From the New York Daily News: “[Former FIFA exec Chuck] Blazer often worked from two apartments where he lived on the 49th floor [of the Trump Tower] in $18,000 per month digs for himself and an adjoining $6,000 retreat largely for his unruly cats, according to a source.”

1) What?
2) Seriously, what?

4) Great Caesar’s Ghost, what chemical alteration takes place in the mind once they give you access to seemingly unlimited amounts of money? What switch suddenly flips? How do you start coming up with these ideas? You could talk to me for months and months about what I would do with Truly Obscene Amounts of Money and I would probably say something like “buy an island” or “dress up as a bat and fight crime” or “hire an Aaron Burr impersonator and an Alexander Hamilton impersonator and make them fight,” but nowhere on my list of things would be, “FILL A LUXURY TRUMP APARTMENT WITH UNRULY CATS.”
5) I’m almost impressed. (Is impressed the word?) I also love the fact that he did not live in the luxury apartment with the cats himself. He lived next door, thus giving himself plausible deniability on OK Cupid dates. “Oh, you’re one of those men who lives alone with cats?” a date might ask, nervously fiddling with her salad fork. “No, no,” he would be able to say. “I don’t live with my cats.” A pause. “They live in a separate apartment that I have furnished for them next door.”
6) All in all, this choice almost gives me a kind of strange confidence in FIFA execs. At least they weren’t wasting their money on frivolous things like flashy cars or bottle service or, er, those ladies the Secret Service always liked to have around. No, Blazer went straight into Eccentric Oil Magnate/Overindulged Roman Emperor (this is probably redundant; is there any other kind?)/British royalty territory and went for the Entire Apartment Full of Unruly Cats.
7) No wonder these cats were unruly. Even ordinary cats are not exactly ruly. And these cats doubtless thought they were property owners. My family cat always thought she owned the place and she didn’t have a $6,000 TRUMP PLAZA APARTMENT FOR HERSELF AND A FEW INTIMATE CAT FRIENDS.
8) This would come in very handy if he were trying to confuse Sir Roderick Glossop into thinking he was not right in the head.
9) The fact that the only person in literature to have an apartment full of cats is a character in a P.G. Wodehouse story tells you how COMPLETELY REMOVED FROM REALITY this idea is usually located.
10) Seriously, what amount of money do you have to have in order that you sit down and say to yourself, “No, no, I won’t invest this. I want an apartment for my cats.”
11) I always think that the 1 percent and even the 0.01 percent are just like us, deep down, just with more silver spoons, more lacquer tables and the occasional butler. But this — this is some Gatsby-level nonsense. “I am going to get a $6,000 apartment for my cats” is the sentence right after “I’m going to throw constant parties with fireworks and own a pink suit” and right before “and I shall build an organ and get a man named Klipspringer to sleep inside it.”
11) What.