Robby was laying out on a bed that was not his, in a house he had never owned, but none of that seemed to matter. It's previous occupants were either dead, or were lucky enough to have esaped before the Maneaters arrived. The feline-human's supplies laid out on a desk nearby, guns ready for use at any moment. He couldn't sleep, he kept having nightmares. He sat up, looking at his shoddy acomodations, no power, no water, only rations he had and any non-perishables the house had. He could only hope those supplies lasted until help arrived, and that he surrvived until then as well.