Think Like A Cat Game Show

There was no scratch. There was no sniff. Not by the cats, anyway. This wasn’t that kind of event. This was the premiere of Think Like a Cat Game Show being hosted by Chuck Woolery and presented by the Game Show Network and Del Monte. Only the best for these feline festivities!

There was the obligatory “arrival orange carpet” (no scratching allowed! – caveat unnecessary). There were pushy/lead-footed “petparrazzi.” (I know! One stepped on my paw! Then growled at me asking if I were “media.” I responded purringly “Meodia!” hissed at him and walked away.)  Rubbery orange wrist bands that looked suspiciously like flea collars for celebrity human guest identification. And lots of cat jokes, at least by me anyway.

Patiently waiting out front in their carriers were the “pro cats” and their “cat wranglers,” and a calmer, more accommodating bunch of cool cats you’ll never get the opportunity to pet. Provided by Critters of the Cinema, these cats were there in case the “contestant cats” went into diva mode. Some of them did, and it was hysterical. Not the cats -– their owners.

After being mauled by the “media” downstairs, I headed up to the celebrity party. On the elevator was a very, very large, very dapper man with a very large, absolutely breathtaking black cat and their assistant. I found out right then that the assistant was for the man. When we got off the elevator, as I was chatting with him about the cat, he asked the assistant for the brush. Dutifully handing him the cat’s brush, he was brusquely told “not that brush,” with “fool” being the unspoken end of the sentence. Oh, the other brush, and out came the lint roller. The brush was for the owner’s navy blue blazer, of course. Mr. Guffington, the cat, was put on the floor while Hartford Hough (real name!) meticulously voided his jacket of cat hair. Guffington just laid there on the floor, docilely looking about.

When his owner’s personal grooming was completed, he bent down to pick up Guffington. It was then that I realized that the “Guffmeister” was one of those pedigreed cats known as a “rag doll cat.” Their claim to fame is that when picked up or held, they just very sweetly go limp and you can do just about anything you want with them (sounds like a boyfriend I had once). As Hugh tried to pick up Guffington, Guffington just kept reshaping himself like Jell-O. I had to move on at that point, before I choked on a fur ball laughing. Next time I saw them, when they were posing for kitty pix, Guffington had assumed the shape of a cat again.

This highly promoted “World Premier” of what has been coined “Jeopardy for Cats” is the creation of Steve Ochs, who I chatted with. Basically, eight cat-testants and their owners compete for the chance to win a million dollars. The first game whittles the group down to three in a race to get to an open can of cat-food. The second game is Cat Jeopardy, which eliminates one more team. Game three tests how well the cat owners know their pets, with one team moving on. The endgame consists of a circle of bags of dry cat-food. The cat chooses one, and the owner chooses another. If the symbols inside the two chosen bags of cat-food match, the team wins a million dollars. All of this is conducted by the “king of game show hosts,” Chuck Woolery (notice the last name).

After this initial concept was bought, the auditions began. Yeow! They were held in eight cities, and when I asked what the audition consisted of, Steve drolly responded with, “singing, dancing, swim suits…the usual.” You can’t lose your sense of humor when you’re producing a cat game show. So I asked him if there was any “heavy petting” on the set, or was there a drug problem like “Meowie-Wowie” or “Jamaicat” (like, totally “meow-mahn”). Of course, the cats were very professional in their “catitude” –- it was the owners who needed to be taught a lesson.

There was Spooky, who was skittish, and the owner Simone. Simone claimed that Spooky the cat was her spiritual advisor. Yeah, right. I’d be skittish too. In fact, when they wanted to do a pan shot of the contestants for PR, Spooky disappeared and a stuffed cat was used as the double for the shot. By now, of course, we all know it’s the cat owners who are, shall we say, an exotic breed, or a cat of a different color.

I eventually sat down just to watch what was going on around me when this lady asked if she could share my booth. Sure. She immediately told me she was a writer under contract and that she usually didn’t cover this sort of thing, and that she’s writing a book, etc. Then she picked up one of the large, colorful postcards PR had at every table which I’d already looked at and put back down. She read it intently and then put it down and…started to scratch on it with her fingernail. When she realized I was just staring at her, she let me know that the card had a “scratcher” on it. I couldn’t help it. I told her it was a “scratch and sniff,” and she enthusiastically did just that while smugly peering at me over the top of the card. Slowly, she stopped when she realized she’d just been “punked.” I apologized and told her how I just couldn’t resist, but she was not amused, and as she got up, she hissed at me, “Keep your day job.” I guess it was time to leave, but not before I met the “cat chiropractor” who was on call but allergic to cats. Yup! It really was time to leave.

As I went to get on the elevator, there was Guffington, once again sprawled on the floor with his owner trying to “collect” him in order to get on the elevator. Whew! What an evening. It certainly was “cataclysmic” but without any “catastrophes” or anyone being “catatonic.”