"Neko Atsume" — the popular Japanese mobile game makes cat collecting look simple, but winning the trust of orphaned felines in real life takes a lot more than frisky bits. If the tuxedo cat who wandered into my yard were his virtual look-alike Socks, I would only need to put out a ball or an empty box for him to climb into. I’d maybe even consider splurging on some deluxe tuna bits, but Socks is a frequent visitor to my virtual yard and needs no expensive food to be lured.
My tuxedoed stowaway, on the other hand, refuses the overpriced cat treats I brought him. Lodged between a fence and a few haphazard pieces of plywood, he flops down on the concrete to nap. I try meowing but my lazy napper only flicks a mosquito off his ear.
Sometimes I get lucky when meowing and the cats then come sprinting towards me. Sometimes a few unconvinced friends even idle in tow. My newest feline friend — a Russian Blue named Tommy followed his housemate out onto the sidewalk one day as she ran to me for treats. Most days I’d pass him hunched under a chair on his owner’s front porch. I would try to call to him — stooping down and shaking the treat bag wildly. But he’d only stare at me.
Now he even lets me lift him until my arms get tired — which doesn’t take very long — as long as treats are involved. He can sometimes be like the greedy Tubbs whom "Neko Atsume" players seem to either madly hate or love. He’d often paw at my bag when he is done scarfing down what I gave him. Sometimes he even spars with his housemate Susie for my attention — but mostly for treats. I could just refuse to give him any more, but Tommy is my newest rare — one with a velvet-like coat and bobcat paws — so I am obliged to overfeed him. With only five regulars to visit, I can’t afford not to.
Armed with cat treats and single packaged-bowls of tuna and gravy, I am always on the lookout for lone felines. I even try to lure the feral — those mischievous bandits who tear open our garbage bags in search of scraps of discarded food. They’d stop and with raised ears listen to my forged meows. I never quite manage to get closer than two feet before they take off — scampering to the other side of the street or down a gated driveway. The ones who comb my block know me; they don’t stop to listen anymore but instead hustle away from my calls.
While I can take posed snapshots of my virtual visitors in the "Neko Atsume" app, I can never really take proper photos of my real-life kitty friends. They are always too close — forcing their snouts into my bag or sneaky themselves between my calves. Or most times too far away — my phone only registering their antenna tail and blurred body gliding away from me.
I know my love for them is most likely one-sided, but still, I cannot resist those whiskered cheeks and glinting eyes.
