By: Cornelius Thruster ~Guest Writer~
Garrison ran away last night. He left right in the middle of dinner, and for 10 whole minutes he stood in front of that large pointy building up the pathway.
I would have chased him, but when I leave the porch, it causes a chain reaction: first Carl Jr. follows me, but soon Carl Sr., Mittens, Snowball and Bartholemeow are following close behind.
I believe they have taken Garrison as their leader, which frightens me. I always knew he’d be the one to challenge my authority.
This is why it was crucial that I did not react when he left home for the fourth time this week.
Several of these strap-on-myback- bag wearing heathens walking round the neighborhood stopped to look at him.
“Don’t touch Garrison,” I thought to myself. “Its never a good idea. Garrison is a brute.”
I believe he’s doing this on purpose. That cat has the sharpest teeth I’ve ever seen. I would know. I’ve been brushing them for the last decade. This sudden thirst for power in Garrison can only mean one thing: he knows his own terrible power now.
The children seem to know better than to get too close. They pass him by, with only a glance. This angers him.
More of them pass. They stop to look, and they walk by. Garrison stares at them begrudgingly baring his ivory razors. You can almost smell his bloodlust in the air. “Not today, Garrison.” I mutter.
My home does not provide a good view of the pointy tower, but luckily, my tracking device on his collar allows me to know where he is.
He wanders around. He’ll be back before long. Oh yes. He’ll be back.
The others will follow him, but I will still be in control. At least until Garrison dares to venture beyond the pointy tower.
But who knows when that will be.
Alas. He returns. He looks at me, I look back. Twenty of them and one of me. We were once a family. But now, I don’t know.
To be continued…