Forgive the previous chapter's issues (grammar and spelling) and this wait. I wasn't going to continue this, I have no idea if I will beyond this - I have so much to do, but I've been needing to break my writer's block. So I said 'let's update some old stories'.

That, and people have been reading this and leaving much better reviews than some other stories. I'm glad you like it so much.

Just so people know, this is NOT a pairing between Garfield and Nermal. I think someone on DA mentioned that years back, and I said 'NOPE.' Because that would be unnerving.

Deep Down

He hadn't known what had gotten into him. For a moment he'd considered the very debatable fact that he may have a brain parasite. Maybe all of that TV was finally, finally catching up on him. Then he found himself sitting on his couch idly flicking through channels again, and decided that if that had been the case he would have collapsed and went to the great field in the sky by now.

Garfield wasn't a selfless cat. (So sue him. Don't act like you wish you didn't care about some things in life.) It was the law of male cat-hood to look out for number one; heck, that went for most of the four-legged race. It wasn't his fault it was wired into his brain. With a humph, he sank lower into the chair, feeling an ache in his limbs that usually wasn't present.

Nermal's sad attempts at 'repaying' his mind-boggling act had nearly left him with every bone in his body broken. And now here he was, thinking. He hated memory lane, with all of its cracked pavements with little weeds sticking out.

He was almost thankful Nermal was back to normal.

So, what was this act that had nearly torn apart the fabric of the universe it was that unrealistic? Garfield had saved Nermal that morning. No, really. He had to keep reminding himself that yes, he'd done this, and Odie hadn't needed to guilt-trip him until it actually, physically hurt. No. What changed? Garfield didn't break routine that much. He woke up that morning, or afternoon. He was sure it was morning somewhere in the world when he woke up. He ate, and ate some more, then they were out and about.

With a grumble, he rubbed his face. He'd regret waking up that morning for the rest of his life. You see, Nermal had run by, chased by a pack of dogs ranging from a ridiculous short-fry to a hulking beast, all after his blood. He must have rubbed his cuteness in a bit too far that time.

He couldn't say he blamed them, but then Odie came him a look – it was odd, Garfield barely remembered a time where that dog used to run into their neighbour's screen door fifteen times a day. He'd gotten smarter, Nermal too.

Apparently not that smart, as Nermal had cornered himself. Toast, cute toast, but toast just the same. And Garfield had gone to save him, and he hadn't known what brought it on.

He wasn't his responsibility. Garfield was actually certain that Nermal had put him off ever settling down with Arlene and having a family. Kittens where presents from the devil sent in cute little packages signed with 'say goodbye to your sanity'. But he'd stepped in and Nermal had leaped behind him, instantly seeing him as a protector – and Garfield found he couldn't budge even with a pack of dogs in front of him, and being equally terrified.

Nermal was just as surprised as he was.

At least he'd learned not to be nice back. Him saving him was a one-time-thing, and now he was back to being a thorn in his side.

His eyes drooped a little. Man, was he tired. Tired in a different way than usual. What had it been, four months since his last zone-out...? Guess he can't forget about things forever. Garfield allowed his eyes to close.

Perhaps, in the haze between sleep and wakefulness, he felt a forlorn twinge in his chest.

"No, wait! I wanna hear another story!"

"Garfield, I'm not leaving until you tell me another story! Whaddaya think of that?"

He sighed.

...

There had to be someone going to this cat show that Jon wanted to date. Not even Mr 'Bake Next Door Neighbour Who Hates Me Butter Bread' could be going to please his posh, pompous cousin. Garfield wasn't fooled; he saw Jon choke on that perfume just like every other person in the joint.

Jon plonked him down on a table backstage, and Garfield found himself in the carpet-less, wood-beam curtain-smelling 'VIP' section Jon's cousin oh-so graciously allowed them to be in. He saw various people donning microphones, glasses, pencils-behind-the-ear and notepads rushing around organising things for the next show. With a sigh he dropped his chin onto his elbow and lazily leaned back against the wall.

He saw flashes igniting even beneath his eyelids. He cracked one open and saw a handler moving in, carrying a certain someone on a red throw pillow backstage. The grey feline from before, her tail expertly curled and her head tilted ever-so-upwards, was ushered in, smirking to herself as the enthusiasts gathering around with cameras. Garfield made a great show of rolling his eyes, and for a second he thought he'd seen her glance his way – and catch it.

Bulls-eye. He yawned and closed his eyes again, ignoring the hullabaloo. Not ten minutes later he head feet padding along the table towards him, then stop. He opened his eyes and his wish for a nap was finally defeated. Norma stood, brow a-raised, arms akimbo. Smirking as ever.

"Do even your steps have to be perfectly synchronised? And I thought Jon was a neat freak, and this is a guy who almost drowned himself trying to get a spot off his tie." He deadpanned, folding his arms behind his back.

He recalled he wouldn't have been able to do that for very long these days; he was actually fitter back then than he was now. Norma snorted. "The cameras only look for the best, and I give them the best."

"And what is the best?" He asked, barely concealing his disinterest. Why was he still talking to her?

Her narrowed eyes bore down on him; his own widened. "What I say it is."

Garfield raised a brow.

"I say the 'best' is lasagne with a turkey sandwich, with one of those little umbrella drinks." Slouching moodily, he folded one leg over the other. "Q.E.D."

"That doesn't make sense in that sentence." Norma noted. Garfield shrugged.

"Neat freak." He responded bluntly. He actually felt a leap of triumph at seeing the annoying on her face – lately she'd found every comeback of his amusing rather than scathing.

"Shouldn't you be out there on stage where everyone loves you?" Garfield remarked, basically lying on the table now. Norma sat down beside him, moving with such grace it was like she'd dance-sat. If that could even be done.

"I told you before, Tubby, I'm bored." She leaned back on one arm, eyes still narrow. Garfield huffed,

"Garfield."

"Garfield." She snorted, reproachfully. "Does 'Garfield' do anything but slouch around?"

"Does Norma do anything but bother Garfield?"

This came out of his voice much lighter than he'd intended, but he didn't let his own surprise show up on his face. His pride would have been done for.

"I do a great deal of things. Travel, sign things, pose, practice. Exercise." She added pointedly, nudging him with her toe. He scowled, very deeply.

"I exercise."

She grinned at him, openly nasty now. "Oh?"

"I exercise my ability to deal with people." He saw her grin morph into another reproachful look, more grilling. And less readable. In fact, he had no idea what she was thinking. He didn't know why he said what he said next. That happened around her. Maybe he'd felt a pang of guilt, that he was playing the 'jerk' card a bit much for it to be a balance between the both of them.

Garfield wasn't a bully. So he said, "Seems like you're good at that, too. Dealing with people."

She raised her brow higher, and he went on, sitting up and placing his chin on his palm once more;

"I mean you got them all wrapped around your manicured claws." He said none of this in a 'nice-y' tone. Deadpan, as usual, came naturally. Maybe off-handed was the right term...

Why was he thinking so darn much?

"I do. I didn't always, but this profession toughens you up." She dangled her legs off the table, swinging them gently. She looked upward, and he followed her gaze – up high at the top of backstage ceiling, there was a rectangle window, and further up where the stars, barely visible through stage lights.

"I see them much better at my place when I'm watching late-night movies." He commented. She chortled at him,

"Alright, Shakespeare. Why are you so content?"

Sincerity again? He eyed her without turning his head to her. "...I do what I like. I got my lasagne, my bed, my couch and remote. Everythin' I need. I'm just a cat, after all, I don't need much."

She stared at him stonily, her face blank beyond reading once more. He tilted his head quietly. He tried to think of a quip, but couldn't.

Norma gave a short laugh, but it was far less humourless than the other times. "You're no normal cat, Tubby – you've probably the most...amusing cat I'm spoken to in years."

"Yay." He droned slowly, eyes drooping. He felt oddly heavy inside. Behind all of his immediate thoughts of 'please make this lady stop pestering me' and 'I'm tired' was other suggestions – things he was noticing.

He ignored them, and ignored them some more.

She stood up suddenly, so suddenly he nearly jumped. "Where are you going?"

"Seven MP. Show's back on." A handler was moving over with the cushion again to carry her off to glory. Garfield rolled his eyes, watching her step off the table onto the pillow with a sashay of finality.

"Of course. Knock 'em dead, Norms."

She gave that half-smirk half-scowl at him. At least she was half-amused. He didn't watch as she was carried onto stage and out of his sight, or the music and lights began to turn and synchronize together. He glanced upward and saw the stars and saw that because of the influx of lights, he couldn't see them at all now.

For some reason, curiosity struck him. He supposed it couldn't help, from a...critic point of view, to see what was so enchanting about Norma that she was so famous. He padded to the edge of the curtain and peered around. Her back to him, she stood on stage, lights flashing like stars in front of her- none staying too long to hold any meaning. Her head was up but her eyes where closed...

...and her face...looked sad. Solemn and sad, her face untwisted by a frown or a smirk. Perfectly lax, her face looked like it was carved from marble. It reminded him of the ornaments, old and comforting homey, on Jon's parent's fireplace.

And it was then that he'd ever felt empathy. Lame, he knew. But he'd felt sad seeing how solemn she looked, in the midst of love and admiration. Later, he'd feel uncomfortable and annoyed at himself for feeling it.

But for a moment, he hadn't been the usual Garfield. He'd been someone who knew what she was feeling.

...

He awoke that morning, his ears drooped and his body stiff from his uncomfortable position on the couch. He barely remembered the reason he felt so listless. Soon he was eating breakfast and forgetting all about it.

It was until that afternoon, when He, Arlene and Harry the Alley cat where in the back yard, nibbling on spare nachos.

"..And that was the last thing Nermal tried to do to help me." He finished, shoving yet another nacho to join its brethren in his stomach. Harry cackled a bit, helping himself to one, too,

"Can't say I'm surprised, though, he's like you in that sense." He chuckled, undeterred in speaking despite his mouth being full. The orange cat almost – almost- thought the taste of the treats had gone sour in his mouth.

"Whaddaya mean?"

Harry chuckled still, sitting down on the trashcan he stood upon. Even in the glittering green garden he couldn't keep away from the trash, it seemed...

"I mean that when either of you try to do somethin' nice for somebody, you end up screwing it up 'cuz its just so against your nature."

He didn't know if that was a friendly jab or an actual insult. Garfield frowned accordingly.

"Yeah, like when I helped those Bluebirds."

Harry glared back at him now. Oh, how Garfield loved subtle jabs. So poetically shattering. Arlene cleared her throat loudly,

"I thought it was sweet of you to help him like that, Garfield – good to see you being active a little more."

"I won't add 'saving annoying kittens' to my to-do list from now on." Garfield said pointedly, idly breaking off the corners of the nacho in his had rather than eating it.

Harry had a point, though. Some things where just so against his nature...

It was just annoying that sometimes he and Nermal had similar natures.