Another sunny morning in the Arbuckle household. The grass was green, the birds were singing, everything was idyllic. Inside the house, Garfield slept in his bed, his sky blue blanket draped around him like a cloak. His snoring was soft, and his face formed a grin as he dreamed of an eternal feast, with him at the head of the table. He feasted upon turkey legs, heads of beef, pizzas by the slice, and most importantly, lasagna. He ate it by the ton, yet more was always there to fill him further.

He was rudely expelled from his dream, however, by the alarm clock next to him. It screamed at him to wake up and get ready for another day of misadventures and witticisms. With the reflexes worthy of a cat his stature, he reached out and smashed the noisemaker with his fist. "Oh well," Garfield thought to himself as he looked at the metallic remains. "I can always get another." He rose up from his box, stretching and yawning. Then, he turned to the American flag in his room and began his daily Pledge of Allegiance.

"I pledge allegiance," he began, putting a paw to his chest. A surge of pride filled him for his country. "Gosh," he thought after he finished. "I sure love America and its capitalist endeavors!"

The orange feline walked into the kitchen and hopped up onto the table, ready to eat. He was not disappointed, as sitting in front of him was a steaming, saucy pile of lasagna. As Garfield walked closer, his nostrils were filled with the delicious cheesy aroma, tantalizing him further.

"Time to eat!" he proclaimed and began to transform. His eyes retracted, while his jaw expanded. Soon, the majority of his face was filled by his mouth. He opened it, revealing a circle of jagged teeth, destined to devour. With a SHLUCK, he began to suck the lasagna towards him, like a vacuum. As it was about to be slurped up, a hand was put upon Garfield's face. He instinctively reverted back to his normal form, and the lasagna smacked into his face.

"Hey, what's the big deal?" he said, licking the sauce out of his fur. "I'm trying to stuff my face here." He looked up and saw Jon Arbuckle, in his signature baby blue shirt, wagging his finger.

"Not just yet, Garfield," he scolded. "For now on, you must share with Odie."

Garfield scoffed and crossed his arms. "Share with Odie? I'd rather-" he cut himself off with a gasp. His eyes widened and his tail stood stiff at the sight before him.

It was plain old Odie, looking as dumb and clueless as ever. However, something had changed. Mainly, his black spots on his sides were replaced with bright red hammers and sickles. "Oh no," Garfield thought with a start.

"Jon's turned into a commie!"

At first, Garfield was conflicted. On one hand, he had known Jon for years, and Jon had taken good care of him. On the other, though, communism went against every value Garfield had. In the end, he acted for the greater good and walked to Odie.

"Prepare for punt, commie dog," he said, and lifted his leg behind him. With the force of a thousand strongmen, Garfield kicked Odie's stomach. With a frightened yelp, Odie was launched upward, breaking through the house's wooden ceiling. Garfield watched with pleasure as Odie slowly turned into a dot on the horizon before disappearing altogether.

"Alright, Jon," Garfield said, turning to him, "now there's me to feed, so there's no need for sharing, and no need for communism."

But Jon was still aghast at what Garfield had done. "Garfield, you psychopathic cat," he scolded. "Odie was our friend, what you just did was abhorrent. Now," he continued, pulling something out from behind him, "I have no choice but to punish you." The object was revealed to be a five-pointed, crimson star. "This," he explained, "is the Red Star of The Revolution."

Garfield laughed in the man's face. "What are you gonna do?" He asked. "Hit me with it?" Jon did exactly that, bringing the star down upon the cat's head. There was a loud THUNK, and Garfield dropped, dazed from the impact. It only took a second, however, for him to get back up.

"Alright, Jon, you want to play rough?" The angry feline hissed. "You've got it. Tell me, do you know what day it is?" He pointed to a calendar, which read "MON, JUN 10." "It's Monday," he continued, feeling the anger overwhelm him.

"And I..."

Garfield's eyes rolled back into his skull.

"Hate..."

A horrified Jon looked on as the orange body grew and contorted, hearing the sounds of bones contorting and cracking.

"MONDAYS."

Garfield had changed into the horrifying Beastfield. His head had regressed into his body, which itself had twisted backwards. His stomach erupted into a giant mouth, rows and rows of teeth emerging from within. His hands and feet had become almost talon-like, which sharpened tips.

"PREPARE FOR YOUR UTTER DEMISE, JON ARBUCKLE," the thing growled, and a two-pronged tail wrapped around Jon's ankles and pulled him upwards. He hung upside-down above Garbeast, slowly being lowered into the cavern of teeth. But all Jon did was chuckle.

"Garfield, I've known you for forty years now. You think I wasn't prepared for this?" He pulled out a carrot from his pocket. "Now, Garfield, don't forget to eat your vegetables!"

He dropped it into Garbeast's mouth, and the fiend screamed in agony, thrashing his tail and releasing Jon. Jon crashed into the floor, while the thing transformed back into Garfield.

"Alright, cat," said Jon, still getting up. "Ready to concede?"

From behind him, Garfield replied. "You may take my transformation, but you won't take my freedom!" He then leapt at Jon, American flag pole in hand, and slammed it into Jon's skull. He was knocked out cold.

Garfield chuckled to himself. "I know just what to do with a wannabe commie like you," he thought.