"A long, long time ago." said Anna Carter, her voice soft under the glow of a bedside lamp. "There was an orange cat that ruled the universe. All creatures worshipped it."
"But one day, the orange cat got hungry... and it ate the entire universe."
Little Peggy's eyes widened, clutching her stuffed rabbit. "Mom... do you think our Garfield is that orange cat?"
Anna chuckled gently. Dressed in her elegant 1930s housewife attire, hair curled, she brushed her daughter's golden bangs from her forehead.
"Of course not, sweetheart. That's just a bedtime story Mommy made up for you. Now, close your eyes. Time for dreamland."
Peggy nodded, nestling under her warm quilt. "Okay. Good night, Mommy."
"Good night, my darling." Anna whispered, turning off the lamp and pausing at the doorway to watch her daughter drift to sleep.
From her bed, Peggy turned toward the windowsill, where a chubby orange tabby cat sat, staring out into the moonlight. "Good night, Garfield!"
Garfield didn't turn around. His tail swayed once, contemplatively. "I see you. Go to sleep, Peggy."
She couldn't hear him, of course. But Garfield had long since stopped expecting to be heard.
He let out a long sigh, his ears twitching.
Just moments ago, he'd been hearing his elder brother's voice, bloodied and broken as he screamed in the final moments of a boss raid.
One second, he was a fat gamer dude from 9102, guzzling soda in a cramped apartment.
The next, he was an orange furball stuffed into a kitchen cabinet, meowing for help.
When he first awoke in this strange world, disoriented and dizzy, he wasn't even fully weaned. His paws were too tiny, his meows too soft.
And nearby… was a strange, glowing purple eggshell. It smelled like cosmic honey and tasted even better. He ate it.
He probably shouldn't have.
Next thing he knew, the cabinet door creaked open and two faces peered in… Anna and Peggy, who instantly adopted him like a long-lost prince.
Or in his own feline logic, welcomed his inevitable arrival like loyal followers of a Tiger-god reborn.
In fairness, Garfield had adjusted fairly well to his new body. His fur was shiny. His belly was round. But still… there were some principles that took getting used to.
He couldn't wipe his own butt.
He was expected to eat mice.
He instinctively licked his paws.
He had developed a weird obsession with chasing his own tail.
He was trying to come to terms with all of this when, out of nowhere, a mechanical chime echoed in his head.
Ding!
[Garfield Livestream System] activate. Install now?
"…What the hell?"
Install now?
"No! Shoo, go away, meow."
Install now?
"Absolutely not."
Install now?
"Buzz off!"
This argument went on for 108 straight rounds.
Finally, the system gave up.
System rejected. Entering sleep mode.
Peace at last.
Garfield flopped onto his side, a sigh escaping his whiskered mouth. "Unbelievable."
"Reincarnated into a kitten, eaten some alien egg, forced into this squishy body, and now some cosmic livestream nonsense? I just wanted to level up my rogue and maybe eat pizza for dinner."
He vowed then and there: He would claw his way back to the top. Even if he had to start from scratch (or… scratch post), he would rise again.
That is, so long as he survived kittenhood and didn't get neutered along the way.
He glanced down between his hind legs. "...I swear if they take my balls, I'll burn this timeline down."
From outside the window came a soft, seductive meow. A neighbor's feline, clearly in heat.
Garfield's ears perked. His heart skipped a beat.
"…damn, that's a nice voice." He turned his face toward the moonlit sky, eyes narrowing like a feline warlord.
"This spring… I must resist temptation. For the glory of future meows."
"Meeeeowww!"
￣△￣
"No. I must resist. I must stay strong."
Garfield leapt from the windowsill, landing with a soft thud beside Peggy's bed. Hearing her gentle breathing, he sighed and folded his ears back, trying to block out the siren song of the neighbor's feline.
"Sleep." He told himself.
"Think boring thoughts. Taxes. Philosophy. British weather."
But sleep wouldn't come. His thoughts wandered, drifting back to the world he'd left behind.
A cat only lives ten years, he thought, his eyes glistening. No more grilled skewers, pancakes, spicy soup, tofu brain…
His stomach rumbled.
No more late-night laughs with his brother. No more clutch matches, no more losing streaks, no more scuffed headset banter while fragging scrubs.
"I miss you, bro." He whispered. "You'll always be my big brother."
He licked a little drool from the corner of his mouth and curled into a ball, dreaming of virtual reality and buffets that stretched across galaxies.
✦••┈┈••✦••┈┈••✦
The Next Morning…
In his dream, he was watching a new VR movie in District 90, flying through a dimension made of fried chicken and neon soy sauce when…
"Hello~!"
A soft, cheery voice pierced his dream, and fingers ruffled his fur. Garfield cracked open one golden eye.
In front of him stood Peggy, wide awake and beaming, rubbing her cheek against his fluffy head.
He yawned. Right. Morning already.
"Well, I guess I can forgive this." He thought, leaning into her hand.
"Five-year-old hands are surprisingly good for stress relief."
"Meow~." He purred lazily. But peace was fleeting.
"Time for your hat, Garfield!" Peggy giggled, pulling out a ridiculous toy crown… pink, sparkly, and absolutely beneath him.
Instincts activated. A cat's reflexes are seven times faster than a snake's. Garfield sprang into action.
With a majestic leap, he shot off the pillow, dove under the bed, and made his escape, flicking his tail just right to smack Peggy on the nose before vanishing.
"Garfield! Don't run!" She shouted.
But Garfield was already padding through the hallway, tail high and victorious.
Territory Inspection Protocol: Initiated.
A cat's duty is sacred.
Mark the land.
Survey the borders.
Defend from invading rodents.
Terrorize innocent furniture.
Besides, it was clear he was somewhere in England, he'd figured that out early.
Between the English they spoke, the BBC on the wireless, and the uniquely miserable island weather, it wasn't hard. He'd seen enough Harry Potter to piece it together.
At first, he thought the Carters were just a well-off family, but that illusion was shattered the day he was brought to the manor.
Not any house. A palace in miniature with ornate ceilings and velvet drapes.
More maids than a Victorian drama.
And then there was Philip.
The butler.
An elderly man with a beard as white as fresh snow and a posture forged from steel and colonial guilt.
Garfield soon learned, thanks to his growing English comprehension, that Philip had served the Carter family for ten generations.
Impressive. Also slightly creepy.
Garfield had a love-hate relationship with Philip. The man took food seriously.
Too seriously.
Which is why, that morning, Garfield found himself in the kitchen, paws first into a perfectly seared steak.
Just one bite, he told himself, dragging the edge of the filet to his corner. It's probably for the cat.
I am the cat.
It wasn't for the cat.
"Oh my word! The steak is gone!" Philip's indignant shout echoed down the marble hallways.
Garfield, perched on the rooftop just outside the kitchen window, licked his lips smugly.
Heh. Can't prove it was me, old man.
"Are you proud of yourself, being naughty?"
꧁𓊈𒆜༺⚜༻𒆜𓊉꧂
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