Disclaimer: Garfield and all related characters are the property of Paws Inc. and ViacomCBS/Nickelodeon at the time of this story's creation.


Chapter 3: Diet is "Die" with a "T"

"Ugh. W-Where the hell am I?" Garfield moans in pain as he rubs his head. He finds himself back in his house and his little cat bed. He picks up his clock and checks the time.

6:19 AM

"Man. I never thought I'd wake up so early." Garfield said to himself as he fell back to sleep…

"Hey, wait a minute!" That is, until he had a sudden realization.

"It was all a dream!" Garfield said with a huge smile on his face. "I'm not on a diet!" Filled with excitement, the cat leaps out of his bed.

"I'M NOT ON A DIET!" Garfield gleefully shouts to the heavens and hops his way to the calendar.

*Thursday, November 24. Thanksgiving Day!*

"YES! It's Thanksgiving! That means all the food I can eat! WOO HOO!" Garfield dashes to the kitchen. He finds his owner Jon in his orange and white striped pajamas, and leaps onto him, giving him a rather tight hug.

"Garfield! You're alive!" Jon hugs his cat, delighted to see his cat happy and awake.

"Of course I'm alive, Jon!" Garfield said "Especially now that it's Thanksgiving!" He releases his owner from the hug and climbs onto the kitchen table.

"And now, to enjoy my annual Thanksgiving breakfast!" Garfield grabs a bagel from Jon's plate and tosses it into the air…

...until Jon grabs it before he could eat it.

"Ah, ah, ah." Jon waves his finger. "You're on a diet, remember?"

"Wait! Y-You mean...that wasn't a dream!?" Garfield asked, praying that this was just another dream sequence.

"I know what you're thinking Garfield, and no, this isn't a dream." Jon confirms. He covered his ears, knowing full well what was about to happen.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Garfield suddenly screams so loud, that it wakes up the entire neighborhood from their peaceful slumbers.

"HEY! KEEP IT DOWN OVER THERE!" Hubert, their neighbor, angrily shouted from his window.

"Oh, woe is me. I'm put on a diet and I'm gonna die." Garfield sighs in depression, finding it rather difficult to accept the reality of his situation.

"Oh, I'm sorry old buddy, it's only for your own good." Jon sympathetically rubs his back gently. "Besides, going on a diet isn't all that bad. Why, a couple of pounds off the middle, and you'll be fit and trim again."

"Hmph. As if that's reassuring." Garfield spat out sarcastically.

"Now, according to your diet, I'm supposed to feed you this." Jon hands Garfield his dish bowl, which contains nothing but a small piece of lettuce.

"Wait, that's it!?" Garfield asked, astonished. "That's all I get!? Just one scraggly little piece of lettuce!?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Garfield. That's not what you get." Jon apologizes.

"Well, I should hope not." Garfield said with an ounce of hope. "After all, cats need meat in their diet."

"I'm only supposed to give you half a leaf of lettuce." Jon rips the lettuce in half and gives one half back to Garfield.

"That's better." Garfield gives a fake smile and reluctantly stuffs the lettuce in his mouth.

"Someday, you're going to thank me for this Garfield." Jon said.

"Like hell I would!" Garfield hisses venomously and makes his way out of the kitchen.

"Where are you going buddy?" Jon asked, concerned.

"I'm going to step into a corner and crumble into dust." Garfield answered before leaving the kitchen.

"Poor Garfield. I hate to do this to him, but it's for his own good." Jon explains to the reader. "Well, I better start making Thanksgiving dinner."


"Grrrrrrrr!" Garfield loudly grumbles as he angrily stomps through the hallway.

"The nerve of Jon to put me on a diet on Thanksgiving!" Garfield rants to himself as he knocks over a vase in frustration. "When the lasagna content in my blood gets low, I get mean!" He kicks his bed into the air.

"And it's all that stupid vetrinarian's fault! If she hadn't suggested for Jon to put me on a diet, I would be eating birds the size of Alaska by now!"

The angry cat picks up his clock and angrily tosses it at the wall. The pressure causes a mirror to fall from the wall and crack. Garfield approaches the now broken mirror and looks at his own reflection.

"Gee, I've been on this diet for only ten minutes and I can tell I've already lost something…" Garfield sighs depressingly as he walks away. "...my sense of humor."


Garfield cools off by washing his face in Jon's bathroom. After drying himself with a towel, he spots a weight scale by the bathtub.

"Well, I might as well see how the old diet's going." Garfield said as he stands on the scale.

"EEEEKKKK! GET OFF! GET OFF! GET OFF! GET OFF!" The scale suddenly shouted. Garfield quickly hops off the scale.

"Oh, great. Either I'm hallucinating, or It's one of those talking scales." Garfield said, unamused.

"Whew! Sorry about that! I hate cold feet!" The scale said.

"Hey, I don't blame you. I hate cold floors just as much as the next cat." Garfield said. "So, you're one of those new fancy talking scales, am I right?"

"That is correct! I'm RX-2, your talking scale!" The scale said, revealing its name.

"If you step on me, I'll tell you your weight, your fortune, or just about anything else you want to know!" RX-2 explained.

"I see. I guess this isn't a hallucination." Garfield said.

"Come on, take a chance! Weigh yourself! I'll be kind! Trust me!" RX-2 calmly insisted.

"Alrighty then, lay it on me!" Garfield said as he steps onto the scale again.

"BOY! YOU ARE FAT!" RX-2 suddenly shouted, scaring Garfield off the scale.

"Heh Heh! Not to mention gullible too!" The scale chuckled.

"Ha ha. Very funny." Garfield said sarcastically.

"Thanks! I try!" RX-2 said.

"Okay, smarty pants. What's my name?" Garfield asked, daring the scale to give him an answer.

"Judging by your weight, you are Orson Welles!" RX-2 jokes.

"Just great, a voice chip with a cruel streak." Garfield said, pinching his nose.

"May I have your autograph, please!?" RX-2 asked kindly.

"Oh, shut up!" Garfield angrily said. "Why's everyone picking on me all of a sudden!? What's wrong with being large-boned anyway?" Garfield asks, rubbing his stomach.

"I've seen all your movies!"

"Hey! How would you like to have your batteries removed if you don't shut it?" Garfield threatened.

"I wouldn't like that, Mr. Welles!" RX-2 replied.

"Look, It's not that I'm that overweight, I'm just undertall, that's all." Garfield explains. "At least I can still see my feet."

"I've seen Citizen Kane eight times!" RX-2 said.

"Alright, that's it! You're history!" Garfield angrily shouted as he prepares to stomp on the scale.

"WAIT! PLEASE DON'T…"

*BAM* *BAM* *BAM* *BAM*

Garfield stomps on the scale as hard as he could. He breathed heavily as he gazes upon the now broken scale. Satisfied, he walks away and leaves the bathroom.

"Ors….on….come….ba-" The scale's voice glitches out before shutting off.


"I gotta get my mind off this diet, but how?" Garfield thinks to himself.

The cat gazed around the living room for anything that could distract him from thinking of food.

"Eureka!" Garfield exclaims as he notices his bed. "I'll sleep it out! After all, sleeping is just as good as eating."

Garfield dashes to his bed and covers himself under his blue blanket.

"Sweet dreams, Garfield." The cat said to himself.

"Rats! I said sweet! Okay, okay, try not to think about food. Try not to think about food." He repeated.

*TICK TOCK TICK TOCK TICK TOCK*

The ticking sounds of the wall clock are faintly heard through the cat's ear. All Garfield could do is cling on to his blanket tightly and just hope to retreat into the land of dreams.