Garfield lay sprawled on the mat, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts spiraling in an increasingly disturbing direction.
What if I'm some kind of incubator?
Like an alien host?
Pandora would be the alien. Lurking inside him. Waiting to mature. Then rip bursting straight out of his chest.
He lowered his head and pressed a paw against the thick orange fur on his chest.
"…No. That's ridiculous."
Setting aside everything else, if an adult alien really tried that, Garfield alone had at least a thousand ways to kill it.
Face-huggers included.
More importantly… his stomach wasn't a stomach.
It was a void furnace.
Anything that entered it… matter, energy, curses was completely decomposed and absorbed at a fundamental level.
"Hmph."
Still, the thought made his fur prickle.
When he was a child, Alien had scared him half to death. He used to wake up from nightmares convinced his chest was about to split open, something clawing its way out.
Definitely not a movie kids should be watching.
Kids today have it better. At least they watched bears and cartoons. No existential trauma before bedtime.
By the time night fell, a single afternoon was more than enough for everyone in the shop to completely abandon all speculation about the strange things Garfield and Midnight had supposedly said.
…
After dinner, Queenie carried Garfield out for their usual evening walk around New York.
They made a point of stopping by the apartment of the unlucky boy, Steve, and his best friend, Bucky, to check on them.
Steve's condition had finally stabilized. He could move around normally now, his color much improved. Bucky remained at his side, as he always did.
Sometimes they didn't even need to speak.
A small gesture and the other knew exactly what was needed.
Garfield watched quietly, tail flicking.
Honestly…
A good male best friend is better than a wife.
If you look at your wife like that, she'll think something's wrong with you. Seeing Steve and Bucky like this put Garfield at ease.
Seven days passed in peaceful monotony.
Every morning after breakfast, Garfield appeared on the shop counter like clockwork.
Vivienne returned after completing translation work for Old James Carter and the special department, and she and Lilith took turns guarding the shop.
Garfield lay on his mat, watching pedestrians drift past outside the window.
Another boring day.
I really need something to happen.
Jingle
The doorbell rang.
Garfield lifted his head.
An old man stepped inside.
He wore faded denim, a weathered cowboy hat pulled low, and a neatly groomed beard that made him look like a classic western gunslinger.
Two silver revolvers rested at his waist, polished but clearly well-used.
He carried himself with a sharp, unmistakable presence. Garfield's nose twitched.
No sulfur smell.
Not a devil.
Then… who is he?
Lilith and Vivienne both froze. Their expressions changed instantly, like predators locking onto prey.
Anyone who could make both of them react like that was definitely not ordinary.
Garfield straightened slightly, studying the newcomer with interest.
The old man was studying him too. Then, without hesitation, he reached out toward Garfield's chin.
"…Cat."
Garfield raised a paw and firmly blocked the hand.
"I'm sorry." He said flatly, "But I'm not an ordinary cat."
He narrowed his eyes. "And I don't like being touched by strange men."
Roy Pulsipher blinked, genuinely startled.
He had been in the middle of handling a difficult case and happened to pass by this street. Something about the shop had caught his attention… two young women inside who clearly weren't normal.
Curiosity, and a hint of professional instinct, had drawn him in.
Also, he liked cats. Seeing a fat orange one on the counter, he'd acted on pure habit.
He had not expected… the cat to speak.
Nor to see through his disguise.
In the eyes of ordinary people, Roy Pulsipher currently appeared as a stunning woman with a striking figure.
But the orange cat had looked straight past it.
Roy slowly withdrew his hand and smiled faintly.
"…Cat." He said, voice calm but sharp, "You are special."
Garfield nodded slowly.
"Old man, you're special too," He said calmly. "Dead people aren't supposed to be standing in crime scenes."
The moment the words left Roy Pulsipher's mouth earlier, Garfield had already remembered who he was.
Roy Pulsipher… the hot, rugged old cowboy from Dead Police Department.
In those films, Roy was responsible for handling souls that should have passed on to the realm of death but, due to accidents, obsessions, or sheer stubbornness, remained in the living world.
These wandering dead inevitably caused trouble…. sometimes catastrophic trouble, and when they began harming ordinary people, the R.I.P.D intervened.
An organization personally established by the mysterious boss, tasked with cleaning up those who refused to move on.
Roy shrugged helplessly.
"Who says they should?" He replied. "I'd love to rest in peace myself, but reality doesn't allow it."
"Those bastards won't behave, so I'm stuck working a few more decades. Ten years, give or take."
Garfield stared at him thoughtfully.
If the gods had truly left this world, then the souls of the dead couldn't simply be left unmanaged.
There had to be a replacement system, some mechanism to guide the deceased into the realm of death.
The so-called R.I.P.D was likely a maintenance organization, caretakers of a new death-guidance seal jointly established by the gods before their departure.
Reaching that conclusion, Garfield felt quietly pleased with himself.
I really am clever.
His thoughts drifted to the so-called divine power seed One-Ear had left behind before his death.
Could that fragment of divine authority interact with or even override—this bureaucratic, document-driven afterlife management system?
…It sounded unreliable.
Garfield raised a paw and casually pointed upward. "You're talking about the world of death, right?"
"The gods have already left this world. The dead need guidance, so you exist, the maintenance workers of the new death-transition system."
The gods… left? This was the first time Roy Pulsipher had ever heard such information.
He glanced at Garfield with suspicion. "You're lying to me, cat."
Garfield rolled his eyes. "What's the point of lying to you? How much do you think you're worth?"
Roy instinctively looked down at himself, then around the shop.
Setting aside the gold alone, the strange instruments scattered throughout the store were worth a fortune.
Some items radiated an aura that could only be described as priceless, artifacts that could saved lives or rewrote fate.
"…That statement still feels offensive." Roy muttered. "And those two beside you, aren't they extremely dangerous?"
Roy existed in a soul-state. He could clearly distinguish between ordinary humans and abnormal entities.
Lilith and Vivienne, despite their human appearances, souls, and restrained auras, were still demons.
Until they matured into their adult forms, suppressing their power entirely was impossible.
Calling them 'dangerous creatures' immediately provoked a reaction.
Lilith and Vivienne's eyes flared with fury, murderous intent radiating outward.
If Garfield hadn't been present, Roy would have already learned a painful lesson.
Garfield spoke before things escalated.
"They're my servants." He said evenly. "Dangerous, beautiful, and deadly.. but to me, they're insignificant."
He looked directly at Roy. "The world you operate in is far more complicated than you realize."
"Fair enough." Roy stroked his beard, then chuckled.
"Magical orange cat, duty calls. There are always restless souls that need cleaning up."
"Go ahead." Garfield replied lazily. "If you run into special undead or creatures you can't handle, come find me."
He paused. "My rates are reasonable."
"…I still need money."
Roy sighed. "Necessary evil."
He turned and walked out of the shop…
Only to immediately rush back in, the door slamming open again in clear embarrassment.
꧁𓊈𒆜༺⚜༻𒆜𓊉꧂
PhantomDream