November 5: Rum Tum Tugger

Let's be honest here. I was born a freak. I grew up in the dark alleys of New York City where I was shielded from curious and staring eyes. I was forced to live under the protection of night and I dared not venture out in the light of day. Standing over six feet tall with a wild mane of hair framing my feline face, a long tail, and a black chest of leopard spots, I didn't exactly fit in with other people.

My mother was a beautiful Maine Coon cat raised in a home of wealthy Pine Tree State politicians. She was the poster child for success amongst the Main Coon population. She was where every feline of the breed strove to be. She was cared for and loved. She made public appearances at state fairs and political rallies. It was because of this degree of success and fame that she came across my father.

By making promises of breeding more beautiful cats like my mother, my father was able to convince my mother's owners to let him run some blood tests. He ran tests, alright, but breeding prestigious cats was the furthest thing from his mind. Throughout his life, my father was obsessed with breeding different species, but he saved my mother for his most grandiose and grotesque project of all. By successfully fertilizing my mother's egg with his seed, I was born.

Upon escaping the clutches of the laboratory I knew as my birthplace, I spent years traveling at night until I found myself on the streets of New York. For twenty-five years I ate from the trash and talked to myself. I literally had no human interaction. My only friends were the other homeless tom cats that didn't scoff at my appearance. On the contrary, they looked up to me as a leader. When people screamed and ran, my feline friends purred and followed my orders.

After a quarter of a century of living in solitude, I had become quite used to my life. Then, like a long lost and forgotten prayer, my life turned completely around. He called himself Mr. Mistoffolees and oh! Well, I never was there ever a cat so clever as magical Mr. Mistoffolees. He approached my alley as if he knew exactly what he would find. When I first saw him and his band of misfits, I felt an instant connection. All five of them were exactly like me. The hair, the tails, the grotesque feline facial features. I had found my family.

For eighteen years and 7,485 performances, I was on top of the world. It was with Mr. Mistoffolees that I discovered fame and fortune beyond my wildest dreams. We amazed and delighted millions with our talents. People that were very recently terrified by our appearances were now spending millions of dollars annually to hear our story. We threw extravagant parties and purchased expensive cars and houses.

Although we were at one time the longest running Broadway show, we were convinced we would spend many more years together. We had hopes of raising our children to take over our roles, but on September 10, 2000 we gave our final performance in New York. If it weren't for that wretched Demeter and her contractual disputes, we may still be going strong, but that's neither here nor there. Some of us continued sharing our story around the globe while others, like myself, were content with enjoying our retirement.

After spending twenty-five years in the streets, I couldn't be more thankful for my time spent with my friends on Broadway. I would have liked to have kept going, but all good things must come to an end and retirement has been very kind to me. I have officially turned the tables on those humans that treated me with such disdain. I have four butlers and three maids. I have chauffeurs, chefs and financial advisors. I am no longer on the bottom of society. I'm at the very precipice of the top; for I am the Rum Tum Tugger.