Cat scratch fever.

I was purring along during the dynamic, vibrant first act of the updated and totally campy Broadway musical, Cats.

The Broadway revival reimagines Andrew Lloyd Webber’s iconic musical through the lens of NYC’s vivacious queer dance clubs.

The second act sent me into Cat Nap Stupor.

Let’s digress.

This is not the Cats your parents saw. Or your grandparents or that one theater friend who still insists the original changed their life.

I saw it numerous times as I was working with Andrew Lloyd Webber. This is a completely different ball of yarn.

This version drops the musical into the world of New York City dance culture, where style, dance, attitude, and self-expression are elevated to an art form.

The costumes are dazzling.

The dancing is mostly extraordinary.

The energy is infectious.

The audience is pulled into the experience from the moment the lights go down, clacking accordion hand fans and swishing them around.

Rather than watching from a distance, you feel as though you’ve been invited to the party, a very fabulous party.

The first act crackles with energy. The performers strut, spin, vogue, and command the room. You quickly stop wondering what a Jellicle Cat is and simply accept that whatever it is, you want to be one.

Unfortunately, the second act doesn’t quite maintain that momentum.

At roughly 90 minutes of material stretched to nearly two hours and one half, the pacing begins to sag. The energy that made the first act so exhilarating becomes uneven, and the production occasionally feels as though it is trying a little too hard to prolong the celebration rather than letting it end on a high note.

There is also the inevitable challenge of Memory.

Grizabella is one of those roles burdened by history. The performance here is perfectly respectable, but for those of us who still hear Betty Buckley’s legendary rendition echoing in our heads, it is a difficult comparison to survive.

Some performances simply become the measuring stick for everyone who follows.

One of the evening’s most touching ideas comes in a brief tribute to the pioneers of ballroom culture, featuring archival footage of the trailblazers who created the movement that inspired this reinvention.

Sadly, it feels more like a passing acknowledgment than a true tribute. The moment arrives, makes its point, and disappears before giving the history and significance of those pioneers the attention they deserve.

Even with those shortcomings, The Jellicle Ball succeeds in many ways.

My suggestion is, go see the first act and then have a martini across the street and savor the Memory because beneath the spectacle, the glitter, and the gyrating dance numbers is a story about belonging, community, reinvention, aging, and finding your place in the world.

Cats: The Jellicle Ball. The Broadhurst Theatre 235 West 44th Street New York City. Running time: 2:25 with one intermission. On Broadway through January 17th, 2027.