As you’ve probably all heard by now, Variety published a profile of Andrew Lloyd Webber on Wednesday in which the legendary Broadway composer reveals that he hated the 2019 adaptation of his musical, Cats, so much that he went out and got a dog as some sort of karmic retribution.
“Cats was off-the-scale all wrong,” he told Variety executive editor Brett Lang. “There wasn’t really any understanding of why the music ticked at all. I saw it and I just thought, ‘Oh, God, no.’ It was the first time in my 70-odd years on this planet that I went out and bought a dog.”
But the story doesn’t stop there. For just this morning, I received an email from the dog itself—or herself, I should say, as she says that her name is Pamela—offering herself up for an exclusive interview.
I was shocked to read this email—first of all, because aren’t dogs boys?? And second, because I could not believe that a dog, much less one belonging to Andrew Lloyd Webber, had typed it up and sent it.
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I was skeptical, of course. How could I be sure that the real Pamela had sent this to me? But then I noticed her email address (firstname.lastname@example.org), and figured who else could it be?
“Hello, Pamela,” I began my response. “How has it been living with Andrew Lloyd Webber?”
“Great!” she wrote back.
“Sorry,” a follow-up email sent shortly afterward read. “I accidentally hit one of the Gmail auto-responses because I am a dog and don’t have hands. Anyway, it’s horrible. He’s horrible. Have you read any Sedgwick? It’s like HUGE erotic triangle vibes up in here. You know how she theorized that because of all their internalized homophobia, men will often channel their sublimated sexual desire for one another into competition over the same woman? Basically turning her into a hole through which to fuck each other? It’s very that! He only wants me for the ways in which his having me hurts his relationship with the movie Cats—if we accept that the movie Cats is a man, of course.”
“I do,” I reassured her. “The movie Cats is obviously a man. Anything else you’d like to share with our readers?”
“Bark bark,” she wrote.
“Thanks for your time,” I typed back with a smile, confident in my impending Pulitzer.