Cats are the Internet's favorite pets for many reasons, not least of which is their endless mystery. By some estimates, felines were first domesticated around 12,000 years ago—and yet, even now, we humans don't fully understand something as simple as their purr. There are theories. A purr can translate to contentment, sure, but it could also indicate hunger, or fright. Most intriguingly, those low rumbles may double as a healing mechanism for cats and people alike: purrs vibrate at frequencies between 20 and 140 hertz, which happens to be ideal for mending bones, muscles, tendons, and ligaments. If purrs do indeed have such powers, Run the Jewels' new cat-sampling remix album could very well be the most physically restorative record ever made—there are a lot of fucking purring sounds on this thing.

Before it became an IRL curio featuring the production talents of everyone from Prince Paul and Dan the Automator, to members of Portishead and Massive Attack, to hip-hop heavies Just Blaze and the Alchemist, Meow the Jewels was merely another LOLcat goof. In the runup to last year's Run the Jewels 2, El-P and Killer Mike decided to have a bit of fun with online feline culture as well as fan-gouging pre-order-package culture by offering to “re-record RTJ2 using nothing but cat sounds for music” for $40,000. Soon enough, modern crowdfunding mentality kicked in and a Kickstarter raised $66,000 to get the idea off the ground. The way in which this project lines up with the duo's paradoxical ethos, where they're able to spit the most cartoonish puff-chest bars alongside deadly serious tales of death and strife, can be observed in a recent El-P tweet: “did we make the silliest, occasionally most grating possible remix album? of course. and we did it for you, mike brown and eric garner.” (All profits made by the album will go to charity.)

It's easy, and not wholly inaccurate, to dismiss Meow the Jewels as a well-meaning wisecrack that went several steps too far. Even El-P himself told Deadspin, “I would never even insult the world by saying [the album is] 'good,' but it's certainly the high-water mark for cat-sound records, I think.” So while the way these remixers warp meows, hisses, scratches, yelps, and purrs into passable rap beats is impressive, only a few songs rise above the level of novelty. Part of this has to do with the fact that, you know, this is 42 minutes of rapping over cat sounds, but it's also hard to compete with El-P's original Earth-scorching production, perhaps his finest beatmaking in a career that has spanned two decades.

While some tracks unwisely try to replicate the source material's dystopian energy, the best moments come when remixers go blissfully off-script. Portishead's Geoff Barrow empties out the beat of “Close Your Eyes (And Count to Fuck)”, replacing it with a disorienting, subwoofer-shaking purr, a tiny cat-collar bell, and some stray yowling for good measure—it sounds like what “Grindin'”-era Neptunes may have done with this odd opportunity if given the chance. But best-in-show honors goes to frequent Grimes collaborator Blood Diamonds, whose featherlight beat for “All Due Respect” injects some appropriate, non-corny levity into the proceedings, which can otherwise feel weirdly dark.

But Meow the Jewels isn't really about music at all; instead, it's a major milestone in cats' slow-but-inevitable climb to the status of Hip-Hop's Favorite Animal. In the '90s, I grew up with Snoop Doggy Dogg (whose grace and ease in life and on record always seemed more cat-like anyway) and DMX espousing canine superiority. It was a particularly masculine—and perhaps, um, overcompensating—pose during an era of unparalleled hip-hop machismo. There was a sociological element to this: The use of snarling pitbulls as a way for underprivileged men to exhibit control while caught in an unjust system of power. But, for DMX at least, the obsession could also get strange and ugly—the rapper has been charged with dozens of counts of animal cruelty since his heyday.

This century, as hip-hop continues to grow up and expand its borders, the genre's once-strong walls—between mainstream and underground, masculine and feminine—continue to crumble into dust. Run the Jewels itself is a sterling example of this, a duo that could bury any given meathead rapper with outlandish tough talk while also out-smarting any indie-rap dork with vitriolic politics and heart. Meow the Jewels is the result of what happens when cats are afforded more respect and notoriety (largely thanks to umpteen YouTube videos) as hip-hop's subversive streak is allowed to flourish (largely thanks to umpteen YouTube videos). Paving the way to this moment were fellow rap rebels Lil B—the form's most committed rule-breaker—and his adopted tabby cat KeKe, who released a wild, purr-sampling track three years ago; Danny Brown and his beloved bengal Siren; and Tyler, the Creator's tendency to put cat heads on every shirt he can sell. Cats are fascinating in part because of their autonomy: They will most certainly lie down, but not on your command. This is the same independent spirit we desire in our artists. The European philosopher Albert Schweitzer once said, “There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.” It's high time hip-hop figured this out, too.