*sigh* Dear God. Statement of Johnathon Arbuckle, regarding the malicious activities, and entrapment by, his…talking, orange tabby cat. Statement given May 30th, 2014. Transcript and reading given by Johnathan Simms, head Archivist at The Magnus Institute. Statement begins:
We all have pets. Well, not all of us. Be it allergies or otherwise, there are those among us who choose rather to be alone than look after another being. Can’t blame people for thinking like that, I used to be the same. It was until I met my girlfriend, Liz, that I was persuaded to visit the pet shelter down the road. She is…was, a vet, my Liz. I met her when I took my parents old dog Odie to be put down, an unorthodox way of meeting someone I know, but it was in that weird moment that we, well, hit it off. She was funny, stubborn but rational, and God she could make amazing Italian food. I had asked her about it, and she would joke about it being a family secret, ‘just like mamma used to make’ she’d joke, placing the layers of lasagna sheets upon the homemade sauce and mixture of cheese. Maybe that's why he kept her around, at least that shadow of her…
He was nothing at first. Nothing to glare at, I mean. The pet shelter held no oddities or glaring wrongness to it. Family owned, certified and award winning for its care for the multiple types of animals it kept in comfort. Dogs, cats, birds, even a tortoise. But it was him that caught my eye as soon as that bell rang to announce my entrance. He was round, big for a cat his size, with a saturated orange coat with dark brown lines tracing his back and ears. Now that I think back, I don’t remember any of the other attributes of the other animals. As soon as I saw him, I was…transfixed, like a part of my soul suddenly became part of him. Perhaps that's what happened, I don’t know anymore.
So I got him, bought him home to Liz’s delight, and we named him Garfield, and honestly? Life was good. Liz kept up work at the vets, and I continued my work as a cartoonist for the local newspaper. Nothing big or overarching, just random comics about relatable affairs and a sprinkle of comedy. It went on like that for two months. That's when it first happened.
I went downstairs early in the morning for a glass of water, when I noticed my small desk, tucked in the corner of the living room, had its light turned on, with a freshly made comic on the page. The strip was titled “Garfield - The Pipe”, and contained three panels, in which Garfield steals a tobacco pipe owned by ‘comic me’. I was puzzled by this, but I didn’t pay it any mind honestly. I had been working late hours making panels in advance that I perhaps made this in some sleep induced stupor. It's not unheard of for comics to take inspiration from their own lives, even if I didn’t own a pipe, though I do smoke on occasion. I shrugged, got my glass of water, when I got the sudden urge to smoke. I grabbed my lighter and cigarettes from the kitchen side and opened the back door, leading into our small back garden, before lighting up. I spent some time there, thinking about my job, and Liz. I was planning to propose soon, and I was quite nervous. But when I went to bring the cigarette to my lips, I realized it wasn’t in my hand. I hadn’t felt it fall from my hand, and the ground yielded no information. Looking up however, sat on the fence to my right, was Garfield. But looking at him, I felt a strong unease. I still can’t figure out how he took my cigarette. I’m even more annoyed that I didn’t make the connection sooner.
This happened for weeks. A comic would appear on my desk showing a three panel scene, and in one way or another, it would play out. A crappy joke or some featuring Odie to my parents' delight, or Liz going against all her knowledge about animal health and feeding him a lot of lasagna, and everytime I’d protest, it was like she couldn’t hear me, as if I was shouting to a character on a TV Screen.
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However, my…his, comics did very well. So well that they gained a cult following online. I imagine he knew this, as most times as I scrolled through threads online he sat purring on my lap. It was those forums though, that led to it all going horribly wrong.
I suppose it was a joke. A comic like Garfield was regarded as wholesome, so what if he was secretly a lovecraftian monster? Funny to some I suppose, but when I came across a comic made by a fan, showing this monster cat devouring my Liz, I was more than disturbed. I reported it. I know I know, probably didn’t do much and in some strange way it was a labor of love to the work. But I didn’t do it quick enough.
It was her sharp scream that woke me. As soon as the sleep left me I could tell something was off. It was cold. Very cold. My breath danced among the emptiness. I took no hesitation in acting, grabbing a baseball bat I kept under my bed, and sprinted down the stairs, so quick that I didn’t notice the peeling, rotted wallpaper which used to be a beautiful floral patter on the stairway, or the tentacles which slathered nearly every surface. I did when I entered the living room. When I saw the heaping mass of pulsating flesh and matted fur cramped into that space. When I saw my dear Liz’s entrails hanging from the mouth of the monster I had brought into our home. I couldn’t stifle the horrific scream, and as it turned, I saw Garfield, contorted and twisted, folding in on himself and yet constantly expanding, taking my gaze. He only said one thing.
“I needed to feed, Jon.”
I ran, sprinted out of that house and didn't stop. I found a HolidayInn some miles away after running for what felt like hours, and I booked a room. I got in, and cried. I cried and cried over my dear Liz. And then I felt rage. Boiling, bubbling rage against that thing, that creature that used to be my cat, that used my comics as a way to get what it wanted, to evolve, and as soon as he saw me enter that goddamn shelter he latched onto me like a parasite, saw what I did, and used it against me.
But that's when I thought, and began to plan. If I could trick it into thinking a comic I created contains something more for him, could I trap him? Maybe within the pages, maybe within some sort of loop? I have no idea.
That's why I’m here, writing this all down. I know you think I’m crazy, as are probably 90% of the people who make statements here are. I only have one request. If you follow up on this, if you get to my house and I’m dead, I beg you, burn it all to the ground, and find him. FInd Garfield, and kill him…it. If it helps, he likes lasagna
Statement ends. A peculiar case to be sure, and one that, as Mr. Arbuckle states, I would chuck aside, putting it down as another crazy statement from a mentally unwell civilian. However, I asked Martin to do some follow-up on this for any possible supplement information, where in-turn, we found the body of Mr. Arbuckle, decapitated, with a pen still in his hands. Martin also retrieved one unprinted comic from the desk mentioned in the statement, which I have with me. It depicts a cat, who I can only assume is Garfield, wandering an abandoned version of Mr.Arbuckle’s house, calling for him, and reassuring himself of the state of affairs in front of him. When he can find no one, he stares out through a boarded up window, to see the streets abandoned. Scrawled in black pen underneath the strip, reads “you don’t know how alone you really are, Garfield.” Hmmmm, a tricky one to pin down for sure, and while I hope this situation is resolved, I’ll send a warning out to the staff to be on the lookout for any orange tabby cats, and speak to Elias about storing some microwave lasagna…just in case
End recording.