He’s a curious cat. Honestly, if you’ve ever sat through a production of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Cats, you know exactly who I’m talking about before he even opens his mouth. The Rum Tum Tugger doesn't just enter a scene; he colonizes it. He is the rock star of the Jellicle tribe, a wildly inconsistent egoist with a mane that would make a 1980s hair metal frontman weep with envy.
But here’s the thing people get wrong: he isn't just a gimmick.
While some see him as mere comic relief or a flashy dance break, the Rum Tum Tugger represents the core of T.S. Eliot’s original vision in Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats. He is the embodiment of feline contrariness. You want him in? He stays out. You offer him fish? He’d rather have a mouse. It’s a personality trait every cat owner recognizes instantly, yet on stage, it’s amplified into a phenomenon that has defined musical theater careers for decades.
The Origin of the Most Difficult Cat in London
The Rum Tum Tugger didn't start with a spandex suit and a wireless mic. He started on the page in 1939. T.S. Eliot wrote these poems for his godchildren, and the Tugger was clearly meant to be the "problem child" of the bunch. The rhythm of the original poem is staccato and jerky, mimicking the cat’s own indecisive nature.
When Andrew Lloyd Webber began setting these poems to music in the late 70s, he realized the Tugger couldn't just be another chorus member. He needed a sound that felt dangerous and modern compared to the more classical or "showtune" vibes of characters like Old Deuteronomy.
In the original 1981 West End production, Paul Nicholas took the role and leaned heavily into a Mick Jagger-inspired persona. It was a masterstroke. By turning the Rum Tum Tugger into a feline version of a stadium rock god, the creators gave the audience a focal point for the show's chaotic energy. He became the "triple threat" role—you have to sing with power, dance with gymnastic precision, and possess enough charisma to make a thousand people believe you’re a giant, sexually aggressive housecat.
Why the Rum Tum Tugger Always Wants the Other Side of the Door
"The Rum Tum Tugger is a Terrible Bore." That’s the opening line of his song, but it’s a lie. He’s anything but boring. The lyrics describe a creature that thrives on being difficult. If you offer him a house, he wants a flat. If you offer him a flat, he wants a house.
It’s relatable.
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Think about the last time you opened a door for a cat and they just stood there, staring at the threshold, neither coming nor going. That is the Rum Tum Tugger distilled into a single moment. He is the personification of the "grass is greener" syndrome. This isn't just a quirky character trait; it’s a sophisticated commentary on the nature of desire and dissatisfaction. Eliot was a master of the human condition, and he used cats as a veil to poke fun at our own fickle hearts.
The Evolution of the Performance
The role has changed a lot over the years. In the 80s and 90s, he was pure rock and roll. Big hair, leopard print, and a lot of pelvic thrusting. It was very of its time.
Then came the 2014 West End revival.
This was controversial. They turned the Rum Tum Tugger into a rapper. Instead of the classic rock beat, he performed to a hip-hop inspired track, complete with breakdancing and street-style movements. Purists hated it. They thought it butchered Eliot's meter. But younger audiences? They loved it. It proved that the character is a vessel. You can pour any era's version of "cool" into the Tugger, and he’ll still work because the fundamental truth—that he is a rebel who refuses to conform—stays the same.
The Mick Jagger Factor and the 2019 Movie Disaster
We have to talk about the movie. You know the one. The 2019 Cats film featured Jason Derulo as the Rum Tum Tugger, and boy, was it a choice. While Derulo has the vocal chops and the dance skills, the "Digital Fur Technology" stripped away the theatricality that makes the character work.
In a live theater, the Tugger interacts with the audience. He jumps into the laps of terrified theater-goers in the front row. He flirts. He creates a palpable, slightly uncomfortable energy. On screen, that intimacy was lost. The Rum Tum Tugger works because he is a creature of the stage—a spectacle that requires a live witness to validate his ego.
Interestingly, despite the film's critical pummelling, Derulo’s performance was one of the few that leaned into the sheer absurdity of the source material. He understood that you cannot play this character with a straight face. You have to be "on" at all times.
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How to Spot a "Tugger" in Your Own Life
The Rum Tum Tugger isn't just a character in a leotard; he's a personality type. We all know someone who is only interested in things until they actually have them. It's the friend who complains about being single until they get into a relationship, then complains about the lack of freedom.
- The Indecisive Diner: They look at a menu for twenty minutes and then order what you're having because it looks better.
- The Social Butterfly: They show up to the party late, stay for ten minutes, and leave for a "better" party that doesn't exist.
- The Contrarian: If you say the movie was great, they find five reasons why it was actually a failure of cinematography.
Basically, the Tugger is the ultimate "main character." He doesn't want your approval, but he absolutely demands your attention.
The Technical Difficulty of Playing the Role
If you talk to musical theater performers, the Rum Tum Tugger is a "bucket list" role, but it’s a nightmare to execute.
First, there’s the costume. Most versions of the suit involve a heavy mane made of yak hair or synthetic fibers that trap heat like a furnace. Then there’s the belt. The Tugger usually wears a heavy, spiked belt that can weigh several pounds, which he has to swing around during high-intensity choreography.
The vocal range is also tricky. You need a solid rock belt, but you also need the agility to handle the rapid-fire lyrics. If you trip over a single "Rum Tum Tugger," the whole rhythm of the song collapses. It's a high-wire act. John Partridge, who played the role in the filmed 1998 stage version, is often cited as the gold standard. His performance was incredibly athletic, bordering on feral, and he captured that specific "I'm better than you" sneer that is essential to the part.
Why We Can't Stop Watching Him
There is something deeply satisfying about watching someone—or some cat—who just doesn't care. In a world where we are constantly told to be polite, to fit in, and to make up our minds, the Rum Tum Tugger is a breath of fresh air. He is unapologetically himself. He doesn't apologize for his indecision. He doesn't try to be likable.
And that is why he’s usually the fan favorite.
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He provides the friction. Without the Tugger, the Jellicle Ball is a bit too earnest. You need that one person to show up and roll their eyes at the tradition. He keeps the show from becoming too saccharine. He’s the salt in the caramel.
What You Can Learn from the Rum Tum Tugger
While he’s a bit of a nightmare to deal with in person, there’s a level of radical self-acceptance in the Tugger that’s actually kind of inspiring. He knows he's a mess. He knows he's inconsistent. And he loves it.
If you're looking to bring a bit of that energy into your own life—maybe without the spandex and the tail—here are a few ways to do it:
- Stop seeking permission. The Tugger does what he wants when he wants. Try making a choice based on your own whim rather than what everyone else expects.
- Embrace the pivot. If you start something and realize you'd rather be doing something else, it's okay to change your mind. Life is too short to stay in a "flat" when you really want a "house."
- Own your space. When you walk into a room, don't apologize for being there. You don't need to be the center of attention like he is, but you shouldn't shrink yourself either.
- Find your "mane." Find that one thing—a hobby, a style, a skill—that makes you feel like a rock star, and lean into it shamelessly.
The Rum Tum Tugger will always be a staple of musical theater because he represents a fundamental part of the human (and feline) psyche. We are all, at some point, bored, fickle, and desperate for a bit of glamour.
Next Steps for the Curious:
- Watch the 1998 filmed stage production. It features John Partridge and is arguably the best representation of the character's energy and choreography.
- Read the original poem. T.S. Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats provides a much deeper look at the wordplay and rhythm that inspired the character.
- Compare the versions. Look up clips of the 1981 London cast, the Broadway original, and the 2014 rap version on YouTube to see how the "standard" for the character has shifted over forty years.
Ultimately, whether you love him or find him "a terrible bore," you can't deny that the stage is a lot dimmer whenever the Rum Tum Tugger isn't on it. He is the chaotic heart of the show, a reminder that being a bit difficult is sometimes the most interesting thing you can be.