Cats is the greatest movie ever. Somehow it took the mysterious avant-garde sensibilities of Tarkovsky, the frantic new-wave energy of Godard, and the big budget blockbuster bombast of Spielberg, and combined them all into one flawlessly musical package. I was also high as shit when I watched it in the cinema. “There’s no way Cats could possibly be better than it already is,” I said to myself in the mirror around three weeks ago — something I had been doing daily since I saw the movie. But then, something magnificent happened: News of a ‘Cats butthole cut’ surfaced. [Read: Please, won’t someone let me…

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