PHILADELPHIA — The Amazing Acro-Cats leap from an eight-foot-tall pole and land on a human’s back! They jump through hoops! They skateboard! They play clarinet! They do whatever they darn well please!
“She’s probably headed to the bar,” quipped Samantha Martin, 62, the troupe’s founder and ringmaster, as she watched a furry diva named Annie strut off stage in the middle of her act on opening night in Philadelphia. “Everything must go, including the cat.”
For more than two decades, Martin has been performing an acrobatic and musical extravaganza with cats, an unusual casting choice for an art form built on team work, rigorous discipline and congeniality. Felines weren’t her first pick for talent; their archnemeses were.
In the late 1980s, she assembled a rodent act professionally known as the Amazing Acro-Rats. Unfortunately, the rats, which she also trained for horror films and television, weren’t paying the bills.
“I couldn’t make a living on just rats, it turned out,” she said.
The show’s fortunes changed with Tuna, the offspring of a cat whose owner, Martin’s neighbor in Chicago, never returned from a trip to Russia. Martin adopted Tuna, who was as gifted as all nine Lassies, and rebooted the circus with cats, plus a chicken named Cluck Norris. Tuna was the star of the show until her death in 2017, when she passed on her cowbells to the next generation of Rock Cats.
“Tuna was the magical cat that started it all,” Martin said. “I auditioned a bunch of new Tunas when Tuna was still alive. It took two Tunas to take the place of the original Tuna.”
The Amazing Acro-Cats spend up to nine months a year touring the country. In February, they departed their Georgia digs, Meowy Manor, to headline venues in Florida, Texas and along the East Coast. For the Philadelphia shows, their 12th city, they sold out the 360-seat Suzanne Roberts Theatre and added a fifth performance, which also booked up.
“Every show is going to be different based on how the cats are feeling that day,” Martin said. “We don’t even know what’s going to happen.”
During dress rehearsal before opening night, the cats nailed their tricks, unsettling Martin.
“It’s making me nervous,” she said, “the cats are doing too well.”
Will do tricks for chicken, fish or duck
Cats will perform, but only for the right payment. The Acro-Cats’ salaries come from the local supermarket’s meat and fish counters, directly deposited into their bellies.
Before showtime, the “Acro-Human” staff will boil or poach the wages for 15 cats, plus any strays or rescues they pick up along the way. (Through her nonprofit Rock Cats Rescue and the show, Martin has fostered and found homes for nearly 700 cats and kittens. The Acro-Cats, all former orphans, strays and rescues, are not up for adoption.)
“These are stars,” said Willie Zamora, who has veterinary experience and culinary cat chops. “They have personal chefs.”
In Philadelphia, Zamora set up two portable skillets in the theater’s kitchen and, with the help of sous chef/bus driver Rachel Greenwell, prepared chicken breasts, turkey, two flavors of liver and ahi tuna, as well as salmon for senior Asti and duck for allergy-prone Dixie. They also whipped up a mash of blueberries, cucumbers, tomatoes, corn and mealworms for Cluck, who is watching her waistline. For the Jazz Cats, they filled piping bags with turkey puree that the stage hands — disillusionment warning! — schmeared on the mouthpieces of the woodwind instruments.
“Where dogs are like: ‘I’ll do anything. It doesn’t even matter if there’s a treat involved,’ cats are like, ‘What do you got?’” Martin said. “They want to know what’s in it for them.”
Martin pairs the high-value treats with extravagant praise and clicker training, a teaching method based on positive reinforcement. Danielle Bays, senior program manager of cat protection and policy at Humane World for Animals, has not attended the show but supports enrichment activities for all cats, even ones that don’t have their own merch table.
“Positive, reward-based training is one tool that some caregivers use to provide mental stimulation and strengthen their bond with their cats,” Bays said.
The Acro-Cats handlers say they never force the animals to perform. If a cat chooses to ignore their request to, say, balance on a ball or drive a toy car, a human will jokingly hold up a cue card that reads “One Moment Please.” Or they may call in an understudy, such as Eli Milton Gizmo Name Pending, who pushed the tiny shopping cart in place of Annie. Or they may wait to see if the cat decides to comply, on their terms.
“Sometimes they go out into the audience. Sometimes they do their tricks and it’s amazing. Sometimes they just groom, and then sometimes they come back later and do it right,” Martin said. “So they really keep you guessing.”
Traveling cat circus isn’t always purr-fect
On the overcast weekday morning in Philadelphia, Greenwell transported the performers from a New Jersey campground to the downtown theater. The tinted windows obscured its passengers, but the Georgia license plate “RSQCATS” hinted at the creatures within.
After 20 years, Martin has learned that running a cat spectacular isn’t all paw-made biscuits, purr-fect performances and unapologetic cat puns.
In Netflix’s 2021 documentary series, “Cat People,” Martin shared several challenges, including an alleged scam involving a bus driver who, after promising to repair their kitted-out motor coach, left the vehicle in shambles.
In Portland, Maine, the stop before Philadelphia, the bus generator conked out. Martin, meanwhile, was hobbled by a strained hamstring she suffered in a litter box incident weeks earlier in Baltimore. She also had an abdominal hernia. And in true rock-star fashion, a few of the bandmates — Newt “the Nut,” St. Claude “the Twin” and Albacore Tuna “the Star” — were clashing.
“Not all of the Acro-Cats get along,” said Amanda Fenick, tour assistant. “So we have to separate them in dressing rooms.”
The cats typically lounge in the bus till the afternoon dress rehearsal, but because of the lack of air conditioning, the staff had to bucket brigade the animals from cabin to sidewalk to lobby to green room. Fenick, who was posted in the vehicle’s vestibule, introduced each cat with the flourish of a ring announcer at a wrestling match.
“We’ve got Dixie the Dynamo!” Fenick proclaimed. “She is in the competition with Albacore Tuna. You’ll hear her on the stage. She meows and howls and sings the blues. She’s from the Bayou.”
While the team set up the stage, the cats warmed up in the bathrooms.
They ducked under stall doors, perched on toilet rims and scaled the sink to squat on the paper towel dispenser. A few even used the bathroom for its primary purpose, not shy about using the litter box in front of an audience.
‘Careless Whisker’
Hundreds of attendees streamed into the theater lobby dressed for the occasion. Cat ears sprouted from heads. Family portraits of cats peered out from T-shirts. Cat monograms covered hats, tops, dresses, bags and socks like Gucci feline-wear.
Audience members swarmed the merch table and cocktail bar before disappearing into the auditorium. The Acro-Humans appeared in sparkly attire seemingly inspired by Siegfried and Roy, if they had downsized their cats. The Acro-Cats wore colorful hair scrunchies around their necks.
Ahi Tuna opened the show, stepping up to the microphone to deliver a few announcements: Photography is allowed, laser pens are not and the blue-eye beauty is the prettiest cat in the show. Albacore Tuna then kicked off the action, taking his sweet time to press the button illuminating the “Applause” sign.
“Warmer, warmer, getting closer, getting closer,” Martin said encouragingly as Albacore took a scenic route to the target. “Nothing teaches you humility like a trained cat show in front of a live audience,” she added.
After the cats flew through the air, toe-beaned across a tightrope, bowled with Cluck and tested Martin’s forbearance, the Rock Cats took their places. The quartet featuring St. Claude on guitar, Eli Milton Gizmo Name Pending on drums, Newt on keyboard and Cluck on cymbal was as melodious as a preschoolers’ jam session.
The Jazz Cats joined in on chimes (Annie), clarinet (Roux), trumpet (Miki), saxophone (Alley), cowbells (Albacore) and skull (Jax, just sitting on the giant head). Volunteers wielding piping cones ensured that the musicians were paid well and often. Otherwise, they’d go on strike or find new gigs.
The show ended on a high note. Alley played a sax solo of “Careless Whisker,” and the musicians performed “Bohemian Rhapsody” without the ego-fueled histrionics that can often break up bands. They stuck around to meet their fans, the VICP (Very Important Cat People). In addition to snapping photos, the guests could pet an Acro-Cat. Despite her nickname, “the Wildcard,” Annie was chosen for the task.
Fenick had prepared the volunteers — me, among them — for the postshow event. She explained that people will slip tips in Annie’s collar.
“She does not care; she works at clubs. So now, she likes to be paid for her services,” Fenick said.
And that she may skip out with the loot.
“She may wander off with a collar full of cash,” she said. “She might go to the bar, who knows?”
And how to explain her absence to disappointed fans.
“When she’s not there, just say ‘Sorry, she’s a cat’,” Fenick said.
Postscript
As predicted, Annie did indeed exit the stage and strolled up the aisle, dead-ending at the closed doors to the lobby. Without an accomplice to help her escape, she reversed course. Back on the stage, she slinked behind the curtain and lay down for a nap, her head cushioned by a neck pillow of cash.
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