Your mind is but a mirror Jon.

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image showing Your mind is but a mirror Jon.

_cwick_ on January 15th, 2020 at 01:11 UTC »

I don’t know why, but this makes me sad

Dethcola on January 15th, 2020 at 01:16 UTC »

I can see he peen peen

sososhady on January 15th, 2020 at 04:45 UTC »

All I can picture is Garfield trying to help Jon by being a normal cat. Asking for pets and looking up at him with big eyes. 

It works, at first. Jon shares littles bits of lasagna with him - their favorite. Head scratches, and cuddles. 

But Jon can't help but feeling sad. Things aren't going his way. Life isn't perfect, he knows that. But his cartoons aren't as exciting anymore. He isn't finding joy in making them anymore.

Him and Liz are on rocky terms. He doesn't FEEL like going out. He can't find the right words to tell her that he's really sorry but he can't help it. Everything just drains out of him like a plug being pulled. He knows that she's disappointed in him and he can never find the words to tell her how much of a struggle it is.

He's so tired. 

He buys Garfield's favorite wet food. At least he can be reliable for Garfield. 

He can't bring himself to care if he wears the same thing two days in a row. Three days. Four. 

A week.

He's never hungry. Everything he eats never tastes like he remembers. And halfway through he just loses the will to finish cooking. He starts buying things that are easier to cook. Something that takes a few minutes in the microwave. It's not good and it's not healthy but it's something.

Garfield, of course, always comes when a package is being opened. But when shown he's more interested in rubbing up against his leg.

The days are so long. He can't bring himself to enjoy much anymore. He finds himself staying in bed later and later. Sometimes he can't bring himself to leave at all. 

The litter box is getting full. He sees it and knows it. But the next day it's still there, and the day after. It weighs on his mind every time he steps in the room. He can clean it. He should clean it. 

Garfield picks up the habit of drinking out of the toilet. 

The house has a stale smell. He can't even remember a time when he had a window open. The outside world seems to be moving on just fine. Why can't he. 

He has several messages on his voicemail but he knows they're not important.

Garfield's food bowl is empty. But here he is rubbing against your leg again. Not a care in the world. Because you are his world.

He has a gun. 

The backdoor is wide open. He doesn't want it open. He wants to be selfish and leave it closed. But even in this sad, pathetic, low state he can't punish the innocent.

And Garfield is innocent.

It takes some nudging and shooing to get him out the door. Near shouting too. But cats don't care if you shout, never did. But soon Garfield is out there somewhere.

Garfield has a better chance out there than in here, with him. 

Gun loaded, safety off. He squeezes his eyes shut. He's not sure if it'll hurt or not but the reaction to the possibility of pain is a normal one and he can't help it.

But it's really hard to pull the trigger when your cat is right there rubbing against your leg, again. He was sure he closed the door. 

Who's going to take care of Garfield? How's Garfield going to eat? He can't do it when eyes stare up at him and there is a paw on him. And Garfield looks so small, and skinny. Half the cat he used to be.

He puts the gun down and finds a can of cat food. Opens it and puts it on the floor. The white noise of the outside world comes through his back door but the sounds of Garfield eating fast fills the room, along with what almost could be the smallest motor he ever heard.

Jon finally smiles for the first time in weeks and makes a phone call.