Squatter (chapter 1)

  Squatter leaned back against the front door of his suburban house, sipping on one of the precious bottles of water he found on his way there from his city house. From here he could see the city, rising out of the ocean like so many sand castles, slowly being eroded away by the relentlessly rising waters. 
    He couldn't remember his real name, the one his parents had given him. He'd been Squatter as long as he, or anyone else, could remember. It started when he was young, probably 10 or 11, when he was a squatter, and it just gradually turned into a name. That's probably why he did so well after the Fall. He'd been living like this his whole life. He actually became more sedentary after the Fall. Everyone had run away, leaving Squatter unlimited choices, something he'd never had before.
    “Better get busy, eh Loki” he said to the one cat he'd bothered to name, scratching him behind the ear. There were a dozen or more cats sprawled around the property, on the safe side of the fence. Squatter told himself he let them stay to keep the rats at bay, but really he had always wanted a cat, but his circumstances never allowed for one. The Fall had been the best thing to ever happen to Squatter in a lot of ways.
    “Eatin good tonight guys” he announced to his pride of strays, opening the cans of wet food he'd found in the abandoned vets office on his way from the city. He'd stopped to scrounge whatever first aid supplies he could find but hit the jackpot for the cats.
     Once the cats were fed and happy Squatter started his nightly walk of the perimeter, checking for holes in his fence and signs of intruders. Only a few holes under the fence tonight, probably raccoons digging under the fence to escape the dogs. It was amazing how fast the dogs had reverted. All the spoiled, pampered pure breds, all the semi feral street mutts, and everything in between, they all formed into packs and started hunting the suburbs.
    “Dogs are eatin good tonight too Loki” Squatter said, looking down at the cat that was always at his feet. “Traps did good, nobody goes hungry tonight” he went on, taking a rabbit out of his bag and tossing it over the fence. Three more went over other parts of the fence. 
    Squatter figured out early on after moving in that he wasn't the only one that wanted his spot. He also had a few early run ins with the local dog pack. They were still tame enough not to be scared of him, but hungry enough to be a threat. Food was the key, food is always the key. When he had enough he always made sure to share with the dogs. Make friends, but keep them wild. Don't let them inside, but keep them close to the fence. Nobody bothers Squatter, not with his wild guard dogs.
    One last walk around, make sure the cistern wasn't leaking, quick look in on his greenhouse, and a check on his ammunition stashes around the property.
    He'd never had to use his guns for anything but the occasional deer, but since the Fall you never knew. Every now and then someone back east would get ambitious and try to put things back together again. They'd get it in their heads that the west needed taming and send a few flat tops, but nothing ever took.