Alexis� theory about the Cat Circus is such: a clown group was having some trouble making it in the business and, in an attempt to find new props, identified some perfectly good working stock in a litter of neighborhood cats. After getting the felines addicted to whatever is in their treats, the clown posse hit the road, training their pets to climb high poles covered in cat scratching post material, push little carriages across the stage, and tolerate the sole dog in the act, an equally humiliated canine wearing a modified unitard.

Don�t get me wrong: for the cat person, there will always be some form of entertainment in watching kitties jump from or up to high places and land on human heads. There is something equally as endearing to watch a man who obviously loves his cats make a complete ass out of himself in the name of the clown profession. But mainly, one gets the most satisfaction out of the occasional feline performer who just stops mid-act, cocking it�s head at the clown and twitching a whisker as if to say Fuck y�all, I am sick of these treats. I do not want to do this and I will not. There had better be fresh litter in the green room, or I am out of here, and sauntering off the stage.

In the end, we walked away from the Tribeca Performing Arts Center wondering two things: who the hell the rest of the people in the sold out, extended through December audience were* and why, oh why, aren�t our cats making us more money? If there is a future in vaudevillian feline performance, then we are already one foot on the ground, which leads me to my new favorite phrase:

Calm it, or we are selling you to the cat circus.

*We could not have survived the evening without the constant narration of the people behind us, who must serve as stand-ins for the Family Guy (specifically, the one where Peter learns that he is mildly retarded). Oh look, he jumped! Ooh, what a good girl, she ate the treat. This is hilarious! The cat just pretended to swat the clown. HA HA!