Arbuckle stared at the drawing board in front of him, his hand resting to the side of it. The lines were solid,the forms were nice enough, the roug-drawn background even looked okay right now, but there was something missing within the drawing. He remembers studying just last week on the types of comic strip stories that get actually published. He also remembers telling himself all those years back that he wasn't going to become one of those kinds of cartoonists, the types who write and create only what's bound to be popular, that there was going to be actual passion and joy   inside all of his creations, but the spirit of passion only does so much when you're trying to propose manuscripts to get published. Though, was this strategy really working out either? Jon blinks slowly and sighs, looking over to the floor, where a particular orange cat rests.



'Hey Garfield, do you know what Van Gogh, Edgar Allen Poe, and Gaelio all had in common?' he quips, albeit not necessarily in a comedic fashion.

Garfield stared back at him, his eyes containing something that can't quite identify, though that's just him seeing things, Jon figures,                 he's just a cat, sure, a smart one, but still just a cat. The cat walks away for a moment, but then returns with a stolen, half-eaten tin of lasagna. Was he offering this?

'Uh, no thanks, Garf. I'd rather have something that doesn't have kitty germs all over it..'

he forces out a chuckle. The moment gets him thinking, when did he last eat? In addition, how much time has passed since he sat down here? Jon hopes it's just been a few hours, but he knows that's practically just a sweet little lie he tells himself. At least Garfield still finds things around the kitchen to eat while he's here, he thinks. Jon returns back to his original question, answering himself.

'Van Gogh only sold one painting while he was alive, Edgar Allen Poe never saw enough money to actually support himself, and Galileo…he was thought of as this heretic madman for even suggesting the idea that the earth revolves around the sun..they were never truly appreciated while they were alive, Garfield' 


Jon finally drops his pen down to the table. He then stares off into nothing in particular.


  He's starting to feel a little bit dizzy, he supposes it's the lack of rest and eating finally catching up to him. Thoughts pass his mind as normal, heshould be feeling something though, he wonders, he should feel awful right about now, but he doesn't, all he fills is what can be only be described as numbness. He opens his mouth again.



  'It's a dark thought, but what if the first strip of mine that actually gets fully published into a proper newspaper was in my obituary?' he thinks out loud in a rather monotone manner, 'I mean, wouldn't that be a wild thought? Finally getting recognized, but only in the mention of my no-longer-being-here-on-this-earth…'




These thoughts even crossing his mind would have paralyzed and disgusted young, hopeful Jon Arbuckle, 
but young Jon Arbuckle is no longer residing here, is he? That section of him skipped two towns over a while ago, when he still could. Jon stares at his 
hands, they are vaguely worn and tired, donning some black streaks of ink from moments not too long ago where he wasn't careful enough with his materials

His eyelids start to close on him, his vision blurring a bit. Not to worry though, he claims to himself, his body can still chug along just fine, how many nights has he spent exactly like this one? To the point he can't even properly count it.


He feels a tug on the cuff of his pants, a quite furry tug. As expected, such action was done by his feline companion. He laughs,


'Garfield, it's fine. I'll be fine, buddy. I'm not dead yet, everything's a-ok.'


While addressed directly to the cat, of course, that wasn't an assurance to only Garfield.