"Meeeemoryyyy of deliiiicious lasaaaagnaaaaa!!!"
The musical Cats first debuted in London on the 11th of May, 1981. It ran, according to Wikipedia, for 18 years in the United States (from 1982 until 2000) and has been translated into over 20 languages. Though it officially closed in 2000, it still pops up randomly like a huge, heaving zit that you never ask for.
The play is about a pack of stray, singin’-ass cats in an alley. The clowder is headed by a smarmy, lazy, particularly portly cat who sings passionately about his struggle to stay alive in a word full of stupid dogs, overly cute kittens, and lasagna. I think. I think that’s what it’s about. If that’s not what’s it’s about it’s because I didn’t see the damn thing, and I didn’t see the damn thing because who in flea dipped hell wants to see a bunch of grown people pouncing around on stage pretending to be cats??
Honestly. I don’t even like cats in my real life. A two hour play of pretend singing cats? That’s my nightmare. And what’s the appeal, anyway? I mean, if they were actual cats singing? Maybe I’d be impressed. There’s like a 60% possibility.
"PEEPOLE WHO NEEDZ PEEPOLE R TEH LUUUUCKIEST PEEEPOOOOLE lulz!!11"
But, alas, there are zero real cats in this play, and thusly zero reasons to …wait. The play is about a prostitute? A cat prostitute? An elderly kitty prostitute who dies and goes to heaven on a tire? Now you can’t even consider real cats in this play because it just feels wrong. That means there aren’t even any imaginary redeeming factors to this play. I’d rather watch a musical about Odie’s struggle with meth and closet homosexuality. Just make it go away.
