Neko Atsume: Kitty Collector is an iPhone app that has become a widespread phenomenon, taking over the lives of every person you know with too much time on their hands. If I’m being completely honest (and really, what is the internet if not a place to bare your soul and expose your honest self?), I am not immune to its feline charms. The app, created by Hit-Point, has the player fill their digital backyard with treats and toys to attract various cats. The cats have a wide range of looks and personalities, as well as power levels. The meaning of which I admittedly cannot discern. Perhaps their powers are not meant for mankind to know. They appear in the yard as if summoned by the presence of food, and perform a variety of actions such as rolling on the ground with a ball in Coachella-like bliss and scratching at posts with an enthusiasm never exhibited before by a common house-cat. They lead a charmed life, these cats.
Just look at those beautiful smiling faces.
The regular visitors are very cute, but it is the rare cats that have provoked my transition from a functioning member of society to a social pariah with my phone fused to my hand. When specific toys or items are presented for their enjoyment, very special cats come to visit the yard, sporting themed costumes and names made up of beautifully terrible puns. For example, my favorite cat is a baseball bat-toting creature named “Joe DeMeowgio”.
Is there anything more pure and good in this world? Other hits include the cowboy cat “Billy the Kitten”, and the chef “Guy Furry.” How often do you see a Guy Fieri joke? Particularly when combined with the presence of cats? That’s what I thought.
I love all of my cats, even Tubbs the controversial glutton. That food was for all of the cats, you sphere with legs.
They leave me gifts and I feel like a proud parent on the first day of kindergarten. I count my silver and gold fish with glee as I save up to purchase a Cat Metropolis. Each new cat is a new reason to smile and a new reason to never leave my apartment. Is it more pathetic to be a virtual cat lady than one whose pets exist on the physical plane? Who can say? Not you, and certainly not me. After all, the critters my mother refers to as my “virtual feral cats” have never once pooped in the sink out of resentment. I cannot say the same for my real cats.
However, at the end of the day, every piece of black clothing that I own is coated in cat hair without fail. Just because I have become a virtual cat lady, and just because you make the wise decision to do so as well, does not mean that you cease to be a cat lady (or gentleman) in your real life. In fact, even after you delete the app from your phone, you are never truly free of it. Cat Lady is not an identity born of behavior, or even of owning a cat at all. It is a truth, buried deep within your soul, smelling of litter and canned tuna. Life is too short to judge yourself for being weird. So play on, cat ladies and gentlemen alike. Earn your fish, leave out high-quality sashimi, and collect those cats. I’ll be here to share in your socially awkward enthusiasm when you do.
