Over the past winter break, I, among many others, have fallen prey to the popular Japanese game "Neko Atsume," translating to “Cat Collector,” being the exact objective of this game. You are given a yard and a sum of money (the currency in this game is silver and gold fish) to purchase and layout, food, and items with which a cat will most likely be drawn to. These cats will come to you yard, eat your food, play with your toys, and leave behind a bit of fish, as a sort of fee for hosting their playtime in your yard. You can then use those fish to purchase better food and toys to attract different cats. None of these cats are "mine," per se, nor do I know where they come from. It’s the type of game to set up and check back on later.
Each cat that comes to me has a designated name and power level, the latter having no meaning to the gameplay whatsoever. Some cats are picky with what toys they want to play with or what food they want to eat, and some come and play no matter what I have to offer. Generally speaking, all is well.
Until Tubbs shows up:
I needn’t lay out any particular item for Tubbs; he meanders into my yard, eats every drop of food, and sleeps next to the food bowl for however long this little glutton pleases. Since the food bowl is now empty, no other cats will come until Fatso leaves on his own. If I fill the food bowl while he’s in his food-coma, he’ll leave immediately and leave me one measly silver fish.
On some days, Tubbs comes to visit me twice, some days thrice. Why, Tubbs? I work hard to keep my cat economy running smoothly. I go the extra mile to purchase special food for all the cats that stop by. But do you care? No, because the second you see that I’ve laid out a fresh plate of sashimi, you hone in on it like a starving vulture. You don’t want to share with the rest of the cats. You don’t care that a good deal of my income, which I use to purchase the food you probably swallowed without chewing, comes from said cats. You probably think, “Oh, if I eat it all and leave, she’ll just put out more for me to eat later!” That’s not how this works! I don’t dedicate more time than I probably should to this stupid little phone app just so I can funnel expensive cat food down your enormous laundry chute of an esophagus. When I open up to my yard after having just gotten out of class to find your selfish lump of a body soundly asleep at the food bowl, the first words to escape my mouth as, “God damn it, again?!” And it’s even more salt in the wound when you’re the only one in the yard!
But then, I think of how this situation would play out if it were in real life; if I were to dedicate my life to attracting the neighborhood cats with toys and food in my own backyard. Amidst my joy of seeing happy cats come and go as they please, I would walk out into my yard to find this huge, fluffy white cat as wide as Montana soundly asleep next to an empty food bowl. The animal lover in me simply cannot express dislike for you. The instant I’d see a proud and content smile on your stupid little face, my heart would melt, forgetting just how much food you might have scarfed down. To put it simply, if you’re happy, then so am I.
And in the end, when you do finally wake up and decide that there’s nothing left for you to do in my yard, you’ll leave me a huge chunk of money -- enough to buy ten times what you just ate! So you know what? We’re cool, buddy. Just don’t come back too often, or you’ll most definitely ruin me financially.
