Garfield liked being a loathing, fat orange fluff-ball with no means of self respect. His owner Jon would always be there to give him his favoritest treat ever; lasagna. He was just drooling as he thought of the layers of pasta, meat and cheese oozing from in between them and onto the plate.But when Garfield slunk out from the blankets of his cat bed one bright fall morning, he was surprised; his morning platter of the Italian delicacy was not on the kitchen table like it usually was. Strange.
"Oh, good morning, Garfield." His thirty-something nobody owner Jon Arbuckle sidled into the kitchen wearing bunny slippers and an ill-fitting striped robe. Odie was right by his side, tongue hanging out of his mouth. "I'm sorry I couldn't make your lasagna today. We're fresh out of the ingredients."
WhaT? HoW daRe thiS- thiS impuDent shELL oF A MaN noT MAKe mY breaKFaST.
And that is the reason why Garfield will spend the rest of his days in prison, amongst the worst of the worst.