A reader enjoys indie hit Stray but feels the joys of controlling a cat would’ve been improved if the game’s setting wasn’t so drably depressing.
Upon completing Stray I believed what I had just experienced was one of the best games of the year. I loved the fact you played as a cat, and I got a kick out of witnessing all of its mannerisms and cuteness sprinkled in with mischievousness. I relished in the game world and admired its inscrutable qualities and it kept me wondering what the history of Midtown and the cats are, all the while galloping or otherwise briskly walking through the illuminating neon-lit streets and dark, suspicious alleyways.
After some careful rumination however, I feel that Stray catches itself in a trap that it couldn’t escape from. I discovered that what I had been playing, whilst polished and satisfying, was a dank, grimy, and predictably triple-A video game, albeit one that takes two to four hours to complete, instead of the conventional 10 or more we’re accustomed to from big releases.
As stated, I really like some elements of Stray, in particular the cat mannerisms. Seeing the feline scratch into carpets, trees, and other surfaces is sweet, and watching it use its paw to knock objects to the ground is equal parts adorable and hilarious.
However, the absence of other mannerisms such as the licking of the legs and paw behind the ear, coughing up furballs, playing with yarn, chasing mice, and cat fights are all missing. You’d think a dank and dingy game where you play as a cat would at least have some cat fighting, but I admit all this is nit-picking.
What isn’t a minor gripe though, is that Stray is a game where you pounce through solely dark environments. In a game where you play as a cat, you’d
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