The Cat Revolution

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Garfield, Nermal, Arlene, Jon, etc. They are owned by Jim Davis and Paws Inc. I made this story following Civil War tactics and tried to simplify it as much as possible for those unfamiliar with it. Even so, I made this story entirely for entertainment and is not meant to represent anything, so no nasty reviews please. Enjoy.

Munchie, Indiana, a small town of not much importance to many people in this nation, just a speck on a map. Yet, center in this small, quiet town, and you'll see it in a whole new light. One very upset orange tabby cat tapped his foot impatiently, arms crossed near his bed box. "Where was that fool?" wondered Garfield as he impatiently waited for his owner, the hapless, yet lovable Jon Arbuckle, to come with his dish of cat food. He was late this day, up to three minutes thus far, and every second longer made him grow more and more irritable.

"This is the third time this week!" he muttered to himself, though no one was listening.

"Here you go, boy" said a cheerful voice emerging from the kitchen, a hand holding a plate emblazent with "Garfield."

"About time," his cat growled before partaking a taste of liver.

Jon heard none of it as he left, returning to the kitchen, coming back out with a similar plate labeled, "Odie"

"Here, boy!" Jon called out.

In response came a yellow skinned, brown ear pup with a long, slobbering tongue that was considered a deadly weapon to Garfield. Both quietly ate their meals, but Garfield noticed that Jon seemed to be paying more attention to Odie as of late. His meal was of larger quantity and quality than his liver, plus, he received treats in between meals.

"Why don't I get some?" he asked himself, forgetting that raids on the refrigerator counted as snacks in his books.

Even so, Jon did seem to be paying more attention to the dog over his cat. Why was that? How could a dog be drawing so much? A cat was by far superior to dogs in many aspects. WE clean ourselves, don't chase cars, we purr. There was much more Garfield was thinking, but that process was interrupted by a lovable cat call.

"Hi, Garfield!"

"Grrrr, how did you get in?" he growled.

"It's easy Garfield for one so cute. The doors just open for you!"

A heavy silence hung over the house. Like a panther stalking it's prey, Garfield was keeping close tabs on this Odie and Jon throughout the remainder of the evening, noting how the two were fondly attached to one another and that no mention of including Garfield into their activities was uttered. Further enraged, Garfield stomped around his bed, thoughts buzzing through his mind like a hive of irate honey bees. It has gone of too far. Too long have humans and dogs been together, man's best friend. HA! Spit on it. It should be cats as the dominating creature of this world.

Sensing that something was amiss, Nermal confronted Garfield, pleading to let good senses win this day, "Garfield," pleading to him, "why must you fight over something like this?"

"It's the principle of it all, Nermal!" he roared.

"What principle? So Jon is giving Odie some more attention. And so what if he missed your meal by a few minutes, with that load you carry, you can stand to miss it by a few hours!"

Pushed to the breaking point, Garfield roared loudly then stomped out of the house, leaving the three to toil in thoughts and doubt. Where was he going? Only one knew. Moving through the dank alleyways of Munchie, Garfield knew he wasn't alone in his thoughts. "For far too long have dogs been in our way," he roared, "For far too long have humans been in our way." This wasn't about being dominating as being pets for humans, this was being masters of the masters. How could a dopey human like Jon be considered the dominating species if he could not even style himself properly.

"It won't be like this any longer! I won't stand for this!" Hearing his rant, cats from all around flocked to see this cat whom climbed onto a fence post and began an orientation, stating his stand on this issue. "For far too long have we been forced to dress in ridiculous clothing, forced to eat scrapes from the table, and listen to sickening baby talk. Why must we take pats on the head from humans whom do nothing to deserve to be patting us!" Agreements went all around. "I say now, we take control. Now is the time we rise up together, and seize the opportunity!" A mighty cheer rang out. "With us in control, humans will finally realize that they cannot control nature like they think. Nature controls them!"

Stepping down, Garfield had messengers move throughout town, spreading his word of revolution. And it did. From lodges to homes, strays and litters, revolution was all on everyone's mind. Was it time? Certainly seem so. Returning home in twilight, Garfield found everyone asleep, including one Nermal in his bed.

"Get out!" kicking his box, sending Nermal flying.

Next morning, not a human sensed what was unfolding around them. It was quiet, too quiet around town. Alley ways were completely vacant. Domesticated left home. Where were they? Lodges and assemblies were being made underground, in basements. Leaders were plotting for their groups on what they should do with this revolution. Each group had their own agenda, one wanting to top another. However, one item was unanimous, Garfield should lead it. Coming home that night, Jon did not suspect a thing as his cat muttered to himself, "just a few more days."

Next night, returning to his fence, Garfield again began to call up his fellow felines. Degrading that of canines and their role in the universe. Every slip up that Jon made, he would talk about it. How, at dinner, he would be after AFTER Odie was, which was seldom, yet neglected to clarify. "Is a dog more superior than a cat? Then why must they be feed before us?" he asked them. No one answered, hushed crowd, "I'll tell you why, because the fools need to eat first before we kick them out and eat the food ourselves." Laughter erupted. "It's survival of the fittest!" Entire alleyways were jammed packed as his orientations began to grow in popularity. Fans saw him as a savor, others as a leader, but spies in their ranks saw him as a trouble maker. Hox was his name, a shabby black and white kitten was what are called, "galvanized dogs" or one that turns. A defector. He was a spy in Munchie, keeping tabs on cats despite tight security, he managed to slip in and listen to Garfield up close, sometimes at arms length. Memorizing everything, Hox would then transmit messages to head quarters in the state capital. Hearing of a possible insurrection, especially one so close to base struck hard to the dogs. Not stupid mutts as cats were led to believe. If they only knew what was really happening in their absence. Cats and dogs have been going at each others throats for centuries, trying to win the affection of humans. But, this war, which was coming, there was no stopping it, was to be different. It was for total domination, cats above all others. Worried of being caught up in the revolution, Hox fled town, failing to raise the alarm to others that he left behind, sealing them to a horrible fate.

Only June 29, as he dismounted his podium after a lengthy orientation calling for abolition of doggie tongues, a group of rough cats offered their services as his personal body guard. Looking them over, Garfield found them to be rather rough looking. One of them, their supposive leader was a yellow short hair Siamese with wide blue eyes. Accompany him was a roughed haired, dirty, no tail mix known as Dunce. However, no one questioned his muscles. The other was Geraldo, a short, roughed up, alley cat of a great mind.

"Excellent, for I have plans that would require your assistance," he smiled at them.

Night came, Jon was asleep, lying at the foot of the bed was Odie, with Nermal alone in the living room, using Garfield's bed for slumber. An abrupt crash, the door came flying in. Stunned at first, Nermal was overwhelmed by goons whom carted him away, unable to resist. Then Jon was dragged out of his bed, his hands digging into the carpet. Where were they taking him? Easy, to the basement where they were thrown down the stairs, all windows and doors barred and locked. But Odie slipped through their fingers, extracting an escape through a window. Not bad for a dumb mutt. To Garfield, it didn't matter, two of his biggest threats were taken car of.

"Garfield! Let me out of here!" protested Jon. Obliging, his cat opened the door to the basement, two of his guards behind him, "Garfield, what is the meaning of this?"

"Easy, you fool. We're taking over!" Garfield said onto him causing Jon to nearly faint in shock.

"You...you...can talk! Wow, this is so cool..."

"Cool for us, because now all those in the world will see that cats, not humans, are dominating," with that, he slammed and locked the door.

Perhaps Garfield was going to fast? Perhaps he may have gone too far? Who could tell? Garfield did not look back, reconsider, even try to negotiate He felt something never felt before. Direction and power, an untold amount of it. Greedily he felt moved. Fuse was lit and simmering towards the keg of revolution. Two prisoners have already been taken, now more were wanted. For this last night of peace, cats stalked around in the dark, searching for targets and for one another. One of those was Arlene, Garfield's rather distant girl friend. Sleeping uneasily in a moist cardboard box, she was awoken by a chatter between two other strays about how a fat orange tabby imprisoned his owner and a kitten whom was branded a traitor. It could only be one cat that would do that, Garfield. Arlene had never attended one of his lecture, though he insisted before to do so. "It would be a wonderful experience," he gloated. But, she took it as one of his vanity trips and remained isolated as she always did, that is until that night. Approaching Garfield's home in the dead of night, she slipped into the back kitty door via the kitchen and into the family room which had since been transformed into a map room complete with staff members whom were stunned to see her. What did she want? Was she a spy?

"I want to see Garfield!" she demanded, "And I won't leave till I do," crossing her arms.

Her stance brought up the leader, whom held audience with Arlene in Jon's former room. Down stairs, staff members could only hear muffled voices as the two former lovers went at it:

"How dare you plead on their behalf. Nermal is a traitor and Jon is..." he bellowed.

"A traitor? To what?" she asked.

"My, I mean, our revolution!" pounding a fist into a cupped hand.

"So it's true. You have gone crazy." Arlene sobbed.

"I have not! And, I will not tolerate this level of dissidents in my head quarters. Join me and I may forget this."

"Never!" she yelled.

"Then I have no choice" he hissed, gesturing for his guards to enter the room, seizing Arlene whom did not resist, overcome with grief. Thrown down with Jon and Nermal the three huddled together as the cold, dank basement went dark again. Quietly, the three waited for an approaching light that signaled for all those whom heard the call for rebellion to rise up. All were waiting for those words, the words to begin. No one took heed to the nervousness of their dogs, whom wanted to leave the homes late at night or in early morning when a heavy mist hung over the region. Why? To leave. Days past, one, two, three. Tension was waning high over Munchie as large numbers of cats began to flock to the Arbuckle house. Foreigners, ones from outside. Hearing calls for an overthrow, hundreds flocked, pledging alliance to Garfield. A smile came to his face, he sensed victory before battle ever came. Waiting for his word were dozens of groups, hungry panthers ready to pounce at key points in town. All was right, just timing. Had to time it right. When? A weekend perhaps? Hmmm, a day where people were most lax, Monday. Only one fear constantly hung in his mind, spies, traitors. No knowledge of Hox was ever dug up, however, he feared those such as Nermal and Arlene would influence others to turn against him, thus, his goons kept a tight reins on unruly bunches. Those considered to be talkers were interrogated, sometimes horribly for hours at a time with no food or sleep. No such traitors were ever found. That's because they never existed. It was just a figment in their leader's imagination. With such power came lack of control and his need to harness it. No one took heed at first, but steadily, his grasp on reality was gradually slipping.

At his last speech prior to the attack, Garfield told his comrades, "Justice is on our side. Now, my fellow felines, we go to war! Whom is with me!" Their roar was unanimous and could be heard for miles. He has his army, now Garfield had to arm it for their conquest. "Now my glorious army, march into town, take every weapon you can get your paws on, and then, we will form up and continue on! Take no prisoners!"

Humans in Munchie were up at this time, browsing, shopping, going about their business. No one suspected that petting their kittens could spark a war. Without warning, alley cats jumped delivery trucks, house cats locked doors, imprisoning former owners inside. Quietly, one by one, homes were taken over. There was no trumpet announcing it, no great leader standing on a podium, just sporadic attacks that netted prisoners and goods that gradually grew into intensity as the hour passed. At first, no one noticed, then some frightened individuals, slipping away from their captors, sprang to the streets, yelling that their cats are trying to kill them. Laughing it off as sheer madness, people disregarded their only warning. Then it began to literally rain cats and panic gripped the town as cats began to spill out onto the streets, ripping down humans left and right. Shops were looted of anything of value. Foodstuffs, litter, candies, were taken out, shopkeepers were chased through alleyways as homes were stripped. Cats turned on their owners for years of prolonged abuses over every shape, from disgusting costumes, to mimicking cats themselves, and senseless baby talk. It was enough to drive them mad.

Resistance was virtually nonexistent on part of humans, whom were taken completely by surprise through this insurrection. Though many escaped by fleeing in cars far outside of town, some were not so fortunate and were ganged up on in dark alleys or in streets in their flights, never to be seen again. For hours, buildings were gutted and razed all over town. Some were homes, others were abandoned buildings to some cats was homes with bitter memories. Brandishing torches in a scene from Frankenstien, hordes of cats converged on the Mayor's house, demanding to see him. When the 50 year old, salt and pepper haired, man reached his front gate, cats climbed over and tackled him, spouting to have the entire town surrender to their order. When he refused, the mayor was dragged and submerged face first in a container of litter.

It went on for hours, though Garfield himself had nothing to do with the actual looting nor did he make any effort to stem it. Instead, the feline, and his entourage, laid back in his home as recruits filtered to him, asking for direction. An unspecified amount of time has since elapsed as hundreds of more came by, bringing with them, booty, prisoners, and weapons of all sorts. All was well, thus far. But the cats wanted more. If it were to be a conquest, Garfield needed food and weapons for his growing army. Factory foundations were in town, most made car parts, might be suitable for weapons, if only there was a work force for it. Farms also had to turn over large quantities of their stocks to feed them. By this time, most cats had no weapons, those that did had only clubs or home made weapons. In his first general order as leader of the revolution, Garfield ordered the construction of slingshots. Shops having such weapons were pillaged and weapons were issued with large metal BBs. Woefully inadequent as it seems, it did better their position handling prisoners. Most were thrown in with Jon, Arlene, and Nermal, but that quickly filled to beyond capacity. During the day, temperatures soared to 105 degrees, people began to pass out. Arlene tried to plead to deaf ears for windows to be opened for ventilation and water. Garfield ignored them, they were prisoners and will be treated as such. Any guard caught giving aid to them would be shot on sight.

In his head quarters, Garfield also began drawing up papers to better organize his followers into a semblance of an army instead of having an unruly mob on his hand.

"They want order, they need order," he told his staff, "And I shall give it to them." Following text from his Civil War novel, Garfield jotted down on paper his "Provisional Cat Army." He needed first a test unit, someone that he could subject to pressure of daily military grind to see if cats could handle themselves on the battlefield. Garfield long desired a contest of arms against dogs. Not the guerilla style, small, close quarter battles nowadays, but a heavy engagement in open fields where hundreds if not thousands would fight in a do or die battle. The winner would conquer all. That's what he wanted, an easy win. However, as he delved further into organizing, Garfield was finding it difficult to control them. Strays, long use to going about their own way, did not listen well to orders, and domesticated ones were bitter against the latter as being woefully inadequate, even inferior. Tension rose as Garfield selected his first regiment of infantry. Labeled simply as 1st Infantry, these 1,000 heads were led by a long haired Persian named Zoos, a domesticated from a well to do family in town. Strong in language and of taste in Italian food, much to Garfield's liking, he handled his command with severe discipline, often beating a stick against those whom fell out of line. The two met when Garfield was giving his lectures on the fence post and immediately became friends. Zoos longed to break away from his masters, whom neglected his true feelings of freedom, to play in grass instead of on carpets and posing for pictures. A strong avocat of rebellion, Zoos asked for and received command of the 1st, though he had little to no knowledge of how to led combat troops, but was willing to try.

Now that one regiment was taken care of, Garfield needed three more to complete an entire brigade. There was plenty of heads to form them, just, he trusted no one to command them. Strays most of them were, rouges, mavericks. It would be slaughter if they had their way. Outside of Arlene, Nermal, and Pooky, Garfield had few, if any, friends that he trusted. It all seemed hopeless. Many stepped forward, asking to take command of his army, but he shun them away. Precious hours ticked away as the indecisive commander thought long and hard, eventually coming down to three, all of whom he barely knew. One was Coleman, a street cat with a lot of smarts on stealth and fighting. He was born and raised that way and many thought of him as a ticking time bomb, constantly muttering or arguing with himself when no one was around, covered in cuts and sores, but Garfield liked him for being aggressive. Then there was Samonsite, named for that by his master, a luggage manufacture in town. Know to most as Sam, this cat also processed smarts, carrying with him a calm and quiet demeanor. Last but not least was Lig. Rather odd name that he joked was part of something longer, but didn't want to have to write it all the time. Lig was an American short tail, and unlike the others, was strong in appearance to his muscular shape that greatly attracted Garfield, whom wanted his officers to be strong and intimidating to all those whom try and oppose them. Before the end of the first day, the 1st Brigade of the Provisional Cat Army was formed. Four thousand volunteered filled their ranks in moments. A great surge was still in the air about this revolution, and they wanted more. Now he had his army, or part of it, Garfield realized a serious flaw, he had no training on combat. Though wanting an open field engagement like Napoleon, he didn't know how to fight that way, and certainly his troops didn't know either. Rummaging through Jon's bookshelf, he ripped out all military books he could find, only turning up just one, The Civil War.

"This is how we'll fight" he told his officers, "Follow these instructions and use whatever means necessary to hold you soldiers in line, and we will accomplish anything."

For a better part of a week, cats doled in and around the Arbuckle house. Soldiers drilled, learning how to use their new fangled muskets, loading and firing dryly at first, then live. It was a true inspiration to see companies marching in line. Zoos would follow behind them, slapping stragglers with the back end of a stick. It was his discipline, Garfield thought, that would win us this war. All seemed to be going well for the cats. Food was abundant, there was little for them to do other than hassle prisoners and construct road blocks. All phone lines were cut, thus severing Munchie from the rest of the world. To further add to their advantages, no one took notice for some time, yet, word spread to all other cats to join them, or spring up their own revolutions elsewhere.

"All is right with the world," Garfield smirked as he laid down to bed after fore filling his life long ambitions. Munchie was under his control, now he wanted more and had everything he needed to do so. "Munchie was good, but the capital is better," meaning state capital. Starting first thing in the morning of the 1st Day of July, his army, consisting of just two brigades of infantry, with more well underway, would begin their march towards the captial. All that stood in their way was a small suburb laying on the hub of several rail and roadways leading directly towards it. It was vital to take, couldn't bipass it, had to take it. In his sleep, Garfield kept mutering those lines over and over again.

"Have to take it, couldn't bipass it"

That night, it was becoming unbearable to stay underneth any more. Jon was driving his occupents crazy with songs. Combined with untolerable heat, lack of food and water, and knowing what Garfield was up to, Arlene had tried to work out bars covering the windows. Iron, couldn't free them. Drat. Guards barred the door, no other way out.

"Yell, perhaps this is a time to sing my favorite polka song," Jon suggested.

Arlene groaned, covering her ears. Wait. "Yes, do that. Sing, sing to your heats content!" she nudgedd Jon whom obligued.

"Well, my cat is on a rampage..."

Defying such horrid words, Arlene began to feel her way along the brick work. Noticing this, Nermal joined in.

"What are you looking for?" Nermal asked.

"A loose brick then we can tunnel out."

Watching them, other occupents began to join in, most with better tone, drowning out all other noise as a loose brick was finally located and jinxed out. Using only her paws in the moist, loose soil, she commenced digging immediately. Nermal dug out a bucket to help collect it all, handing it to fellow prisoners whom disposed of it by throwing them into washer machines. If guards caught a wiff of an escape attempt, it could be the end of all of them. Persistant through the night, Arlene dug at least ten feet to her estimate. She didn't want to go far, just enough to get onto the yard or close to the fence.

Dawn came, a heavy mist hung over the countryside as cats of the 1st Brigade were shook awake, ordered to fall in. Time to march. It was a rather odd order. Only a week into training, they had just learned how to load their muskets, and marching in line was a feat to be desired. Even Zoos was speculating on his order. March? His soldiers had eaten their meals, prefering to march with just their weapons and ammunition that came in a small leather bag hung over their shoulders. There was not much in fact in there, just a few shots, hopefully enough if battle ever came. Watching from his doorway, Garfield himself witnessed as Zoos commenced his march, starting off on the road, then marching off onto a field and gradually declining into the country side. Flapping in a light breeze was there colors, made by Zoos himself whom wanted everyone for miles around to know whom they were. Four flags, one for each unit, 30 inches by 30 inches, rather large compared to those whom carried it, with a clover green field. Stamped dead center was a large, black cat's paw, and embroidered underneath, in fancy writing, was their respected regimental name, "1st Infantry" in yellow.

As they disappeared over the horizon, Garfield sank into his chair, overlooking his map. A pencil line had been drawn from Munchie to the capital, a distance of a mere 30 miles by road, only 23 miles by country side. It would take at least two days before his cats would reach the suburbs, that's if they weren't ambushed by dogs, which he shook off with laughter.

Hearing a loud departure, Arlene took it upon herself to make good with her escape. There was no order or general organization. She wanted out, now. All those whom wanted to join her were welcomed but they would be on their own once out. She had her own agenda. Looking at the hole, it was discovered to be much too small for a human. Still, Arlene resumed digging upwards, finally breaking onto turf. Guards nearby were distracting by observing Zoos's departure. Now was the only chance to get away. Ripping out a hole big enough, she lifted her weak body out. Close to the fence, which was once a white picket fence now tattered when wood was removed for fire. Have to get away now. Her flight began with a hobble. Legs were weak. Lack of water and no food.

A sudden cry caught her attention, "Hey, wait for me!"

Looking back, there was Nermal, trying to force an escape. Returning, Arlene ripped the kitten right out of the ground like a turnip.

"Whoa, you're strong!" said Nermal.

"Run!" Arlene replied.

Together, both ran through a gap in a fence and disappeared. It wasn't long till guards happened onto the hole. But by then, who knows how many prisoners had escaped.

Odie, Nermal, and Arlene escaped his clutches. Whom cares? Garfield actually laughed it off. Slight losses. Nothing of significance. "Those three can't stop my juggernaut," he told his staff.

One was a stray, another was a gray football, and a third was a dim whited pup that could do nothing better than slobber on himself. Seeing himself nearly drowning in other prisoners, Garfield came to the conclusion that those left behind should be put to work to feed his empire. Under close guard, factories were put back into production, shoving out weapons. Vehicles were now being driven by human drivers to shuttle officers here and there, and Jon was pressed to be Garfield's personal chef, not much of a boost in his life. His house was converted now into Garfield's head quarters with housing for staff upstairs in what was Jon's room, sand bag walls emplaced all around and sentries placed on the roof. Everything was tight to ward off any potential guerilla attack. It was a constant fear that this tabby would be put down by a bomb or some other cowardly attack than die on a field of battle or die old in the glory days of his empire. Or so they thought.

Gasping, panting for breath, hungry, thirsty, Odie came crawling into the suburbs, onto the corner of a street, completely exhausted, dying from exposure. Residents in these tightly packed homes were unobservant at first, it was fellow dogs that found him. Carrying his limp body to a garage, given a bowl of water, Odie began to recover somewhat. Cut up, dry skinned, weary eyed, he lapped at the cool water, enough to quench his thirst, then fell asleep where he lay, the words of warning at the tip of his tongue, but unable to escape.

Back in Muncie, Home Guards stood vigilant over the many road blocks, baring all transportation in and out of town. Occasional motorists would fall into their hands, failing to grasp the comprehension that felines have taken over, therefore, adding to a growing collection. For one week, the revolution was solid. To Garfield's knowledge, there was no problems, everything was running as smooth as cheese on lasagna.

Night fall came, for those in the field, they bedded down in an open prairie. It was a cool, moist night, promising to be so again in the morning. No need for tents or blankets, they were cats, they were born with it. Just ten miles short of their objective and food being abundant after raiding a nearby home, chasing off it's occupants in a frenzy. A party was well underway with meows and cat calls echoing across the land as milk was being downed by the gallon. Zoos and others held tight reins on them, no brawls took place this night. Dining together, soldiers exchanged rumors. There was talks of similar overthrows already underway in different states and countries all over the world, but these were unfounded at the time, just rumors perking up by spirits.

Rolling in delight himself at Mayor's Manor, Garfield partook great delight in fancy meats and treats along side his guard and closely assembled bunch of advisors pointing out vital points in this operation. Hershey, a chocolate brown stray nervously sat at the opposite end of a long table. It came to his turn to give a daily report on quotas and suggestions. Not wanting to stall, Hershey marked that there was no longer a hospital to treat prisoners nor wounded, when the war began. Therefore, he asked for permission to have a new one constructed with proper staff and supplies.

Garfield scoffed, reclining in his seat, legs crossed and elevated. He stared right down towards Hershey, a piece of fish dangling lightly from the tips of a cocked arm, inches from his closed mouth. Piercing eyes were trying to shake down this cat for all he's worth. Everyone felt a sense of uneasiness. Was Hershey wrong? Did he anger Garfield in some way? Goons were standing nearby, waiting for orders to dispose of him. Wasn't necessary, not this time.

"I believe that's an excellent idea, Hershey" he said, breaking the tension that hung in the wide open room. "See to it that the hospital has everything it needs. Nothing is too good for our soldiers."

Nodding heads all around, Hershey breathed a great sigh of relief. A weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. Now it came to Gold, a shinny Siamese advisor to quarter master, or supply. He noted that there was enough rations to feed his army, now number just shy of 9,000 for one year. Gold spoke with perfect English, direct and authoritatively. Quite differentfrom others sitting around the table. Felix, Sierra, and Xenia to finish off the list. Respectively, they over saw military, foreign relations, and city. With a lax ear, Garfield listened to Gold as he placed down the numbers to improve his stance. Others listened to her, Gold had a wicked tongue, slipping compliments the tabby's way every other word.

Felix later submitted that his army be revamped in numbers. One brigade was nice, but more was needed and for different fields. Artillery, cavalry, even armor. That brought laughter to the dinner table. Tanks? How in the devil could cats operate tanks? Tiny tanks? Little remote control ones? Garfield was nearly rolling around on the floor, his gut hurt, it was hilarious. Others nervously joined in his laughter. It sounded funny.

"Wait...wait...(wheez) cough...see to it that one tank is made, it was to see it" Garfield dictated to Felix. That settled, he asked what was happening elsewhere besides his Yorktown campaign. Apparently not enough. Some groups from other settlements were filtering in, but not enough to form his new regiments. reading over his book again and again, Garfield had knowledge now that he should expand in every direction if he wanted to gain more control. Sure taking Indianapolis was a great feat, however, he needed to secure supply lines and protect his base, plus seize vital areas. All of this was being taken down by Felix on a notepad, to this humble cat, Garfield was a genius and he looked up to him,

Gradually, the party whined down to a dessert prepared for by Jon of ice cream sundaes.

"Stick with me, people, and you'll live like kings," said their leader whom wolfed down his treat in an instant.

Morning came, 1st Brigade cats wereawoken from their drunken slumber, fall into line, roll call given, then their march resumed, their target was the next city just a few miles away over open country, yet well out of sight of malingering eyes. For over a week, n hint of an overthrow had reached human ears outside of Munchie, not yet.

His eyes painfully opened, playing out onto a small, crowded garage. Boxes were stacked three high, blocking out all windows. Only one door invited exit, and that was guarded by one shaggy mutt, with long brown hair, large brown eyes, and floppy ears. Rising up on his own fours painfully, Odie asked to where he was.

"suburbs" replied the guard, "we found you passed out on a sidewalk."

Rejuvenated, Odie began to tell his guard all about how Jon, his owner, was captured by his friend Garfield, and now cats have taken over his home town. Stunned, the guard called in others, including his leader a tall, strong German shepherd named Dilger, whom controlled a local lodge of German descendent canines. Together, this floppy eared began to tell that this cat had lost his mind and taken over. Alarmed, Dilger called all of his constituents together for an emergency meeting. Unlike other lodges which were little more than excuses for parties, Dilger's Home Defense Company was a tough group of street wise dogs that were counter intelligence, Hox was one of his leads. As for the past few days, there was a gap in intel and Dilger was desperate to know what was happening.

"Raise the alarm. Break out weapons. Form your platoons. Leaders, meet me at Bean Hill," said Dilger to all those in the garage. Staring back at him were his followers, brave, loyal, and true. All were intelligent, organized, and ready despite Garfield's claim.

"Our homes are being threatened. Now is our time to show what real dogs can do," said Dilger to a roar as everyone filed out, picking up weapons and ammunition as they went. Being last to leave, Odie stopped Dilger, he wanted to join the fight or he could warn other lodges.

"This fight that's coming, is too much for a mere pup to handle. You will be of much better use to stay here in town." Odie persisted, he wanted to fight, willing to do anything. Dilger would have none of it. It was simply too dangerous. Defeated, the pup slunk away into the alleyways when a person, clothes ripped head to toe, covered in cuts, sores, and sun burned skin and frizzled hair, came running down the street, yelling with a hoarse voice, "All is lost. Chaos! Chaos! Cats! Cats everywhere!"

"Darn" muttered Dilger whom wanted secrecy to avoid alarming humans whom were prone to panic at the drop of a hat. Once it fell, a series of events caused a complete stand still in Yorktown. Humans were trying to get out going one way, and dogs doing the same except in another. Hearing all this commotion, various lodges, gangs, and homes began to empty. A large bell housed in the town's church tower, which had not been rung in fifty years, was hit three times in rapid sucession, a secret symbol for a call to arms for the militia. It was time to defend homes and masters. Though lacking significant arms, most went into battle with just their claws and teeth, figuring that it would be enough to quell this and "put cats back in their place."

Homes were being boarded up and emptied, humans were in a complete loss as dogs slipped out quietly to form up in little units with colorful names such as "Bruiser Bunch, Wild Dogs, and Kitty Crunchers." Such names were cute to label, question was though, could they fight? Unlike their opponents, dogs did not have considerable training to fight cohesively, or together, with other groups. To fight as one gave better chance of survival, but rivalries between different ethinics and class caused a rif that was too Garfield's benefit. Rifles or any other fire arm were in seriously supply, in fact, only Dilger's company carried them. Many lugged about with clubs and stones. Leaders were adamant that they could win with "Just our teeth and claws." Sounds defiant, however Odie nipped at anyone that would listen. To where they were going was inviting certain death, even he knew it. Dilger was going, but he stood a better chance, others were simply following where everyone else was. It was madness. He tried everything to get their attention, to stop and listen, but no one did. In fact, some wanted to have this pup shot for cowardice. Knowing he wasn't wanted, Odie slipped out of town, out onto a valley road where no one was around. Where would he go? No relatives or friends. So he thought.

"Hey, there's Odie" it was a familiar voice.

Turning about, up came Nermal, frail and pale, but still packing spunk, the kitten charged and wrapped his arms around the pup. Close behind was Arlene, carrying a bag of fruit.

"Hi, Odie" said Arlene, "You escaped from Garfield too?"

Odie nodded his head affirmatively.

"He's coming this way. Where can we go?" she asked.

Odie shrugged. No one in Yorktown wanted to be with him, and Arlene and Nermal were cats, and might be shot for spies. It was best to move away from the battle, perhaps to Indianapolis. Both his compatriots concurred.

"We have a long walk ahead of us," Arlene confessed. "Best get moving."

Our three friends moved steadily away from a further contest of arms towards the South west, others were moving north east. So little time there was for proper organization, training, and equip that dogs were in a shame, completely vulnerable to Garfield's force whom was better in nearly all fields. Some mocked that they were little more than an armed riot moving about town and they were challenging another riot and should make a real good show. Further plaguing canines was a lack of central leadership. There was no one leader. Every lodge, every company, had officers whom did as they pleased in moving. It was only by meeting that did most agree to move towards Bean Hill, occupy it, and wait. Coming this way he was, unchecked, unmolested, feeding off the land, taking more and more prisoners from farms and isolated homes. Someone needed to stop them. Still, others did not want to contest in an open field. Untold numbers of cats were already in town, perhaps spies or guerillas. Rumors were rampant that such groups were burning bridges or stealing litter from shops. Such rumors were unfounded, yet, Marshall Law was imposed on Yorktown by order of dogs, whom broke into houses, capturing any of all cats to be properly disposed of.

Marching with bellies full, cats streamed through open meadows, over rolling hills, across steams. Itching for a fight they were, every step fully expecting an ambush. A light fog was still hanging over them, Zoos expected his enemy to charge at them. Thus, he arrayed his men to march in a large wedge formation with sister regiments flanking and to his rear, giving good protection all around. It was a delay in forming up, but he felt more confident knowing that security was tight for an ambush.

By 10 0' Clock, scouts reported that they could see church spires of Yorktown just a few miles distant. No dogs were sighted, not even a scout. Strange. Very strange. Perhaps no word of a revolution have yet to reach such a town, or maybe they were woefully unprepared for battle. Hearing this report, Zoos was gratified, ordering his command to move with leisure. However, only one obstacle stood in their way. A grassy, low hill known locally as Bean Hill due to it's shape as a bean. Wasn't much of a blockage, little over fifteen feet high with forty-five degree slopes, covered in a lush, green, grass. Moving closer, Zoos's smile was ripped from his face when he spotted movement on this hill. Going closer, at a distance of 250 yards, he was stunned to see that Bean Hill was indeed occupied, by dogs.

In some degree of order, groups huddled on this hill, waiting, fiddling about, making no preparation like what was planned. No works, no heavy weapons, just lounging. That quickly changed when a sentry sighted Zoos moving forward.

"Here they come!" he shouted, stirring up a hive of bees as dogs clambered up to it's summit to see this sight.

Seeing Zoos and his regiments, now being arranged in a proper brigade line of battle with, from left to right, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Regiments before them, an impressive number of 4,000 strong made dogs feel obviously edgy. What a sight to behold to see so many in one place. No obstructions hindered both sides view. So many numbers, so much death was about to happen.

Seeing the enemy for the first time sent chills down the spines of cats as well. Everyone was nervous. Now faced with an opponent, one could end their lives, cats began to waver even before shots were exchanged. Was it really worth it? The revolution. Some thought so, thus officers kept them in line, no cowardice. Those that tried to flee would be shot.

Faced with a blocking force to their rear and one to their front, cats were rather reluctant to go into battle without proper support. No artillery, air power, or reinforcements as of yet. Writing down on a sheet of paper, Zoos scribbled down a letter beseeching Garfield for an answer and reinforcements, believing what he faced was far more superior to his own force. Holding high ground with untold amounts of weapons of type, dogs did have a significant advantage, but failed to grasp such a notion. As his messenger hustled off in the same direction in which they came, both sides stared at one another across the open field. A heavy silence hung around them, punctured periodically by exchanges of jives.

Running to his hearts content, Zoos youthful messenger rushed past his old campsite and came across a startling find. Running right into him was Garfield himself, and marching close behind was another full brigade of infantry. Reinforcements.

"I say, boy, what news from the front?" Garfield asked Zoos's messenger with a voice of delight.

Nervously, hand trembling, he handed over a letter. Reading it's contents, Garfield's demeanor quickly changed to fuming mad as he crumbled the letter in his paw yelling, "Destroy them!"

Waiting still, Zoos felt so helpless in his position. He wanted to fight, but this was his first taste of combat. Was he in well over his head? Perhaps. Soldiers looked at one another then at him, asking for orders that could not give. To go up that slope without support would be suicide. Tension was rising, craving for a fight, someone jumped to his feet and yelled, "Long live, Garfield!" then commenced a mad dash, defying orders to return. Overwhelmed by a sense of courage and sheer bravado, others began to break away and join him, first a trickle, one or two, then small groups, then a flood came roaring up. No order, no discipline, just an armed mob that came barreling forward.

Caught off balance, dogs at first hesitated, then a ragged volley of stone was delt. One soul was hit in his chest. A sickening hollow thud as it stuck his body, hen he fell face first. First casualty. Undaunted, others came forward. Another one was hit, this time in the head. Holding his profusely bleeding wound, he turned to return back to his lines, only to be trampled underneath by his comrades. Roaring at the top of their lungs, cats of all shapes and sizes came barreling up towards the crest where dogs met them in a counter charge. Like two tidal waves they collided in a horrid mass as individuals stumbled down the slopes. It was a hand to hand fight where both sides shed all since of dignity and humanity, going back to nature where survival kicked in. Claws slashed, teeth grind, kicks, and punches, it was a free for all, sometimes cheating was resorted to by throwing of dirt or grass in adversaries eyes. Watching from afar, completely helpess, Zoos and other regimental commanders were statues as men were being slaughtered. For some reason, he didn't order the rest of his men up to charge in support or fire, just wait as one by one, brave felines were being ripped apart.

In a matter of just ten minutes, every single cat, as much as 200 total, that went up Bean Hill were killed or wounded, leaving dogs in possession. Defeated. First battle and cats were in a loss. What could they do? Disgraced, officers slapped skulkers and would be fugitives into line to get their lines dressed, reassemble order. No such blazent attack could be made again. Taking it all in, Zoos called in his regimental commanders to discuss their current situation when a trumpet call caught everyone's attention. In came Garfield. It was a complete suprise. As his new brigade marched in and began to dress off of 1st Brigade, Garfield conferred with Zoos.

"What's going on? Why haven't you destroyed these dogs yet?" his voice clearly aggravated.

"Sir, we are faced with a superior force" which wasn't true. In fact, the cats outnumbered dogs up to five to one, "We charged them once already, but we were thrown back."

"Then attack again and again if necessary. Keep attacking as long as you have men."

It sounded mad, leaving Zoos stunned in disbelief as his leader marched forward, moving through the ranks to address his men.

"My felines, this is our glorious opportunity. A chance to change the world, or to go back as second rank flea bags. Over that hill is our chance at glory!"

More cheers, "Hurray for Garfield! Long live the revolution!"

"Then go forward, keep together, listen to your officers, and for pizza's sake, destroy them!"

Together, in perfect concert, under a now blazing sun, two brigades, numbering just over 7,000 cats marched forward. Flinging stone, canines tried every desperate measure in which to halt them as a general withdrawal was undertaken. It was too risky to stay on this hill with cats easily out flanking them on the right. Wounded were being hauled out on make shift stretchers towards rail road junction, Savage Station where they were left to fend for themselves. Those unable to move were left where they fell. Cats were moving up, gaps being opened as stones found marks, yet, it wasn't enough for many shots though went overhead due to lack of proper training and hyped up adrenaline. Officers cursed their soldiers to aim lower, to make each shot count to no avail, moral and discipline, sagging before, now was about to collapse.

Cats were coming up in a solid, unwavering line, colors lightly flapping in a breeze, each soldier clenching a weapon in one hand, a metal BB in the other. Up they came, silent, no coy or joys now, just the steady, faint thump of their paws on grass. At a predetermined command just ten yards from it's summit, everything thing stopped.

"Halt! Ready, aim...!"

Each soldier loaded his slingshot and aimed.

"Fire!"

Unleashed, metal began flying, tearing down defenders left and right. First volley was straight and true, felling many. Whom would have thought that mere pellets could do so much damage. Stuck in head and throat, dogs fell. Some were able to stand back up, commencing a march to take them to Savage Station, others were disabled, watching in horror as cowards began to break free, fleeing to the rear. At first, it was just one or two, then more and more. Officers tried in vain to rally them. A second, equally devastating volley was dealt, carving out more and more to the butcher's bill. It was sheer madness. Panic griped, dogs began to take the initiative and ran. Several impressive gaps were opened as a result combined with desertion and casualties, inviting an inevitable charge which was given by Zoos whom took lead, taking hold ofhis regiment's colors. With a wild yell cats went for them in a mad charge. Far left, second brigade moved forward in a steady motion having still not fired. From left to right was 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th. disregarding that less than ideal officers and questionable soldiers filled it's ranks, these reinforcements moved forward, unmolested in hopes of a flanking mission, trapping their prey on the hill.

At the hinge speak between 1st and 8th Regiments, the brigade began to march in oblique through soft grass. Nothing challenged them until a shrill cry filled the air and directly before them, at a distance no more than twenty yards, a hidden company rose to their feet and dealt a point blank volley of musket fire that completely unraveled the march. It was Dilger's company whom had hidden themselves this entire time, well away from his comrades, a feat that would scorn him later on, yet his old fashioned musket wielding germans managed to halt this entire cat battalion whom were riddled with buckshot causing horrific casualties including a regimental commander. By the time they were able to redress there lines and resume a march, Dilger delt them another crippling volley, shredding all sense of cohesion thus allowing Dilger and his company to slip away joining what he thought was a general, organized, retreat, only to see Bean's defense finally collaspe.

By the time they got underway again, Zoos had already dealt a crippling blow when he charge finally succeeded in carrying Bean Hill's summit. Planting his color down, Zoos proclaimed it property of Garfield. Carpeted around him were literally hundreds of dead and dying from both sides. Some motionless, caught in a run, others still griped in frenzy combat. Moving towards it's back slope, soldiers witnessed a rather hasty retreat as dogs shed anything of burden in a flight. No last stand for this battle, it merely petered out. Cats sensed a hollow victory, despite Garfield's claim of a complete destruction of his enemy. Casualties on both sides were horrendous with as many as 700 dead and dying on both sides. Lacking proper medical teams, wounded were taken care of in hasty tents or put under trees for shade. Enemy wounded were a whole other story. On that very spot, Garfield dictated another General Order:

"All dogs taken in arms against the "Provisional Army" will be put to death. No quarter will be given to those that surrender or wounded. Any soldier that does not execute this order will be put to death."

Hearing such an order stunned even hard-core followers. He wanted to kill unarmed prisoners. Disregarding the fact that they were dogs, they were now harmless and there was no honor in killing an individual whom could not defend themselves. As such, the prisoners were housed still in Savage Station to await transportation to a POW camp or a hospital. Detailed to oversee their own wounded, Zoos was appalled at all the casualties from both sides.

"It was sickening, the smell, the horrid, lingering stench of death that lingered around us," he wrote later on.

Sanitation was no existent, retching, deification, blood, and guts formed in pools all around Savage Station as orderlies went about trying to care for all of them. Little food and what water that could be taken from a nearby river was quickly tainted. What also disturbed Zoos was the complete lack of care expressed by Garfield towards his own. Moans and howls deafened all communication, it was unbearable, and yet, his general, his leader moved though untouched by emotion. Never bothering to look or talk to his followers whom were pleading to have an audience with them.

"Is this our great rebel leader?" Zoos asked himself, "I hope so, or we all will be damned." Writing down his official report, he credited his soldiers for bravery but damned their discipline, complete disregard for orders, and lack of proper weapons. All of this, combined with a stead fast dogs he faced made it a challenge for him in Zoos first taste of combat. In it, his 1st Infantry suffered nearly two hundred casualties. Hi wounded were now laying close by completely helpless, begging for help, for home, and for their mothers.

Across the river, Yorktown was still being evacuated. Watching from roof tops, Dilger and his company were the rear guard to a complete route as dog and human fled for their very lives. Vehicles of all sort were trying to drive up congested roads filled with wounded and walkers. Some piled onto vehicles, others took side streets, even so, no one knew where exactly to go except far away from cats. Dilger sighed, he hoped that his dumb mutt friend had escaped. Peering over rooftops back over towards Bean Hill, he could see cats fording across, coming right onto the outskirts of town. At the lead was Garfield himself whom proclaimed loudly, "One more push and we'll be dining in Yorktown!" The thought of sleeping in doors with warm floors and cold milk made them lick their chops. Forward. Go forward. Painful as it was to walk, many kept it up. Keep going. Thirsty, hunger, and throbbing pains. Kept going. A small rail road stop lay before them, behind that was a small lake with one suitable bridge. That was where dogs were fleeing across. What was madness had since disappeared. Only discarded weapons, clothing, and bodies, unfortunate souls trampled underneath, were left in it's wake. So small was this stone arched crossing, that many were forced to ford around it. Even so, there was no challenge against them. Dilger, having seen the evacuation complete, pulled back well to the South west. No completely undefended, Yorktown was ripe for the taking, and yet, when cats entered it, place was deserted. Everyone had fled. Wanting a gathering of celebration, Garfield grew angry. Not welcomed as a conqueror, he sent out patrols to find cats. Perhaps they were in hiding. There was no need to fear. They were safe now. One by one, eyes from the darkness began to appear. Strays, deserted ones, or unwanted came forth towards this army of their own kind then a mighty cheer finally broke out. They have been liberated. Flocking around this orange tabby, they wanted a chance to join up and to fight this evil dogs whom were seen as captors.

"Join us" announced Garfield in town square, "join us and i'll make you all real cats!" No one knew what exactly what he meant, but his oral skills were just right and they flocked to his banner. As cheers rang about, other cats came out of the wood work, offering soldiers drinks of cold milk and housing for officers. Instead of capitalizing on his victory, Garfield, despite his better judgment, allowed his enemy to escape to the South west, to fight again another day.

"It's best not to do all of your fighting in one day," he said to Advisor Felix as he and his advisors bedded down in a descent hotel room for the night. Others were led to disagree. Many like Zoos, whom detested such carnage, wanted this fight to end quickly and limit carnage and pressed his leader to resume the march, but he was gently put down, ordering his soldiers to bivouac near Savage Station and to take whatever found they could from homes and from enemy wounded and dead.

Yorktown was taken. Messengers were sent back to Muncie announcing it's fall. A great roar erupted all around town, and a boisterous celebration followed. Jon heard it all from his basement which was fewer in number this time. Another escape attempt was made, this time a window was broken. Several, perhaps a dozen, managed to get out in the dead of night before guards spotted them. Shot rang out in the stillness followed by orders and shouts. Did some get away? Hope so, Jon thought. Yet, he did not participate. Why? Was he scared? Or did he sense a deep feeling of guilt knowing that his cat was the leader of this whole mess? That very same night, as Yorktown was partying in celebration as well, six other prisoners were taken out from Jon's been. Numbers were dwindling fast in this pen. Not much left. Where did those six go? A series of rapid shots answered that question. It was all coming to an end. Jon felt so helpless, confined to his own basement, his own captor was his own cat. he didn't realize what else was transpiring else where. Where was Arlene, Nermal, and Odie? Were they safe? Where did they go? How would he get of this? Sure serving Garfield was a daily, regular chore, but at the close of each night, he was thrown back into this cell. Little did Jon know that this, Bean Hill and Yorktown were just the beginning to a conflict that would last for an untold amount of time. Garfield's quest for dominance would claim many more lives, much more territory and forge alliances and break fellowships as never before. Entering Indianapolis at last, Dilger found a complete set of chaos as refugees sought to seek help. One familiar figure stood out though, that dimwitted pup, Odie, he had made it along with Arlene and Nermal whom took stares and death threats for being cats. Even so, Dilger accepted them into his group. Two more figures would join his group later on, one was a six year old boy, the second was a tiger...

I will continue with this story if I recieve enough positive reviews or constructive critisism.