The Cat in the Hat Touched My WHAT?!?

The Lorax this, the Lorax that. When are we going to talk about Dr. Seus’s greatest, hottest, most beastiality-inducing creation: The Cat In The Hat, a 2003 film and cinematic masterpiece?

I’m tired of hearing about how “everybody needs a thneed” — who’s “everybody”? I reject this capitalistic agenda. I don’t need another material possession, another TikTok trend, another article of clothing I can’t fit into that will quickly revive my body dysmorphia. If I wanted something absolutely impossible to wear, I’d buy another “going out top” from Shein. 

What do I need? A middle-aged white man in a fursuit cat costume, likely enhanced by psychedelic drugs and pure heroin, to appear as one of my potentially insomnia-induced hallucinations. My psychiatrist would have a field day! Get those psych ward gripper socks ready, baby! Tell Sylvia Plath I’m on my way!

Is he terrifying? To YOU. To ME? I couldn’t disagree more. I find him quite endearing. I mean come on, you can’t tell me your day wouldn’t get substantially better if you were constantly followed (stalked) by a psychotic feline who adopted a Brooklyn accent, shares an affinity for interior decorating and a liking for baseball bats (…and jumpscares, homicide, etc.).

And no, I don’t want to talk about the fact that I mistook Mike Myers from Austin Powers for Michael Meyers, an esteemed serial killer. Some have quoted me saying: “Either way, still a smash,” but that wasn’t me…I’ve never said that. I didn’t even know cats could wear hats!

But don’t be fooled: the Cat in the Hat character is far from the best part of the film. Can we please talk about the impeccable casting? I mean, Alec Baldwin—notable 30 Rock star, my iPhone wallpaper, Wattpad smut and x reader love interest, etc. — as the antagonist? Absolutely superb. Who doesn’t want to be degraded by such a meaty little man? And don’t even get me started on Kelly Preston… the movie should’ve come with a flash-flood warning (area of interest: my pants). 

The only improvement I’d suggest would be casting Tina Fey. Look, we’ve seen what she could do for The Muppets, and I’m here to tell you she could bring that same enthusiasm and vigor to your favorite childhood film. Wouldn’t your parents divorce have been much more enjoyable if, when you were watching The Cat in the Hat to drown out their fighting, you were greeted by another Saturday Night Live cast member upon your screen? (A really hot one, I’d argue). Okay, sure…she played a Siberian prison guard (gulag attendee, if you will), in a movie featuring an assortment of deranged puppets. But is that really that far off from The Cat in the Hat? If you like puppets, I’m willing to bet you enjoy borderline furries as well. 

The Cat in the Hat was ahead of its time. It’s a great movie, nearly perfect. Yet, its haters will tell you the opposite. A man I interviewed, Concord Patterson, was quoted saying that it’s reminiscent of an “unfortunate acid trip, but you’re locked in a cage with cats and you’re…allergic to cats…and you’re so allergic…and is it hot in here or is it just me…and is it a little stuffy…and d-dim…and…AAAAAAHHHCHOOO! AH ACHHHH AAACHACHACH—” but he just doesn’t get it. He died shortly after this interview.

Let me suggest one thing: the next time you’re feeling tired, dejected or “squashed by the dominatrix boot heel of life,” make an effort to make a change. Try something new. Watch The Cat In The Hat (2003). Think about it. Your therapist can only do so much, but The Cat In The Hat can do the rest. What can zoloft give you that Mike Myers can’t? 

At the end of the day, The Cat In The Hat touched my heart.