The short clip shows just about everything wrong with cat shows.
Amid the subdued noise of the show, in which hundreds of people collectively try not to freak out the felines who definitely don’t want to be there, Beethoven — number 176 — was called up.
Anyone who knows anything about cats could tell little dude was not gonna do well.
“Beautiful coat, shiny, nice green eyes,” said a judge, a woman wearing cat ears.
Having exhausted her supply of superlatives, she ran a hand down Beethoven’s tail, then grabbed both his front legs from behind in a way I’ve never seen anyone try to move a cat and tried to spin him around.
Beethoven wasn’t having it.
The void unleashed a symphony of hisses, feints and dodges while trying to get away, but the judge — seriously, has she ever dealt with a cat before? — shoved him, then tried to grab him again as if the pointless evaluation could be saved.
That’s when The Conductor lunged in for a hard right paw-slap, leaving #177– a white chonkster on deck — with a look that said “Oh no he didn’t!”
Contestant 177 needs popcorn. Someone get this cat some popcorn!
“I need the owner here now,” the judge said, like a doctor snapping at a nurse for a scalpel as a patient’s blood pressure plummets on an operating table.
Beethoven was disqualified, but he should have gotten points. He should have gotten all the points.
Oh, people who participate in “cat fancy” will tell you their ridiculous soirees are really just social events for the feline-inclined, as if they don’t privately rage when their cats lose like Patrick Bateman stewing over the fact that Bryce prefers Van Patten’s business card to his own.
But seriously, what the hell is going on at these shows?
Most of them are celebrations of the cat world’s worst excesses, with people lugging their terrified $10,000 Savannahs, $4,000 Bengals, currently out-of-fashion Persians and other breed cats to gymnasiums or hotel ballrooms where they’re mishandled, judged like collector’s items and measured against absurd arbitrary standards written by God-knows-who.
The breed standards read like wine descriptions in obnoxious catalogues: “The tail should be long and sturdy, powerful yet restrained like a rhinoceros in a steel cage. The coat should be of moderate length and silky, yet not so shiny as to invite comparisons to the Arkenstone of Thráin, that wondrous jewel. The head should be angular, recalling the good old days of colonial occupation in Siam when elegant men and women would lounge in opulent royal palaces enjoying stiff cocktails as the locals fanned them. The paws should leave tigerian pug marks, but the toes should not be arranged so close together as to appear inartful…”
The insanity of it makes me want to pose as a judge, grabbing a cat and taking a deep huff from its behind as horrified cat fanciers look on.
“I get notes of summer in New York, rotting garbage and the perpetual smell of urine on the 6 line. Hints of jasmine, cinnamon and Temptations Seafood Medley filtered through the miraculous feline intestinal system! The flavor profile is ecstatic. Oh! The aftertaste! Bitter yet triumphant!”
Except for the non-breed portion of the show, which you get the impression is treated like a non-televised undercard fight at a UFC event, the participants are basically big-upping cats who come from breeders, holding them up as the feline ideal while allowing a few scraps to fall off the table for those dirty little moggies who were the result of two cats voluntarily copulating, not some breeder putting Big Tom and Queen #7 in a cage together until BT puts one in the bun.
Ew, a shelter cat!
You know what I say to these cat shows and their judges? Look at this dude! Look at him! Behold his handsomeness:
Not only is he charming and ridiculously good looking, his office has many leather-bound books and smells of rich mahogany. Cat judges, eat your hearts out!
Sir Buddy’s fortunes have risen dramatically, while Prince Harry’s future looks bleak.
LOS ANGELES — Buddy the Cat, rumored to be on the short list for a dukedom after establishing a warm friendship with the late Queen Elizabeth II in recent years, has been spotted in the company of the Duchess of Sussex, per TMZ.
Photographs and surreptitiously-recorded footage show the handsome silver tabby and Meghan Markle enjoying a cozy private karaoke session with friends over the holiday. Later they were seen getting close at Dorsia, the ultra-exclusive Manhattan eatery where A-listers rub elbows with investment bankers and cabinet secretaries.
Prince Harry is said to be “enraged” and “deeply wounded,” not only that his wife is enjoying the company of a desirable bachelor, “but also because he thinks it would be really awesome to hang out with Sir Buddy, and he feels left out,” a royal insider said on condition of anonymity. Notably, the prince has not been able to secure a reservation at Dorsia.
The famed feline was knighted Sir Buddy by the late queen in 2021. He was created Earl of Budderset the following year in what palace insiders called a “meteoric rise” in favor with the royal family.
He had become a trusted confidante to Her Majesty, with the two parties speaking by telephone weekly and Buddy earning the endearing diminutive “my dearest Bud-Bud” from her. With his soft fur and playful nature, he’s also a favorite of young Princess Charlotte and Prince George, forming fast friendships with the rest of the family.
Markle was spotted at a popular LA nightclub with the famous feline in December of 2023.
Then the Sussexes resigned as “working royals” amid controversy and left the UK for Los Angeles. Shortly after, Prince Andrew was swiftly disowned for his role in the Jeffrey Epstein scandal. With the palace looking to take the focus off that unpleasantness, royal observers and palace stalwarts alike named Sir Buddy as a likely candidate for elevation to dukedom.
With Earl Buddy in favor and her current husband persona non grata, Markle may be eyeing the next rung on the ladder, said Gavin Northbridge, a royal observer and author of Your Highness: The Royal Family’s Favorite Marijuana Strains.
Paparazzi have also photographed the Duchess and her feline companion at an exclusive Los Angeles nightclub, an art gallery opening in the Hollywood Hills and a trendy restaurant. Prince Harry, who burned bridges with his family via a series of high-profile interviews and an autobiography, Spare, was nowhere to be seen in the photos.
“Here he is making himself vulnerable with his book, speaking out about the injustices done to him by his family, and his wife is out fraternizing with a handsome young bachelor,” said Devon Camden Dankworth, author of Grand Tyromancy: The Royal Family’s Secret History of Cheese Divination.
If King Charles follows through on his mother’s plans and grants his feline friend a dukedom, it would instantly render the current Earl of Budderset the most powerful member of the British aristocracy. The king has already thrown his enthusiastic support behind the earl’s charity, Food For Buddies, which provides delicious meals to London’s stray cats.
Markle and Sir Buddy in a trendy LA restaurant.
In an honor unprecedented at the time, Sir Buddy was knighted in 2021 “for his innumerable contributions to human-feline understanding, unprecedented innovations in the art of napping, and status as tastemaker supreme in the world of delicious snacks,” according to the Central Chancery of the Orders of Knighthood at St James’s Palace.
Since then, he’s further endeared himself to the British public by starring in ads for Aston Martin and his own detective series, The London Underfoot.
“If you’re Meghan, a future with Harry looks bleak,” said Dankworth, “but a future with Buddy looks absolutely delicious.”
There’s a scene in the first season of Slow Horses when Gary Oldman, in the role of a lifetime as MI5 supervisor Jackson Lamb, gathers his team as they’re being hunted.
“I don’t normally do these kind of speeches,” he says with an exasperated sigh, “but this feels like a big moment and if it all turns to shit, I might not see any of you again.”
He looks each of his agents in the eye, their fear reflected back at him, and sniffs.
“You’re f—ing useless, the lot of you! Working with you has been the lowest point in a disappointing career,” he says before barking at one of the young agents to accompany him and warning the rest not to get themselves killed.
Oldman is spectacular as Lamb, the gaseous, miserable MI5 veteran who captains Slough House, a purgatory where the agency’s worst agents are sent to waste away the remainder of their careers after humiliating themselves, usually in novel and cringe-worthy ways.
One agent was exiled after forgetting a disc with sensitive information on a train. Another was an alcoholic who didn’t notice her supervisor was feeding information to the Russians for years, while a third was banished to Slough House simply for being an insufferable jerk.
Gary Oldman as Jackson Lamb, who oversees the purgatory for disgraced MI5 agents known as Slough House.
Regardless of the reasons, each of the agents at Slough House is determined to get back into the good graces of agency brass by redeeming themselves in service to king and country.
Or, as Mick Jagger puts it in the show’s catchy theme song, they want “to dance with the big boys again.”
To do that they must endure consistently brutal needling from Lamb and navigate the most mundane, least glamorous assignments. If a job is a lose-lose proposition, MI5 hands it over to the rejects of Slough House — the eponymous Slow Horses — figuring their already stained reputations can’t get much worse.
So when a secretive MI5 plot goes off the rails and the agency’s leaders need someone to take the fall, they serve up the Horses.
There’s just one problem: Lamb, for all his misery, disgusting habits and bone-dry British humor, is an exceptional agent with old-school skills, and the Horses themselves aren’t necessarily incompetent. Several were promising young agents of great skill who got railroaded or were collateral damage in political warfare.
When MI5 second-in-command Diana “Lady Di” Taverner (an icy Kristen Scott Thomas) decides the disgraced agents will be blamed for a major agency blunder, Lamb is aghast and warns her he won’t accept it.
“They’re losers,” he says, “but they’re my losers.”
When we meet them for the first time they’ve already been tagged for sacrifice to the media and public, but don’t know it yet.
And when it turns out that the case has real consequences — a young man will be beheaded on a live stream by extremists if their demands aren’t met — the Slow Horses, led by the acid-tongued Lamb, use every trick at their disposal in an attempt to rescue the innocent victim.
Jack Lowden as River Cartwright, left, and Olivia Cooke as Sid Barrett, center, disgraced agents of MI5. Credit: Apple TV
Slow Horses, like Luther and similar UK crime dramas, is a different animal than the bland, formulaic cop shows we’re accustomed to on this side of the pond.
Whether it’s Law and Order, the many incarnations of CSI and NCIS or shows like Chicago PD, the audience always knows a few things for sure: The case will be solved and the bad guys apprehended by the end of the hour, the police will be righteous and earnest, and favorite characters will never find themselves in real danger. Mariska Hargitay’s character will live another day to continue on in her third decade fighting crime. Chicago’s tough-talking detective Hank might be rough around the edges and bend a few rules, but he’s fundamentally a good guy on the side of justice.
The Slow Horses have no such pretenses, nor plot armor. They’re deeply flawed people and they’re not immune to bullets or bad luck.
The result humanizes the agents in a way other spy thrillers and crime shows never manage to accomplish with their own characters. When one of the Horses takes a bullet from a Russian agent or risks life and limb to protect the British public, there’s a real sense of tension because the show makes it clear not everyone survives.
The show’s writers also know when to dial it back with moments of genuine humor, separating Slow Horses from contemporary spy thrillers like Homeland, which — with apologies to Claire Danes — always took itself seriously.
Kristen Scott Thomas as Diana “Lady Di” Taverner, MI5’s ruthless second-in-command, with Oldman as Jackson Lamb. Credit: Apple TV
As for Jagger, he signed on to write the show’s theme song with composer Daniel Pemberton because he’s a fan of the original Slow Horses novels by Mick Herron. While writing the lyrics, he said, the phrase “strange game” kept coming back to him. That became the title of the theme song and its primary hook. It’s an apt description of what MI5 agents are involved in as operators for a domestic agency that, unlike the American FBI, has the green light to involve itself in extensive subterfuge on home soil.
Slow Horses just finished airing its third season. A fourth has already been filmed and completed, a fifth is in production and a sixth season is currently in the adaptation/writing phase.
A production that runs like a finely tuned engine is appropriate for the series: each season is a taut six episodes, meaning there’s no filler and the tension does not let up on the gas pedal. With eight books and counting, there’s plenty more material to adapt, and if the response so far has been any indication — universal praise by critics and audiences in rare agreement — we’ll get to see every one of them make it to the small screen.
Title: Slow Horses Network: Streaming (Apple TV) Format: Series Release date: April 2022 (season 1), December 2022 (season 2), November 2023 (season 3), TBA 2024 (season 4)
Verdict: All the paws up! When it comes to crime and spy thrillers it doesn’t get any better than this. Slow Horses is tense and humorous in precisely the right proportions, knows when not to take itself too seriously, and benefits from an incredibly talented cast to match its excellent writing. We highly recommend this show.
Pain In The Bud 