Yes my friends, you read the title correctly. However, let me clarify that statement somewhat. Cats hate reality television. ALL reality television. Why? Fear not you nearly furless uprights, I shall explain.
First, and most importantly, there are no cats IN reality television. This clearly contradicts the very definition of REALITY television. We are ever-present in reality. We are legion. To paraphrase a horrible human figure of speech, "you can't swing a dead cat without hitting... well... a cat." This lack of felinity in network programming borders on species-ism. Yeah. You heard me. A vast right AND left wing conspiracy. Probably by things with wings.
Secondly, reality television shows provoke entirely too much strong emotion from you uprights. Particularly the one where there is a popularity contest and someone is "voted off". Big Pinkie and Lady Pinkie both get downright belligerent and loud during these debacles. They rant and rave at the television as though it's the magic box's fault that people backstab each other and generally behave stupidly. Blame not the box you flesh flappers! It's an innate deficiency in your own species. Plus its rude behavior when a poor cat is trying to sleep peacefully in your lap.
Finally, it is simply a poor excuse for a game show. At lest that's what I think of the one's that involve a "winner". Since when did it become acceptable for a game show to be called something else just because America gets a vote? Too much recap and flashback. Cats hate recap!!! Just get on with it already!!! Sorry. This is what I mean. Cats hate reality television.
Anyway, on to the Biggest Loser, or as we cats call it... "Big Fat Crybaby!" The latest season (and all before and all to come) went basically like this: A whole gaggle of big, fat crybabies show up to a fat farm. No cats are present. Possibly because the big fat crybabies have eaten them all. They are yelled at and they cry. They tell their personal stories... and cry. They lose weight... and cry. Someone does something dirty and underhanded... and everyone cries. They get voted off one by one until one scrawny upright wins money. And cries. Why don't cats like this? I'll tell you. We spend our lives in constant fear of the kibble dish being emptied, never to be filled again. Of chasing mice, only to come up a step too slow. In short, we fear not finding enough food to survive in the wilds of the forest or the living room. And then these crybabies COMPETE to see who can lose an entire winter's reserve of stored fat. Only humans.
Danny won season eight and lost something like eight thousand pounds to beat Rudy. Do you have any idea how many cats that would have fed?? Not to mention the simple fact that there is nothing in the world like a big soft belly to perch on for an afternoon of napping. And they threw it away!!! For sport!!! I'm getting upset just writing about it. I need sleep. Anyway, I have resolved to not watch the next season at all. For season nine, I will simply go to food dish and gorge myself everytime the show comes on, and then pray to God that someone fills it back up.
Neyland D. Cat