‘Garfield’: Love him, hate him

First and foremost: I am no feline lover.Cats have this air of superiority that seems to fill the room and it is too much for me to bear. Stealthily, carefully, they calculate their every step with sophistication in every stride. They glance at you condescendingly as if it is a raging insult to look at them fondly. Don’t even attempt petting them – especially when they have just licked themselves clean – lest you end up with a scratch or two. Wait, did you mention bath? Oh! They’ll claw your hands like wooden posts! And when the garden reeks of that peculiar odor, don’t blame the dog. It is probably the poop that was not covered properly by the supposed "I’m-cleaner-than-everyone-else-in the-universe" creature.

For some unknown reason, they also tend to sneer at humans who call them cutesy-artsy names. It is funny how Filipinos have the urge to christen any cat as "Ming-ming," "Muning," or "Ning-ning" (as if calling them with chime-like names would make them jump on your lap and slobber your hands with affection).

Suffice to say, I have enough reasons not to like cats. This brings to memory my cherished Grimm’s Fairytales book that was found soaking wet with pee and the time my cuddly teddy bear was shredded like rags. I also remember having my peaceful slumber interrupted during exam week by the "meows…ngyerk…screech!…" of passionate stray pussies on our roof. Geez, talk about the mother of all annoyances.

Now, I’m not saying I totally hate cats. As I mentioned, I just don’t like them. I guess, despite the fact that my mind is all racked up by bad memories of these furry animals, there is at least one good reason to like cats – Garfield.

I clearly remember the old cartoon Garfield and Friends. There was a fat, black-striped orange cat that was inexplicably mean to this yellow dog with a big pink tongue hanging from its mouth. Garfield and Odie is the classic epitome of the clash between cats and dogs, except of course the dog ends up booted off the table, eating all the scraps, and getting all the blame. If gluttony were a virtue, then the domesticated puss would surely be a saint! Nothing and no one, not even Jon Arbuckle, the owner, can come between this cat and his favorite lasagna. Jim Davis’s brainchild may have earned a nasty reputation with his pessimistic view on life, standoffish attitude, and self-centeredness; nevertheless, Garfield is charming in his own unique way.

Literally, Garfield has personified every seven capital sins: lust for worldly things (there’s the ref, TV, and microwave), gluttony, laziness, jealousy, envy, uncouthness, and anger (he vents his rage either by making Jon’s day miserable or harassing Odie). This is the reason why I use masculine pronouns in place of it because Garfield is human-like in every sense. The only difference–no one is in the position to judge him because he is simply a cat. But if all of his characteristics were that of a real living being, heaven knows what would become of that person. "Cute" would definitely not be the word to describe such a creature as opposed to the feline counterpart.

Call me biased or whatever you wish but I feel a sincere connection with this lazy, Monday-hating, nonchalant, pink-nosed fur ball. Why? Because I see a part of me in THIS cat.

From the first time I picked out a Garfield comic book from the bookstore, I knew then that my goal in life is to complete my collection of Garfield books. To date, I have 10 books (Garfield & Odie: Double Trouble, Garfield Volume Classics 3, Garfield tons of fun…to name a few) and I feel Garfield and I have been through a lot already, like when we both tested the laws of physics–A body at rest will remain at rest unless force is exerted against it. Well, that’s how the theory and the practice work. While Garfield snoozes the entire day away in the comic strip, I slothfully park my butt on the couch and engross myself in Garfield’s shenanigans.

His life’s adventure is a long list of petty crimes that one normally associates with cats. A four-legged limber brute armed with dagger-like claws is very dangerous especially with its insatiable appetite and cunning scheme. Garfield’s notoriety ranges from raiding helpless leftovers inside the fridge to stuffing himself with cackling city canaries. If he’s not up to whacking those disgusting spiders, he’s definitely beating the crap out of the mailman. Once in a while, he also gets a philosophical kick when he ponders the weird and wonderful primeval desire of cats to climb trees without knowing how to come down, when he tries to find a loop in the saying "no pain, no gain," and defying aging by "escaping" birthdays.

Garfield is not entirely evil, as one may have derived from my previous description. As a matter of fact, he has this goodness streak from out of the blue. Come to think of it, he has been a tolerable companion to the not-so-eligible bachelor Jon. Imagine living with a man whose idea of an exciting night is watching TV at home, 365 days of the year and wearing Mexican hat paired with polka-dotted tuxedo as a fashion statement when going out on a date. Garfield has also been very patient to the yippity-yapping, slobbering dog Odie who doesn’t know how to walk; instead he clumsily bounces on the floor like a kangaroo-wannabe. To be stuck in a rut with a pathetic mortal and a stupid barking canine with bad breath must be torture enough for a sane character.

Though he doesn’t have any speaking line (because cats can’t talk, silly!), Garfield could still deliver strong punchlines that could smack you to the moon and back. Inside a thought balloon, his opinion and witty criticisms are expressed. Sometimes, no words are even needed. Just the facial expression is enough to convey his spectrum of emotions like hunger (mouth agape), annoyance (teeth flashing), boredom (serious look), and happiness (uh, smirk?). All of Jim Davis’s books are filled with cynicisms liberally peppered with humor.

One favorite strip of mine has this scenario: Garfield and Jon are on a mud-spattered trail and Garfield wouldn’t even budge. Jon accuses Garfield of being ridiculous and keeps on ranting about sassy cats being afraid of getting dirty. Duh! I would have guessed, Garfield simply thought the issue stupid. Humans would be afraid of mud too if they’d have to lick themselves clean.

Up to now, I don’t really understand cats. And I’m sure I won’t own one soon. In the meantime, I’d just content myself in reading more of Jim Davis’s opus and be thankful for not being Jon Arbuckle or Odie.