I have a orange tabby that’s so so SO sweet and I love him dearly. I named him Garfield (after the fat lazy one in our comics) when I picked him up from the local SPCA about two years ago and he’s been literally my baby ever since.
Last night, my boyfriend presented me with a stuffed Garfield. He said it was a present meant to congratulate me on [finally] getting a job. It’s the cutest stuffed Garfield I have ever seen. It’s the size of an average teddy bear and has its arms wide open as if it’s always expecting a hug. It’s just so sweet.
I come home today after my first day of work to find my moving Garfield tearing apart poor stuffed Garfield. Oh the horror. White fluff flying everywhere. Moving Garfield has never really had problems with my other stuffies, and I have A LOT of stuffies. For some reason, he didn’t like competing with the “real one” and shredded him to pieces.
I was so mad. It was a lovely present from my ever loving boyfriend. Moving Garfield is getting locked out of my bedroom for two nights I’ve decided. I’m grounding him from being hugged for two whole nights. After that, I’m sure I’ll forgive him, but I’m not sure my boyfriend will. He spent a great amount of consideration for me to get that cute little stuffed Garfield that is now ripped in shreds. sobs 
Kitties kitties kitties!