A paw suddenly pressed against Newt Scamander's face.
"Ugly. Go away." Garfield announced flatly.
Newt blinked, momentarily stunned by the feline's audacity. Then he sighed, disappointed… but not defeated.
After all, he had dealt with far more temperamental magical creatures than one orange tabby with attitude.
"Come on, Newt." He muttered to himself encouragingly. "You've tamed a Murtlap in heat."
"You can handle a cat. A magical feline must still have feline instincts. You just need to earn its trust."
Determined, he extended a hand again toward the seemingly aloof creature.
Whap.
Garfield smacked his head again with a paw. "Listen, Newt."
"In my eyes, you're nothing more than a cook. A useful one, granted, but not one worthy of petting me. Only the little girl has that honor."
(￣3￣)
Newt frowned. "You just stole a piece of my dragon meat, Garfield. That was extremely rare~"
Garfield stretched lazily. "So what? You're the cook, remember? It's your job to provide ingredients."
"Besides, I'm technically helping you on Dumbledore's orders. Board and lodging are the least you can offer in return."
"Do you understand, meow?"
"Garfield…"
"Shhh. I'm going to sleep now, meow."
With the regal grace only a cat could manage, Garfield turned and strutted away, tail high and proud.
He leapt onto Newt's bed, found the softest spot, turned three times, then flopped into a perfectly curled orange ball.
(～﹃～)~zz
Newt stared at him in silence, watching the gentle rise and fall of the furball's breathing. His bed claimed.
"I swear." Newt whispered. "We will be friends."
But little did Newt know, the odds of being a cat's friend instead of its servant were roughly 1 in 99,999.
✦••┈┈••✦••┈┈••✦
Later, on the deck of the ocean liner (somewhere in the North Atlantic.).
Though their first-class cabin was comfortable by 1920's standards, Garfield was getting cabin fever.
"This ship is so slow." He grumbled, walking alone out to the deck.
The sea breeze tousled his fur as he gazed at the clouds, and the birds. Fat, juicy, airborne birds.
"If I could just figure out how to tenderize one midair... maybe roast it with a hint of paprika…"
Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him. A nine-year-old boy was tiptoeing up behind Garfield.
Grab!
The boy lunged… but Garfield flicked aside with the agility of a seasoned ninja.
He spun around slowly, narrowed his eyes, and jumped.
Whap!
A perfect flying kick to the boy's face.
"Foolish child." Garfield landed with feline elegance.
"Dare to sneak up on His Majesty? I should flush you down the ship's toilet."
"Oh my God!" The boy stumbled back, clutching his face, wide-eyed.
"This cat just did a flying kick! Hey, buddy, how'd you do that?"
Garfield casually started licking his paw. "It's called a racial trait. You're not built for it."
"Unless you're a cat. Or maybe a husky. Some of those guys are unhinged enough."
"You're the coolest cat I've ever seen! Can you do it again?"
Garfield gave the kid a long, unimpressed look. "You're trying to trick me. I can see it in your eyes, brat."
But the challenge was too tempting. Besides, Garfield never passed up a chance to show off.
Step. Dash. Jump. FLYING KICK.
Twist. Land. Smirk.
Perfect form.
"Whoa! That was awesome! Do it again!" The kid's hands shot up in surprise.
Garfield stared. "You… want to get kicked again?"
"Come on, cat, one more time!"
"...I'm starting to worry about you."
Still, Garfield obliged. He launched another elegant attack, dodged every attempt to grab him, then finished with a flourish.
(￣▽￣)
"Alright, that's enough free shows. I'm out." As he turned to leave, tail high, the boy shouted after him.
"Wait, don't go! What's your name, buddy?!"
Garfield looked back, eyes half-lidded.
"You can call me Garfield. And you can thank me later when you grow up and realize this was the highlight of your life."
Then he padded off, leaving behind a dazed, mildly bruised, and entirely amazed little boy.
Garfield padded casually along the first-class upper deck of the ship, tail swaying like a metronome of apathy.
There, unfortunately, was a faint sound of tiny footsteps trailing behind him.
"What are you doing?" Garfield muttered under his breath. "You still want to get kicked again?"
But the little human didn't take the hint. He just kept following like a stubborn duckling.
Then a silky, teasing voice echoed in Garfield's mind.
"Garfield, why are you ignoring that little boy?"
"Because he's a brat." Garfield grumbled. "Why are you out here, Pandora?"
"I felt an unusual twist in the weave of fate. Thought I'd stretch my metaphysical legs."
Garfield flicked an ear. "Are you saying the same kid I've kicked three times has some kind of 'extraordinary fate'?"
"Indeed."
"Since when do you play fortune teller?
"I am Pandora, Dark Lady of Realms Forgotten. Fate-reading is just a... side hobby."
"If you're right, I'll walk back to the cabin on my head."
"Deal. Heh. You're doomed, furball."
Grumbling, Garfield came to a stop. Behind him, the little boy blinked, surprised, then beamed and hurried to catch up.
"Hey, buddy! You finally stopped!" The boy chirped, crouching down. "Can you show me that flying kick again?"
Garfield ignored him, flicking his tail as he muttered to Pandora, "Look at him."
"Talks like he's got a discount on pain. You really think this is the one with a brilliant future?"
He squinted at the boy's aura…. nothing. No magic, no power.
Just... average.
"Hmph. He's a Muggle. That's a relief."
"Didn't you learn that fate-weaving spell from the Ancient One?"
"That nonsense? Too much effort."
"Then ask his name."
"Don't need to. He'll tell me on his own. Watch."
As if on cue, the boy plopped beside Garfield and started rambling.
"You know, that kick was seriously cool. I love fighting, but I kinda suck at it. My dad says reading is more important anyway."
"Says brains beat brawn in the long run. I really like machines, though! I built my own bike from spare parts."
"Even fixed up the family car once. Planes too… I think the tail design on most models is way off. If you ask me, there's a better way to stabilize thrust during takeoff..."
He continued babbling, words pouring out like water from a broken faucet. Garfield's ears twitched with each technical term.
"What's a 'differential gear ratio' supposed to be?" He mumbled to himself.
"You understand any of that?" Pandora asked.
"Not a clue." Garfield admitted. "Sounds like someone swallowed an engineering textbook."
Then a voice cut through the sea breeze.
"Howard!"
The boy's head perked up. "That's my mom!"
A tall woman in an elegant dress was standing at the edge of the deck, calling out.
"Howard, don't run off like that!"
"I'm here, Mom!"
"What are you doing?"
"Just chatting with a friend!"
"Well, lunch is ready. Come back soon."
"Okay!" Howard turned his head and found Tangerine Cat locking eyes with him.
The cat's gaze was piercing, almost like his father's when he was being particularly stern.
"Hey there, buddy." Howard said cautiously, trying to sound friendly. "You don't mind being friends, do you?"
"My name's Howard… Howard Stark."
(￣ー￣)
"…Pandora."
"Yes?"
"Can I please take back the upside-down walk thing?"
"Nope."
꧁𓊈𒆜༺⚜༻𒆜𓊉꧂
Phantom your way through a treasure trove of chapters waiting on P@treon!
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