The Buzz has been a long time fan of the crew over at PostBourgie, and today's rant on 'Cats' is a nice midweek change-of-pace.

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.

But, alas, there are 0 real cats in this play, and thusly 0 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.