Chapter 1 — Reborn as an Orange Cat
"A long, long time ago, there was an orange cat who ruled over the universe. In that era, orange cats were the belief of all living beings in the cosmos. Until one day, that orange cat got hungry and devoured the entire universe."
"Mommy, is our Garfield that super powerful orange cat?"
"Of course not, sweetheart. Mommy just made that story up. Now be a good girl and go to sleep."
"Okay..."
The scene shifted. A blonde middle-aged woman dressed in 1920s–1930s British fashion was telling a bedtime story to her precious five-year-old daughter.
The blonde housewife was called Anna Carter.
She watched her lovely daughter slip under the covers, turned off the light, and stood at the doorway. "Goodnight, my dear."
The little blonde obediently nestled into her blanket and waved at her mother. "Goodnight, Mommy." Then she turned toward the orange cat sitting by the windowsill, staring blankly outside. "Garfield, goodnight!"
The orange cat didn't look back. He merely cast the girl a glance filled with dignified concern. I know. Go to sleep, Peggy.
Watching the child drift into slumber, Garfield let out a quiet sigh. Just moments ago—at least in his own sense of time—he had been listening to his big brother cursing in frustration after getting killed by a boss at one hit point while playing Sekiro. How did he end up as a kitten?
Garfield didn't understand. He was just a 2019 couch potato, living on soda and video games, holed up in his tiny bachelor pad.
When he first regained consciousness, he was already inside the kitchen cabinet of Peggy's home. No clue what this seemingly newborn kitten had gone through. What puzzled Garfield was that there was no scent of other cats around him—only something like a purple eggshell.
Smelled delicious. Overcome with hunger, Garfield ate that weird purple shell without thinking.
The moment he crawled out of the cabinet, Anna and Peggy found him. And thus, he was captured by the mother-daughter duo's maternal instincts.
Well, according to cat logic, he should consider it an audience welcoming his arrival.
Truth be told, Garfield had more or less accepted his reality as a cat in a very short time. But some principles still needed adjusting.
For instance—
No wiping after pooping.
Having to eat mice.
Licking paws.
Chasing his own tail.
Ding—"The Orange Cat Rules the Universe" Multi-World Livestream System has been activated. Install?
YES / NO
What the hell? Was this the culprit that made him transmigrate?
No way in hell am I falling for that.
"Scram. Meow."
YES / NO
"Scram."
YES / NO
"Scram."
After 108 consecutive rounds of Garfield telling the system to get lost...
System rejected by host. Entering hibernation mode.
Done.
Garfield sank back into his melancholy. All those stories about being reborn and reaching life's pinnacle—ha! Even if he'd reincarnated as a girl, at least he could still enjoy some yuri action. But this? He'd turned into an orange tabby, with the added risk of getting neutered.
And yet, that wasn't even the worst part. He was one year old. When spring came, everything revived, and animals went into heat—if he ended up mounting the neighbor's cat, his life would truly be over.
He glanced down at the tiny fur balls OO between his hind legs. Garfield swore to himself: I must hold the line.
Meow~
A neighbor cat's delicate, flirtatious cry drifted in through the window. Garfield's heart jolted.
Damn. That voice was way too good.
Uh...
(￣△￣)
No. Hold. The. Line. This cannot continue.
Garfield hopped off the windowsill and padded over to little Peggy's bedside. Listening to her steady breathing, he pressed his paws against his ears, curled up beside her, and squeezed his eyes shut.
Eyes closed, but sleep wouldn't come. His old life surfaced in his mind, and unbidden, tears slid down his furry face.
A cat only lives about ten years. He'd never again taste grilled skewers, cold noodles, coke, hamburgers, french fries and many more...
He'd never again play a game and his big brother trash-talking while failing at CS and PUBG.
Still, Garfield stayed true to his heart.
David is, and always will be, my big brother.
Yeah.
That's right.
He unconsciously licked the drool at the corner of his mouth. If he couldn't eat them in reality, he'd just eat them in dreams.
---
The next morning, Garfield was deep in a dream about a new VR adult film released in Japan. He was just about to—
Ohayō~
A Japanese girl greeted him, patting the fuzzy yellow fur on his head.
Something felt off.
Garfield opened his eyes. There, in front of him, was little Peggy. She was awake but still in bed, petting his head.
Sigh. Fine. You may continue, pooper scooper. Massage me properly, and I'll forgive you for disturbing my royal slumber. After all, five-year-old Peggy has very soft, comforting hands.
Meow.
But Garfield severely underestimated the destructive power of a human child. Peggy grabbed a little toy hat from beside her pillow. "Come on, Garfield! Let's put this cute hat on you!"
A cat's reaction speed is seven times that of a snake. Dealing with a kid like Peggy was easy.
He leaped from her pillow to the floor, presenting her with his proud, fluffy back. But before leaving, he flicked his tail across her cheek.
Peggy was not pleased. "Garfield, come back!"
Garfield ignored her. He slipped through the gap in the door and began his territory patrol.
As a cat, it was his duty to guard his domain: forbid other cats from entering, and chase away any disease-ridden mice.
How did he know he was in England? Because Peggy's family spoke English, and the radio was also in English. Thank goodness he actually studied back in the day, and watched enough original films to recognize classic English phrases like fuck, hello, and oh yeah.
But the real giveaway was the weather. The dampness of an Eastern European island, combined with that specific humidity—as a Harry Potter fan who'd researched the setting—it didn't take much to guess.
He already knew Peggy's family was well-off. But he truly understood the scale of her household when he was later brought to their countryside estate.
So the mansion-like townhouse in London was just for convenience.
Not only was their decoration extravagant, but they even had a butler.
The classic movie-type, white-bearded, rigid, and serious old man. Garfield later learned, after picking up English, that the butler, Philip, had served the Carter family for ten generations.
Also, Peggy's household had plenty of maids. Garfield's favorite hobby was walking past them and tilting his head upward.
＜（＾－＾）＞
Still, Garfield felt something was off. As a cat, he was always hungry. He wanted to eat anything and everything. And toward other cats, he felt an instinctive arrogance—
As if he were looking down at a lesser species.
Why?
Sigh.
Dragging a roasted steak into his mouth, Garfield slipped out of the kitchen right before the butler arrived. That steak was meant for a guest—some guy named Churchill.
Hah.
"Good heavens—where did the steak go?!"
Garfield, now perched on the rooftop just outside the kitchen, listened to Philip's panicked shout.
Hah.
What's the big deal? I just ate your steak.
He was gloating smugly when a woman's voice suddenly spoke from behind him.
"Are you happy, being this mischievous?"