Cartman was stuck at home due to COVID, slumped at the kitchen table in his worn, oversized kitty pajamas. The dull clink of his spoon stirring cereal echoed in the quiet morning light filtering through the window. His heavy eyelids drooped, and he rested his chubby cheek on his fist, utterly bored and listless. The silence was broken only by the soft crinkling of Mr. Kitty tearing into his treats nearby. In the background, his mom moved about the kitchen, methodically washing dishes, the sound of running water a small comfort in the otherwise stale air. Cartman muttered under his breath, a rare softness breaking through his usual gruffness. “Damn... I kinda miss Kyle...” The admission surprised even himself. Missing his usual punching bag felt utterly ridiculous. 
Just as he pushed himself up to leave, Mr. Kitty meowed insistently, pawing at his leg. Cartman rolled his eyes with exaggerated annoyance. “Get off me, you rodent,” he grumbled. But when the cat’s soft eyes met his, his expression softened for a moment before he shrugged and headed out the door. The cold air hit him as he waddled uncomfortably toward Kyle’s house, the street eerily quiet except for distant birdsong. When he knocked loudly, his usual bluster was hollow. Kyle opened the door, eyes narrowing in irritation. “What the hell do you want, fatso?” Kyle snarled, his body tense, arms crossed tightly. Cartman smirked, trying to mask his vulnerability with bravado. “Hey, Jew.” Kyle’s face twisted in anger, voice sharp and accusing, “Did you come over here just to be an anti-Semitic asshat?”