Eight Days Till...

In eight days, I'll be 21. Already, I miss my friends and their constant bickering. I'd like to see one of them, but I'll be realistic. With all of the walking corpses, I doubt if any one of them is alive.

God damn this all. I should be happy that I survived and that I still have power. I should be happy that the water is still running, that I can take a fucking shower when I feel inclined to. Tomorrow, I'm going to start expanding, maybe clear one or two houses. I'm still fucking stuck and I'm starting to hate this place.

The thing that saved my sanity this week is I saw a stray, orange-furred tabby cat. When it saw me, at first it was a little bit freaked, but when it saw how I moved, it approached slowly. It looked me in the eyes as if to ask if I was going to hurt it. And I hope it'll come back.

For now, I've decided to name it Timmy, as it seems to have been a male. Either way, I set out a bit of tuna for him and I hope he'll eat it.

Lately, I've noticed a distinct lack of raccoons in the area. Seems they've moved on. Dogs and cats are still around, but only barely. And they seem to avoid the undead heavily...and instinctively.

I've started keeping a constant supply of bottled water in the fridge, along with whatever I've been able to carry back from grocery runs. Not a whole hell of a lot.

I'm hoping to eventually get up to Foothill College, maybe give it a drive through (as I don't think anyone will mind). The vending machines, coupled with the library and multiple wings would make it choice for a backup plan. Unfortunately, it's fairly spread out, meaning lots of open space.

Basically, I'm hoping to take a car up there. And that translates to: I'm hoping a garaged house on my side of the street still has a car in it.

Wish me luck,

Neal