I never really thought I’d say this, but … I’ve suddenly become quite concerned about Garfield. The whole Garfield-and-Jon-eat-at-a-restaurant schtick is on the one hand a blessed relief from the usual mind-numbing sameness of the strip, though it may herald things going seriously awry. Yesterday’s installment is pretty much par for the Garfield course — Garfield’s fat, you see, and loves to eat, so the thought that he didn’t have room for desert is laughable. Of course, the laughing seems a little … off, what with the mouths gaping open and the spit flying and what not. Today, the laughing continues, in a way that would make no sense unless you had read the previous day. The waiter (who’s freakier and freakier looking every time I look at him) joins in. And it’s not joyful laughter either. No. It’s discomfort-making laughter. Crazy person laughter. Disturbing laughter. Did someone release nitrous oxide into the air supply over at Paws, Inc.? I sort of want to know, but I much more sort of don’t want to know, what’s in store.