Greater Manchester, United Kingdom (Great Britain)
There was always chat and talk about a local legend in the Wild West, a legend which went down in history.

There was this local, fat cat which would spend most of its time sleeping or eating lasagna. It didn't do anything else aside from watching some wild gunfights which would occur often on the dirty streets of the town or it would participate in these gunfights itself.

The cat was a warrior. With a revolver always ready, any fight he'd get challenged to, the cat would accept. This puss was known for always winning these gunfights. He was experienced. His lightning-fast reflexes and incredible aim earned him the title of "Gunslinger".

It was this one particular stormy day, and remember this: it was a Monday. The cat was at home, in his reading room, reading some ancient book wrote in the 1400's. It was one of his most prized possessions and won it in an auction for 8000$. He was proud of himself, holding the expensive book. Someone had knocked on his door and asked him: "Mr. John would like to challenge you to a duel. Are you willing to take the challenge?" Now, John was just any ordinary name of that time. But when you add a "Mr." before it, then that's when you know it was the amazing gunfighter. Locals didn't know who John was. They just saw him as an ordinary man who probably came from overseas. But little did they know John was one of the most feared gunslingers in the East. He had heard about the cat and didn't want rivalry. He decided to take care of the puss for once and for all. The cat accepted the challenge and they'd meet on the big street, which commoners called "Fight Street".

The two gunslingers looked at each other, eye to eye, and in an instant: "BANG!". Mr. John dropped on the sand, blood coming out of his chest. Everyone was looking from their homes, scared. The Eastern gunslinger had died from excessive amounts of blood lost. The cat put his trusty revolver back and walked back home, mumbling something under his breath which sounded like: "I hate Mondays.".

Locals don't know anything past this point. Last time the cat was seen, it rode a horse in the long, dry desert. The cat didn't have a name. The majority of people called him "The Western Gunslinger", however, a small amount of people called him Garfield.

"Garfield". A name which would live up for decades as a local legend. A name which was feared by many commoners and outlaws. The name of a gunslinger. The name of... a legend.
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