Chapter 7 – Is This Really That World?
Coo coo coo.
Flap flap flap.
The owl beat its wings against the windowsill. Garfield stared at it with intense curiosity, hoping this was all some kind of joke.
Old James Carter did not notice the Garfield hiding behind him. He reached out, opened the window, and let the owl inside. At the same time, he took a strip of dried meat from a nearby box and fed it to the bird.
"Thank you for your hard work, Al."
"Coo coo coo."
"Go rest. I'll call you if needed."
"Coo coo coo."
The owl glanced at Garfield in the corner before flying out of the study toward the barn.
Old James Carter shut the window. Warmth gradually returned to the room. Shaking the rainwater from the envelope, he muttered,
"Even after all these years, I still don't like their method of delivering messages. Wouldn't a telegram or a phone call be simpler?"
Hearing his father's complaint, James Carter tried to soothe him.
"Every world has its own customs. We don't like their owl post, and they don't like our telegraphs and telephones, do they?"
"Oh? My son's grown up—now lecturing his father?"
"Father, please. You're not old. Why not see what they have to say? Their world seems rather chaotic as well."
"Yes, chaotic indeed. All sorts of strange creatures… Who would have thought the tales from the Middle Ages were actually true?"
As he spoke, Old James Carter opened the letter.
In Garfield's eyes, a faint glimmer of light flickered across the page, briefly touching James Carter's hand before vanishing. Likely some sort of anti-theft enchantment.
Is this really that world?
Garfield carefully lifted his head and sneaked a glance at the letter.
> My old friend, General James Carter,
I apologize for interrupting your father-son conversation. This matter is rather urgent, and I hope you will forgive the intrusion.
A dangerous individual from our world has gone to America. He is searching for a boy of immense destructive potential. He intends to deceive and manipulate him. For both our worlds, this would be a disaster.
I hope you can arrange for one of my students to enter America under the guise of an ordinary citizen to assist the boy in fulfilling a wish—and to stop that dangerous man.
In return, so long as it is not excessive nor against my principles, I shall owe you a favor.
—Aberforth Dumbledore
(⊙o⊙)!
Oh my heavens.
That scared the emperor half to death—this is G Dumbledore's personal letter?!
How is this possible? First my wife, Wonder Woman Diana Prince, shows up—and now G Dumbledore appears. And that silver-haired master manipulator Grindelwald too!
The "student" mentioned must be our beloved Newt Scamander—the famed magizoologist of the British wizarding world and author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
This world has gone mad.
This is definitely not the happy paradise where an orange cat lives in bliss.
This is not the kindergarten bus—let me off, I want to go home!
A voice echoed inside Garfield's heart:
Little kitty, there's no escaping. Just accept reality~~ hahahaha.
Garfield shook his orange head vigorously, driving the voice away, and silently encouraged himself:
You're no ordinary orange cat. You're the ferocious Flerken of the cosmos! Nothing can stop you—devour the entire universe, young kitty~!
As if I have nothing better to do than eat the universe. The countless delicacies of the world are the true pursuit of a foodie, okay?
As for today's overheard story—pretend I saw nothing. It's not like I'd get bored enough to go to America to look for Newt Scamander anyway. Just thinking about Grindelwald's silver tongue and terrifying magical power…
As the king of the feline kingdom, how could I abandon my territory and go gallivanting around? I must protect my citizens.
Garfield lifted a paw, preparing to leave, when Peggy's father, James Carter, spoke again.
"Father, judging from the contents of the letter, things are a bit unstable domestically. Perhaps we should send Peggy to America to study?"
Old James Carter placed his hand on his knee and tapped rhythmically. James Carter knew that meant his father was thinking.
About ten minutes later, Old James Carter shook his head.
"Peggy is still young. It's not suitable for her to go to America now. She must first receive the proper British education. Otherwise, the environment over there might corrupt the flower of our Carter family."
"Yes. You are wise."
Garfield, eavesdropping nearby, let out a sly grin.
Oh, please. Your daughter will grow up fierce as a tiger—one of the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D., a peak figure of an era. The Black Widow program's "Red Room" agents were trained with Carter as the model. It's just a pity they strayed down the wrong path. Training elite agents isn't wrong—but even those eliminated from the program could have been put to use. Making the most of everything—that's the best way.
Speaking of not wasting anything, Garfield felt rather proud. His stomach was like a furnace—whatever went in never came back out. Everything was completely digested.
Pandora mocked him:
"With that stomach, you could open a garbage-processing factory. Eat all the world's trash. No office needed, no landfill required. Guaranteed profit. You'd become the richest being on Earth."
Garfield replied with a tragic truth:
"If I eat garbage, you—as my soul tenant—will experience the flavor with me. If you bully me, I'll go eat my own poop."
They both burst out laughing.
Of course, Garfield would need to actually have some first. As for eating another cat's? Absolutely not. Honey, perhaps.
Leaving Old James Carter's study behind, Garfield ignored whatever father and son continued discussing and resumed patrolling his domain. Along the way, he received the worship of all the estate's animals, head held high, strutting with an utterly arrogant gait.
Returning to Peggy's room, he felt the bed calling to him. With a leap, he landed on it, curled himself into a neat orange bun, and happily drifted into sleep.
Hoo… hoo…
Soon, the sound of his steady breathing filled the room. The maids, long accustomed to Garfield's sleeping habits, did not open the door to check which "man" had slipped into their little princess's chamber.
Garfield did not know that shortly after he left, as Old James Carter began writing a reply to Dumbledore, he suddenly recalled the way his hunting dog Carl had practically worshiped Garfield.
> My dear friend Aberforth Dumbledore,
I have received your letter. The matter has been entrusted to my son, and you shall have a response within a week.
A peculiar cat has recently arrived at my estate. It eats a great deal and has somehow tamed my hunting dog. Should you have the time, you are welcome to visit and take a look. I hope it is not some magical creature from your world…