This gets ugly...

I’ve noticed that Jack’s reading interests have lately taken a turn for the worse.
Degenerated, even.
For those of you readers who may not be aware of who Jack is, well, he is my purebreed Ragdoll cat.
I’ve gotta say that quietly though. Just the other day, he overheard me describing him like that and he growled and said “Hey, when I talk about you, I don’t call you my purebreed HUMAN OK? Ease up on the ol’ nomenclature a bit Old Man.”
[God forbid he should ever overhear me using the term “declawed” since he has all nine hundred of his, currently intact!]
Jack reads.
He is a reading cat.
But as I was saying, I have noticed lately that his selection of reading material has sort of degenerated. He is getting a bit intellectually sloppy.
I mean, he and I used to enjoy a good mutual foray into Tolstoy, or Dostoevsky.
God we would talk!
He would read deep, philosophical books, like The Fountainhead for instance.
[I myself have not even read Rand yet.]

He’s also gone through mild spiritual pseudo-religio phases, as you can see in this next picture:

I can also recall the good old days when he would spend hours and hours alone with some great works of fiction: Then he started subscribing to a number of periodicals. The mailbox was bursting with stuff that he had ordered while I was out at work making money for the two of us. I didn’t mind this. We still talked. Things were OK. In fact, some of the magazines were rather interesting: But then..... I came home the other day and found him with his paws all over this:
And as if things could not get worse, he’s really started hitting the sauce, and hitting it hard...
It’s the booze that is really killing everything between us.
Oh Jack.
Why?

Why?