I am sorry to anyone who spent money on tickets on “Cats,” I really am. Who hurt you? Did you not see the trailers for this movie and think, “Wow, what an abomination?” I am also so deeply sorry for the people who got into the theater and did not walk out after the first thirty minutes. I feel a deep pit of shame for the people who did not vomit when they saw the weird CGI of each demented face and somehow found it tolerable. I am sorry for the people who watched the cats, with their overly passionate faces, frolic around and dance. I am sorry for the people who thought that despite barely having any dialogue outside of the musical numbers, that the plot of this movie is somehow comprehensible. I am sorry to the audiences that had to see Rebel Wilson take off her skin and eat humanoid cockroaches.

I am sorry to the studio that managed to get $38 million gross after investing $100 million into the movie. I am sorry to Tom Hooper; I know you directed “Les Miserables” in 2012, but you managed to make a movie so terrifyingly bad that it might be the scariest movie of this year. This movie is so scary that the Darth-Maul-looking red demon thing from “Insidious” dreams about “Cats” at night. I am sorry to the kitten I put up for adoption after this movie; after witnessing the movie equivalent of a war crime, my memories made it impossible to even look at you. I am also sorry to my significant other; I tried to tell you over and over again that it would be over soon and that it would be okay as the tears dripped down from your face and onto my shirt. I am sorry, honey, I lied to you. It was not going to be over soon and it most certainly was not going to be okay. I am sorry to God because my faith in you might be a bit diminished after seeing this abomination.

Halfway through seeing “Cats,” I fell into a fit of maniacal laughter. It was uncontrollable, hysterical, breathless laughter that almost hurt, like Joaquin Phoenix’s character in “Joker.” I glanced behind me in my seat to see that a bald woman was snoring. There were two older women on either side of the theater that looked mildly depressed and I honestly do not blame them. I was not sure in my newly induced insanity was causing it, but it appeared that the CGI was so poorly done that the feet of the cats were not even touching the floor. The very existence of this piece is wrong. I do not care how “weird” or “good” the musical might be, this was an abomination, and I feel a pit of shame inside of me for having seen it. I am so repulsed that even writing the word “film” anywhere in this review feels like an insult to good movies everywhere. For the love of all that is good, do not see “Cats.”