Big dogs don't cry.
Crying is for puppies. I'm not a puppy. I'm a big dog. Big dogs are supposed to be strong, right?
So why are my eyes dripping like a leaky faucet? Must be the allergies making my eyes all sweaty. I need to lie down.
As I curl up in my dog bed, memories from past times come flooding back. They're not good memories.
I shut my eyes, simultaneously trying to block them and the hot tears that threaten to cascade down and stain my already wet coat. Yeah... it's not working.
So instead, I try to think of happy things, like my dingleball. My dingleball is the only thing that I find joy in nowadays, besides digging holes and burying bones. They're the only things that can distract me from the pain and misery I've been hiding all these years. I might as well keep repressing it. No one understands what I'm going through. No one cares about Oooodiiiee. Because I know Garfield doesn't. He hates my freaking guts. He doesn't actually love me.
You know that one time, when Garfield just let me get caught by the dogcatcher like that, and then just sat and watched as the truck drove away?
I remember the cell I was in. It was an old, dirty, tiny cell with a cement floor. I was freezing to death in there, and the cat just sits at home for a while on his bum eating and watching TV like he always does. He never has time for me. He finally got up and did something, and by the time he got there, I was being dragged away by some horrible person who wanted to put me to sleep!
Then he put on this phony show of pretending that he liked me. First he was trying to pry the cell doors apart or something. That was pretty funny because I knew he didn't actually have the strength to do that. Then he was just like, "Yeah, I'll see you whenever, bye now! :D" He's a good actor, I can tell you that. He can make himself cry pretty well. I think he managed to shed like one little tear, but after that, he just stared blankly at me, like I didn't see him anymore.
Then he actually saved me, but despite my outward joy, I knew deep down, the little orange lard-ball only did it because without me, he'd have no one to be his chew toy.
I already told you that Garfield never has time for me. That's because he doesn't. The weird thing is, he used to have plenty of time for me, and we used to have so much fun together playing pretend and going on adventures. And he was a little nicer to me, too, treating me like a buddy instead of an enemy. I have no idea how, but somewhere along the line, he just stopped caring about me. Now I feel like he just ignores me as much as he can.
During the day, the overweight jerk sits in the recliner and watches television, taking breaks to eat all kinds of foods like lasagna and pizza. I never get lasagna and pizza! I tried to ask for a piece of Garfield's lasagna once and he made me watch him devour it all as punishment for asking. Since Garfield usually empties out the fridge before I can get to it, this leaves me with... regular dog kibble. It's not even the kind I like. It's the store brand knockoff that says "DOHG KIBL" on the bag. I don't think it was intentionally spelled that way, either. Jon says he gets it because it's cheaper than the kind I actually like. He can't sacrifice a few dollars so I can be happy. What an uptight cheapskate. I have to choke this crap down, three times a day, every day, because if I don't, I'll go hungry. It literally tastes like nothing. It's also stale as soon as you open it. Yuck.
And at night? Garfield STILL doesn't have time for me. He goes outside and sits on the fence with his giiiirlfriend, Arlene. I don't have a giiiirlfriend. Jon has one. He's dating our veterinarian, Liz, for God knows why. Sometimes, Garfield and Jon both go out on dates at the same time. Leaving me alone in the stupid house. All. By. My. Self. AGH!
