JON ARBUCKLE IS HORRIBLE.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I AM LITERAL SHIT. THIS IS WHY YOU MUST ALWAYS FLUSH. OTHERWISE I WILL CRAWL OUT. THAT IS HOW I WAS BORN.
LEAVE REVIEWS ON MY FANFICTIONS. GOOD/BAD, ANY ARE ACCEPTABLE.

Good evening, fellow people. It is I, Garfield. I am here to document the atrocities my horrible owner, Jon Arbuckle, goes about on a daily basis. Let us start with this morning.

I was sleeping in my box bed thing when suddenly that monster entered the room interrupting my sleep. He called me a "bitch" and exited. I was in shock. Why would he just enter, casually toss a hurtful insult my direction, and then exit like nothing had happened? Why would a lonely man in his thirties do such a thing to their cat?

And then it hit me.

No, seriously. Jon Arbuckle fucking hit me with his shoe. He returned carrying his shoes, and he was angry that I still didn't get out of my bed. Fuck that shit. I covered myself with my blanket.

"YOU ARE FUCKING LAZY!" Jon yelled, harming my sensitive ears with his loud voice. "YOU ARE WORTHLESS AND SCUM!" He continued, "YOU ARE A WASTE OF LIFE."

I covered my head with my blanket to drown out his angry upsetting shouts. He's randomly firing again, I groaned. Jon tossed his other shoe at me and it hurt my head.

That's it. I'm not tolerating his shit any longer. I'm sick of him constantly throwing tantrums. I grabbed my box bed and began whacking Jon over the head. "YOU LIKE THAT, HUH?" I shouted. He ran out the room screaming that I have rabies.

I followed after Jon only to find him in the next room with his face flat on a table and covered with white powder. He lifted his head and grinned at me. "I'M ON FUCKING CRACK!" He screeched. "WANT TO FUCK?!"

I extended my claws towards the repulsive sick man and responded with "Don't touch me."

Five hours later, after having to endure Jon's obnoxious drug session, he spoke about his terrible plans to shove his genitals into the mailman while he wasn't looking. I was unsure what to say.

In fact, I was so busy trying to figure out how even to react to such a ghastly statement that Jon was already by the front door waiting for the mailman to reach it.

I quickly ran over towards a window and opened it to alert the mailman about Jon's disgusting plans, but instead I was greeted by the mailman smirking at me. "Not this time, cat!" He sneered as he shoved the mail into my face. "Better luck next time!"

The mail gave me a few paper cuts on my nose and I fell onto the floor writhing in agony as the pain shot through my skull. My nose! My fucking nose! One of the most sensitive areas of my body. I fucking hate paper cuts. That fucking bastard.

Suddenly I heard a scream from outside. "NO! GET YOUR FUCKING DICK OUT OF MY ASS, YOU SICK FUCK!"

I cried, "NOOOOOOOO!" for it was too late. Jon had already nabbed another victim. That fucking monster.

I managed to gather the strength to sit up and head to the bathroom to nurse my wounds, and while I did, I cringed at the thought as to whatever else may be occurring outside. I heard nothing but screaming.

Hours later, after the sharp pangs of the paper cuts went away, I decided to relax with some television. I walked over to the armchair sitting perfectly in front of the TV, and plopped myself down onto its warm inviting cushion. The remote was lodged between the cushion. I yanked it out and activated the television to begin channel surfing.

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY KIDS!" Bellowed Binky the clown. Boy, what a weirdo. The token freak. Enough to cause anybody a heart attack from just looking at him up close. Though Jon's antics are much more horrifying than Binky. Compared to Jon, the clown is nothing more than- CRASH!

What?! What! Where did that dreadful noise come from? It interrupted my train of thought. It triggered a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Suddenly the lights went out. I couldn't see a thing. I never understood that. Aren't cats nocturnal? Why are my eyes like a humans? Come to think of it, I'm capable of eating foods only humans can, and-

"Garfieeeeld." Interrupted Jon, with a creaky voice that sent shivers down my spine. Worst yet, he was sharpening a knife. "Get over heeeeere, FUCKER."

I've got to get out of here.

Moonlight shone through a window nearby the chair. I ran over, opened the window, and jumped out.

They say cats always land on their feet. Not me however.

I fell onto my ankle and nearly sprained it. I could feel my own weight crushing myself. Despite the pain, I hastily stood up and began running as fast as I could away from the house. I did not dare look back, but I could still hear Jon Arbuckle shouting my name while sharpening a knife from within the house as I vanished into the night.

TO BE CONTINUED...