With six left to lure into my western-themed garden (I spent more gold fish on that than I care to admit), the game has become a major part of my daily routine. Before going to bed, I put out food for my babies to eat while I dream about their visits. After waking up, I check to see what they’ve left behind. During my waking life, I put out more food every few hours—occasionally switching out the items in hopes of luring the more elusive characters. Though strategy guides detailing which cats are attracted to which objects are easily found online, I’ve found the trial and error approach to be more rewarding. Well, rewarding when I collect a new cat. Frustrating when the cat pisses me off.

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“THIS BASTARD JUST LEFT ME TWO GOLD FISH?!” I scream at Tubbs, the gluttonous bane of my existence who regularly eats all the food on which I spend precious in-game currency.

“WHY WON’T GUY FURRY COME BACK TO BE PHOTOGRAPHED FOR MY CATBOOK?!?!!” I scream at an empty glass vase purported to be Guy’s favorite.

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“JESUS CHRIST, DO I BUY THE PYRAMID OR THE CUBE?” I scream into wind, hoping for an answer that never comes.

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After filling up my catbook and completing my collection—a goal I hope to achieve by the month’s end—I’ll likely delete the game and move on to the next mobile craze. And though I’ll always remember how important they were to me for a few brief moments, there’s something almost comforting in knowing they—like most real cats—will have forgotten me in no time.


Contact the author at bobby@jezebel.com.

Images via screengrab.