The cat hissed and arched it's back, feinting small aggressive shuffles towards him. Without missing a beat, Snickers did likewise. This was unexpectedly sociable behavior from a human-sized entity, and so the cat growled warningly, bluffed a forward lunge, and pawed at the air. Snickers growled and pawed back. The cat whirred with experimental hostility. Snickers whirred just the same way. Hmm, these were uncannily good social skills from a two-legger...
Reassured and emboldened by this man-thing's unexpected adherence to the proper greeting protocols expected of more civilized beings, The cat shrieked angrily and sniffed the air. Snickers did the same thing, which was a good sign. Fourteen rounds of forward shuffling, forward lunges, hissing, howling, and growling ensued- because fifteen would have been too many, twelve was insulting, and thirteen was only appropriate when greeting black cats.
Then, with preemptive rituals completed, feline and Hunter set to establishing an initial acquaintanceship by sniffing each other with intermittent growls and paranoid arched backs that would permit them to flee at a moment's notice, as was only right and prudent for anyone to do.
When each determined the other was neither food nor a competitive interloper, the cat made an impulsive decision likely brought on by the stresses and strains of post-apocalyptic living: it decided to shortlist him as a potential friendship candidate. To demonstrate this, it sprinted away, leaped onto a box, slowed to a leisurely stroll with its tail in the air and its butt fully presented, paused, and glanced back at them. When no mongrel pursuit followed, it sat down and began grooming itself to demonstrate that it found them boring but non-offensive. Friendly overtures were now welcome, of course, but should only be attempted after a sufficient period of reflection for both parties: say, two to three weeks. Alright, five days, but only for him, and then only if he was still in the area by then. Truly, Snickers ought to have been honored.
Snickers likewise gave it the cold shoulder, as was only polite, but then apparently didn't know what to do after that. After a moment of staring at nothing, he perked up a bit and then slowly peered back over to where she had gone forgotten during the course of this Hunter/Cat cultural bonding event. After a moment he padded over to her, looking somewhat confused but entirely satisfied, and ignoring the cat just as politely as the cat was ignoring him.
She sighed and shook her head at him in dismay. "What I wouldn't give for YouTube, or Instagram, or... Or anything, right now. They'd have to re-brand it to make it morbidly comic in these trying times: YouTubez. See what I did there? That was a 'z' I added on the end, not an 's'. No? Nothing? Infectagram. GreenTube. YouFlu."
He didn't understand a word she was saying, and was probably wondering why she couldn't be as proficient in sane rational communication as that cat over there. She mimed taking a photo of him with a smart phone she obviously no longer possessed, and sadly posted the imaginary video onto an imaginary Facebook to share with her dead friends and family.
Snickers squinted, opened his mouth, shuffled in place, and then abruptly squeaked out a meow. She nearly jumped out of her skin and stared wide-eyed at him. The corners of his damaged mouth turned up, and he wiggled again before yowling out another long, excellently formulated meow.
She gaped at him for a moment. "Why haven't you haven't so much as tried to mimic a single human word in all the time I've known you!?"
He meowed luxuriously, she slapped a hand over her face, and he broke out into the wheezy chortles and giggles that were his namesake.
"I hate you Snickers," she grumbled as he rubbed affectionately up against her legs. "Really, I do. Completely. All the way." He brushed up against her fingers and she cradled his head to her side and scratched under his ear. He grinned toothily (and slightly not) up at her. "You won't try to mimic me? Not once? What about saying: 'I love you, Super Special Favorite Can-Opener.' Eh? Eh?"
Snickers wouldn't play her game, and instead twisted and turned as he enjoyed the good scratching. This time he was smart enough not to flop on her, at least.