Cordelia grew up in an orphanage. She was born with a terminal illness.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4p1inHCzLT
When she was fifteen, the doctor stood by her hospital bed, flipping through her test reports, hesitating for a few seconds. Those few seconds felt long. Finally, he looked up, deliberately softening his tone, yet he couldn’t completely hide the apology in his eyes. She understood, and nodded. She knew she didn’t have many days left to live.
She had no family, only a cat. That cat had accompanied her for many years. Its fur wasn’t beautiful, but its temperament was gentle. On the nights when her pain was worst, the cat would curl up in her arms, breathing steadily and calmly, as if living in her place.
The day the cat died of old age, she happened to be unusually free of pain. People often say that cats hide themselves when they die, but her cat seemed to know that she had nothing else in the world besides it, so it chose to let her be with it. The sunlight shone into the room; she held it in her arms and felt its warmth gradually leave its body. The cat passed away slowly, quietly, in her embrace. She did not cry; she simply realized that she was truly alone.
That night, she had a dream. In the dream, God appeared to her with the kind of serene expression she had seen in churches. He offered no judgment, no pity, only a gentle gaze. He said that she could choose to become an animal and live somewhere—and that she would live the full life of that animal.
She thought about it seriously. She wanted to be Garfield!
Why Garfield? Even she thought the answer was a bit funny. Suddenly, a childhood memory flashed through her mind: the cartoon she had watched on the old TV—a chubby orange cat, lazy, gluttonous, hating Mondays, full of an unapologetic indifference toward the world. This cat ate when it wanted, slept when it wanted, had no sickness, and the only nuisance was a dog. Just imagining it made her smile. Such a life was the exact opposite of hers.
She also remembered a documentary. Malta. The outrageously blue sea, medieval stone walls, cats sunbathing at street corners. Those cats wandered freely along the coast. Although her name included the character for “sea,” she had never actually seen the ocean in her life.
“I want to become a Garfield in Malta,” she said.
God nodded gently.
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Daybreak.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTMo5CCzgKL
A slit in the hospital curtain let sunlight fall on an empty bed. That bed should have held her, but the sheets were smooth, as if no one had ever lain there. The nurse paused briefly when she pushed the door open, but only for a moment. For some reason, Cordelia felt as if there were a patient in the room, though in fact there had been none for the past two days.
The world had forgotten Cordelia and kept moving forward.
The next time Cordelia became conscious, the first thing she felt was warmth. Sunlight poured over her without restraint—so comfortable, so warm! It was a sensation she had never known in her lifetime of weakness and coldness. She instinctively wanted to turn over, but her body felt a little heavy, round, belly pressed to the ground, a bit lazy to move.
She opened her eyes. Her perspective was low, yet colors were unusually vivid. The blue sea shimmered in the distance, white stone walls reflected the light, and the air carried the scent of salt. She heard voices, the sound of ropes clanging against the dock.
She understood. The dream had come true. She was now a world-class chubby orange cat—fluffy, round, not very agile, but solid. She took two steps, then stopped, sitting down to watch the sea. Short legs didn’t matter; there was nowhere she had to go anyway.
The morning sea was quiet. The first rays of sunlight were not yet hot, only spreading a pale orange-yellow over the water. The sea was so clear it was almost transparent. The distant horizon lay low and soft, as if still asleep, and the rocky shore was outlined gently by the morning light. The waves lapped the shore softly, short and slow, as if deliberately not disturbing the island’s dream. On such a morning, the sea was dreamlike and beautiful, approaching one gently with pure tranquility.
She enjoyed the view, but the smell of the ocean made her realize she was hungry.
“Oh, a new little one… no, not so little at all.”
A kind-looking elderly white woman with a headscarf placed several fresh small fish in front of her. Cordelia lowered her head and ate confidently; the chewy flesh of the fish released sweetness and oil as she chewed. Delightful!
In the afternoon, she lay on the stone steps of the harbor, basking in the sun. Time lost all measure; she didn’t think about “what to do next.” Occasionally, vague memories drifted in: the white hospital room, the doctor, the orphanage. But those memories were like soaked in seawater, the edges loose, harmless. She was just a little cat—why bother thinking about those things? Filling her belly was more important.
Many people fed her. Fishermen and anglers by the shore, students going to school, office workers on their way to work, elderly wandering about, even tourists up early for photos. But the feeding was inconsistent and small, and she didn’t always care for it. By nearly noon, the sun was getting stronger. She stretched lazily, thirsty and hungry. Sea water was undrinkable; she would have to rely on humans. She had never been to a restaurant in her life, so she decided to go dine at one.
She didn’t understand the restaurant names, but she could follow the smell. On the beach were rows of restaurants. She strutted into one, feeling a bit shy about looking directly at the people inside. After all, she was still an introverted person. Wait—she was already a cat. Being introverted didn’t matter to Garfield-Cordelia. She lifted her head confidently and jumped onto an empty table. “Meow!” Behold, why ignore your guest cats?
“Oh? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” The restaurant owner and chef was a young, handsome Mediterranean man. He was used to cats wandering in, but never one bold enough to jump straight onto a table. Moreover, this cat was… rounder than usual, not seeming like a stray. He reached out to stroke Cordelia’s head—nice texture, very nice.
“…” What a useless chef. Being handsome doesn’t help at all. Cordelia meowed again and lay down, sticking out her tongue to show she was really thirsty and hungry!
The man laughed and quickly took a few photos with his phone, then poured her a glass of water. “Wait a bit, your food’s coming soon.”
While she drank, he went back to the kitchen and returned with a plate of seafood in front of her: mussels, shrimp, scallops, clams, grilled fish. She looked up at his beaming face in surprise, then buried herself in the feast.
“Consider this your advertising fee!” The man snapped more photos and videos while she ate happily. His newly opened restaurant had worried about publicity; this was a little angel sent to help.
At that moment, he had no idea that the cat devouring food before him would become the world’s most famous online star, drawing countless tourists to Malta just to take photos with her.
Cordelia finished eating completely full. It had been so delicious she couldn’t resist! She drank a few more sips of water, meowed to express thanks, and left the restaurant. Paying? Impossible. She had dined like a queen.
The afternoon sun was harsh. She found a shady spot under a tree by the sea and took a nap to digest. Countless passersby took her photo for Instagram during that time.
Upon waking, she looked at the sea and realized she wanted to swim. Cats could swim, right? She was just afraid of water. And she was an invincible Garfield! She moved slowly toward the waves, first acclimating to the water temperature on the shore, then finally paddled properly into the sea on all fours.
The sea here was shallow enough not to drown a cat, but waves could sweep her further out. Luckily, cats could swim, and she was gifted; her ample fat kept her afloat easily.
At dusk, the daytime heat had waned, and the sea carried a gentle coolness. The sun hung low, light stretched and scattered on the surface; each stroke stirred the boundary between gold and deep blue. Cordelia lifted her head to gaze afar. The sky quietly changed color, clouds and sunset hues drifting at the edges of her vision. Moving through the darkening water, her senses became sharp yet calm; the sea caressed her, making time seem slower.
Satisfied, she returned to shore, shaking off the water. The rocks retained the daytime warmth; the sea slid off her fur, taking the last traces of floatiness. Standing still, she gazed toward the horizon as the sun sank slowly, layering the sky and sea in shades of orange and purple. The waves sounded rhythmically behind her, as if accompanying the sunset. Her body was calm, yet her heart moved with the light; in the meeting of light and shadow, she felt a quiet completeness.
She shook her fur again, understanding why cats disliked water. Wet fur was uncomfortable, and licking it afterward? Too salty.
Fortunately, Garfield looked large and fluffy, but the weight was real; the fur was not long. Before the last ray of sunlight disappeared, her fur dried. Otherwise, catching a cold would have been troublesome.
Hungry again. She sniffed and headed toward another restaurant…
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Two months later, Cordelia was napping on a newspaper. Tourists crowded around taking photos, but she didn’t care. The newspaper headline read:
Garfield by the Sea in Malta!8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4hwcFqsA71
[Our Report]8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡApKOG775oS
Recently, an orange cat roaming the Maltese coast unexpectedly became an internet sensation, nicknamed “Malta Sea Garfield” by netizens. Her leisurely but peculiar behavior—swimming in the sea, visiting restaurants to “order,” even sleeping long hours in churches—was quickly shared online, with billions of views.Local restaurant owners reported that the cat appeared almost every day on time, sitting at entrances or tables, quietly yet insistently waiting for food, seemingly in tune with human dining rhythms. Some restaurants prepared small portions just for her, treating her as an informal “restaurant cat.”
Besides restaurants, she was often seen napping on benches or in corners of seaside churches. Church staff noted that as long as she didn’t disturb services, her presence was tolerated, adding gentle warmth to the solemn space.
With her photos and videos spreading worldwide, “Malta Sea Garfield” quickly gained numerous followers, attracting tourists to see her. Local residents noted she did not change her rhythm of life, freely roaming between sea breezes, stone shores, and people, becoming a familiar yet unexpected part of daily Maltese scenery.
Thirty years later, Cordelia passed away in the warm sunlight by the sea.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVOJwdkG3nh
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“News broadcast: Malta mourns the passing of the national cat. The Maltese government announced a day of national mourning, flags at half-mast, and citizens spontaneously offering flowers and photos by the sea and churches, bidding farewell to this animal symbol that had accompanied the island for years.The Maltese Ministry of Culture stated that Malta Sea Garfield had long surpassed mere internet fame, becoming part of Malta’s daily life and collective memory. She appeared in countless travel images and reports, symbolizing “strolling, eating, world peace, and happiness” on the island. Official statistics showed her images had been viewed billions of times worldwide, profoundly impacting Malta’s tourism image.
The Cat and Sea Memorial Museum near the coast opened that day, exhibiting photos, videos, and memorabilia of her life—from waiting at restaurant doors to sleeping on church benches—showing her coexistence with humans. Outside, a life-sized bronze statue was erected, cat lying peacefully, gazing at the sea.
The Prime Minister said in a eulogy: ‘She belonged to no one, yet was remembered by all.’ For many Maltese, Garfield’s passing was not just the death of an animal, but the end of a shared era. The sea remained, waves persisted, and the figure that once walked the stone shores at dusk became part of history…”
In the first restaurant she visited, now fifty-year-old, the owner sat in her old favorite seat, listening to the news on TV while flipping through his only published book, Stories of the Cat and the Sea. His restaurant had become famous citywide, walls filled with awards of all sizes. But at the center hung an old photo of a big, happily eating orange cat. Outside, his grandchildren played on the beach. He smiled, finishing a mini seafood platter. Perhaps that dish would never need to be served again.
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and then Add to home screen.