are illuminated by the reflections of eye-straining neon signs; constant advertisements and flashing imagery plasters the sharp and unnatural angles of buildings so tall they blur at the end of your vision as you strain your neck to look up. The air is constantly attempting to filter the smog, funneling it out of the tops of the dome and into the dying world outside, but early morning fog always tastes a little like car exhaust.
The centers of the cities always bustle with life. Electronic billboards flashing the newest products held by models, nice cars shined and slicked with faux weather, the reflections on skyscraper windows, and the ever present hum of magnetic tracks to guide the bullet trains to the next dome. The sidewalks are full of people walking to corporate jobs and back, living in small apartments in those towering buildings. It glistens every day and night, and black out curtains are a must for those sensitive to the light glowing through studio loft windows.
The bullet trains always go underground before hitting the outer edges of the city, when they get a little slower closer to their destinations; the outskirts, near the glass, reveal a truth to what it means to live outside of downtown. The dystopian concrete bloc-style apartments all decrepit and poorly kept, nothing but slabs of gray starting to erode and crack, stacked with trash from lack of city ordinance here. The people here, like those outside of the glass, do what they can to live, even if it means shedding their morals to work a dead-end and minimum-wage scam-caller job to put a bit of food on the table for their families. The cats must do the same, surviving as they always do.