Smile, Even Though Your Sharpie's Aching

To Garfield, Pooky is more than VanPeltian security object. His psychology may be stunted, but Garfield prizes his individuality and selfhood to a degree that suggests he needs no transfer object to aid in separating himself from the One-ness of his mother (or, in this cat's case, a stand-in for his absent mother).

The teddy bear which Garfield has historically referred to as his "best friend," an object to which he speaks with more respect than his human and animal associates, is the sole recipient of Garfield's kindness, protectorship, compassion, warmth and unconditional love. Even the self-love with which Garfield regards himself is muddied with self-destruction, but what he gives to Pooky is unadulterated. In a way, Garfield funnels these feelings into this one-way relationship with Pooky making the teddy a strongbox repository for his soul.

In The Golden Bough, James Frazer catalogues extensive examples of the "external soul" motif in folktales from wide-ranging cultures, and extending back into the misty predawn of time. Magicians of myth hide their very mortality into remote, protected objects — in Inda, Punchkin conceals his vulnerability in a green parrot, and in Slavic folklore Koshchei the Deathless stashes his death in a hidden egg. Across time and continents, warriors of legend extract their sousl and lock them away before entering battle. In modern pop myth equivalent, compare to the Horcruxes in which Voldemort seals his sundered soul in Harry Potter, the jarred soul of the vampire warrior hero on Angel season 4.

In such stories the soul is detachable from its owner but they remain sympathetic. It is physical, has mass/ may be deposited elsewhere / takes the shape of an object. The irony of the "external soul" story is that in attempt to render himself invulnerable, the would-be immortal places himself at greater spiritual risk. First of all, the soul is extracted to facilitate ignoble or violent goals. Secondly, simply by existing, the immortal invites challengers to defeat him (and they invariably succeed). Finally, the immortal's fate becomes a matter not of his body's strength but his mental fortitude and virtue — his patience, modesty, tact, wisdom, etc. as he must keep the most vital of his secrets; this capacity is already symbolically hobbled by having removed the soul in the first place.

That Garfield pours his soul "into" Pooky is metaphorical, in the way that the bottle city of Kandor symbolically contains Superman's alienness as he protects his adopted home. But the cat empties his softer emotions upon the toy bear that he may sharpen his malice, coldness, and self-centeredness. It is as if Garfield acknowledges that every creature has the instinct to love, to express affection, to nurture, and the runoff is going to end up somewhere. Everybody's gonna need some kind of ventilator, and Garfield's is Pooky.

Jon Arbuckle could use cheering up on most days, and Garfield does not try to help. Odie's default setting is joy/ignorant bliss, and Garfield actively works to defuse that joy.

Upon the plush doll where he hides his heart, Garfield inscribes a parodic grimace of happiness.

The Naked and the Vet

Oh, weird. Sometimes in Garfield the Joke Logic gets so thick it's hard to tell if the gag is being mangled by the rules and realities of the strip, or if the writing is playing with the conventions of the same.

Panel 1: Liz, a professional who works with animals, tries to win a cat over not with treats, petting, or attention, but diplomatic conversation as if he were a respected equal. She is not without a history of speaking to Garfield, but it is usually to threaten him about holding still for shots, or as an ironic confidant for sarcastic remarks about Jon; the excuse for most other instances has been that she's talking to Garfield "as if" he understood, knowing that he does not.

Panel 2: Whether she pulled Garfield aside when Jon stepped out to the bathroom, or she has requested a moment alone with Garfield to have this important talk, the situation is so creepy, it's no wonder Garfield is frozen in disbelief and fright before discussion starts. Liz also doesn't have Jon's ability to hold naturalistic one-sided conversations with Garfield that make sense: as far as Dr. Wilson is concerned, she and Garfield spend the remainder of the strip standing there staring at each other.

Panel 3: Here's where I'm positive the Joke Logic is the joke itself; Garfield's discomfort is crazy, out of character, and silly on many levels. Not the least of which is that everyone sees him naked all the time. Not the least of which is that friends may see each other naked under all sorts of circumstances. Also-not the least of which is that Garfield's lament is supposed to parallel an uncomfortable turn in the doctor-patient relationship, but he doesn't disrobe before or share any personal information with the vet. Aw. He thinks he's people! And so the way a simple joke has confused itself becomes the joke itself.

Sockadelica

It may not have the iconic value of Pooky, or Garfield's box-bed for the public at large, but Jon's obsession with his own sock collection, and association of his dedicated sock drawer with the most intimate aspects of his life is well documented in Garfield. Overlooking the obvious weirdness of the premise, Jon's sentiment is a little heartening, because it shows that some part of him is trying to stay even-keeled on the subject of Liz. Given the excitement of any new relationship, compounded with Jon's extraordinary circumstances of loneliness, the overzealousness he's demonstrated already is being surprisingly well tempered by sweet concern for Garfield's feelings.

The Garfieldian thing to do is for Jon's happiness to, well, ruin his own happiness; the easy way would be if Jon smothered Liz with too much attention. This strip takes a trickier tack: Jon's idea of maintaining personal boundaries is confused and a little neurotic. While the sock drawer is a more intimate than public space, it's also a boring, commonplace space. So the Dear Abby advice we imagine when hearing Jon's version of privacy is nothing compared to the scene Garfield visualizes/ knows is coming. When Jon finally presents his sock drawer to Liz with some pride and a little embarrassment, I can only imagine she would not care at all. Disinterest in a man's sock drawer will be the unkindest cut of all.

Besides the mild perversity of Jon's fixation on his socks, the backbone of the joke is that even when Jon is ready to open up, there may not be much to reveal. The Garfield in us explains: Jon is boring. A happier explanation, and the reason Liz ultimately likes Jon: he has nothing left to hide, because he wears his heart on his socks. I mean "sleeve."

Dog Drool Afternoon

The basic dynamic: Odie's expression of unconditional love is overzealous and physically repulsive, and inspires not appreciation but misery. In the Garfield-verse, counting on others for happiness is an unwise proposition, and moments of joy tend to be born from self-reliance and/or self-indulgence. Total obliviousness to others' feelings is a partial explanation of Odie's happiness; ignorance may be bliss, to a degree, but it also gets him put out of the house and branded as an outcast. The other part is simply rushing headlong into what he wants to do. Lest we think Garfield endorses this kamikaze happiness as a successful coping mechanism, note that there is no character as put-upon, loathed or physically abused as Odie. Closer to the truth is that Garfield tells us it's unnatural and stupid to be so optimistic, and in episodes like today's, it is disgusting as well.

Point of consideration: Odie's primary job is foil to Garfield, perpetual optimist to the pessimistic cat. But another aspect of Odie's character is a distilled mirror-version of Jon, specifically Jon's approach to dating; Arbuckle throws himself at women with supreme confidence.

A Note on Cartooning: One of the strip's specialties is suppressing the moment of physical comedy. This is certainly not a hard-and-fast rule, but Davis frequently opts to portray those panels of aftermath, or focus on a character's reaction to off-panel action. Today the scenes of Odie's tongue actually making contact with others are hidden behind sound-effects so large they blot out the action. Add to list of What's Awesome About Garfield: it solves story problems and invents joke structures with techniques specific to the medium, without drawing attention away from the jokes the innovations are supposed to service.

What better panel to advertise the Garfield goodies available via cellular phone, than the image of two angry, miserable characters quietly seething and dripping with saliva? Probably none but the first panel proper, in which Garfield stands motionless and staring into space.