Hey there, and welcome to a new story of mine. Just as it was my first time writing tragedy with my Land Before Time story, I decided to try my luck with a horror story; it's only three more months until Halloween, but what the heck? And that involves a comic book from the 80s called Garfield: His 9 Lives.

To those who don't know, Garfield: His 9 Lives was written in 1984 and details nine lives that Garfield has gone through. Some are funny, some are scary, and some are downright bizarre. But none are as "Primal Self", when a house cat gets awakened by something dark and sinister. Heck, even Family Guy made a reference to this years ago. So here's my own version of "Primal Self", what this cat thinks when all this freaky stuff happens.

Disclaimer: I don't own Garfield or Garfield: His 9 Lives. Those belong to Jim Davis. And heck, for what'll come later, I don't even own Family Guy either.

Publishing Date: July 20, 2021

Enjoy!

Primal Self

Tigger was just your average house cat, living a comfortable life with his owner. He was an orange tabby with green eyes, a curious and friendly cat. He lived a quiet life with his owner, an elderly woman who lived by herself at the edge of the neighborhood. During his days, he would prowl the neighborhood to catch up on smells and familiar scents. And during the night, he would either stalk anything that moved in the bushes or lay on his owner's lap, purring while she watched TV.

In short, he was a comfy house cat.

But he had to admit, life wasn't entirely perfect. Wherever Tigger went, he would always feel a savage feeling in his heart, telling him to do things he couldn't possibly think of doing. Hunt, kill, eat...those were the words he would hear. Of course he would hunt a mouse or two, but it was usually for fun. He would usually push this to the back of his mind, occupied with the lifestyle of an ordinary cat.

Yet he couldn't escape fate forever.

One night, Tigger had just woken up in his cat bed. He took a few moments to relish staying in the soft gray blanket before deciding to get up. Groggily, he rose from the bed and stretched, first his front legs and then his back legs. He smacked his lips, his mouth feeling dry; he was definitely going to need some water to cheer him up.

Tigger clambered out of his cat bed and padded over towards his food and water dishes. His kitty kibble had been left out for him to graze during the night. But his attention was on the water, which he lapped up eagerly. The water tasted refreshing; his owner must have recently put fresh water in the bowl. His thirst satisfied, Tigger decided to wander around the house, to find something to satisfy his curiosity.

"Tigger..."

Tigger perked up his ears, looking around. It wasn't his owner's voice. She was busy sleeping on the sofa in the living room. Guessing that he was just hearing things, he padded away.

What he failed to notice, however, was a ghastly green hand rising from the water bowl.

As he padded on, Tigger's attention was brought to the wall near the living room. Drawn on it was what looked like a cartoon cat. It must have been one of his owner's grandchildren who had done it. Cats aren't as much judges on appearances as humans, but even Tigger felt that he could have drawn better than that.

"Tigger..."

There was the sound again. And this time...it was coming from the cat drawing on the wall.

Suddenly, cracks appeared along the wall, as if someone was scratching its way through. To Tigger's horror, a ghastly green hand burst out of the wall, making him yowl in shock. He backed away until he was up against the wall, his fur fluffed out and bristling. He didn't know what this thing was, but he wanted it to go away and leave him and his owner in peace.

"Tigger..." The hand slowly moved out and took the form of a grim and ghastly cat, an evil look on its broad face. "You are a cat," it hissed, its voice deep and booming. "You have the urge to bring out your primal self. We can smell it on you. Would you like to hunt, kill, and eat as you please?"

No longer as scared, Tigger stood up and padded towards the ghastly cat. This...whatever it was had been right. He had felt the savage urge in the back of his mind to act like a wild cat at times. A lot of cats felt that way...right?

The cat-like creature crept forward, sniffing, inviting him to come closer. It even reached out a paw like it was going to bat at a piece of string. Curiously, Tigger crept forward, sniffing this cat too. It didn't smell like anything at all. Then he reached out his paw, gently touching that of the creature.

It felt as if he had been struck by lightning. Tigger yowled in pain and writhed around on the floor, paws flailing and tail lashing. As he struggled to get up, something pounced upon him, like it was another cat attempting to fight him. No matter how much he struggled, there was no breaking free. Horrifying and evil thoughts of cats - big and small - hunting and fighting started flooding his mind and through his body.

"Hunt. Kill Eat," many voices were growling and hissing in his mind and his ears. It was as if snakes were coiling around him, keeping him pinned while the evil spirits entered him. "Hunt. Kill. Eat."

At last, it was over. The spirits had left, their work finished, going back to wherever they came from. Tigger was reeling from what had just happened, but he felt as if he had been worn down by years of hunting and fighting.

Tigger looked in the mirror propped against the wall. To anyone who knew him, he hardly looked recognizable from the friendly house cat he had been. He looked a bit bigger than usual, about as big as a German shepherd, and his fur was so dark orange that he appeared to be brown. His claws were fully extended, ready to kill, and his green eyes became a piercing yellow with a malevolent gleam behind them. Finally, what remained of his collar had snapped and fallen to the kitchen floor.

His panting slowed down, and this was replaced by a snarl of hunger. The kitty kibble was completely out of his mind; Tigger didn't want the flavorless pebbles that looked like rabbit poop. He wanted blood.

"Come here, Tigger," the voice of his owner rang in his ears. "Mama wants you to play with her."

The newly-transformed Tigger prowled to the edge of the kitchen and out to the living room. His owner was just stirring and groggy, having woken from her nap. Right now, she was vulnerable. Anyone with a thirst for blood would take this as a moment to strike, and that was what Tigger decided to do.

Hunt. Kill. Eat, the dark voices growled and yowled in his mind as he crouched and crept towards her. Hunt! Kill! Eat!

And with a frightful scream, the feral Tigger pounced upon his owner. He felt his claws flay at her and his teeth sink into her neck, all while feeling nothing but the urge to hunt, kill, and eat.

He welcomed every single bit of it.

The End

Peter Griffin: Hey. Nice to see you, Garfield. What's the matter? You a little agitated? 'Bout to commit murder?

Well, there you go: my first attempt at a horror story. I hope you liked it, and I hope I did well. As I had said in the past, let me know if I've gotten anything wrong here, and I'll be sure to fix it.

I might not write more horror after this. Like with my Land Before Time story being a try at tragedy, this story is my try at horror. Now I like horror, but it's never been at the top of my head to write about. Yet I'm glad I was able to get this written.

See ya next time.