Stray is the work of sly cat people, and it’s a triumph

polygon.com:

My first death in Stray was a swift, sharp punch to the gut. My soft, limp body was overwhelmed by a swarm of vicious creatures that scurry around in herds. The screen flashed red and encouraged me to “retry,” but the message was clear: You Died. The first time this happened, I clung to the belief that my tiny kitty protagonist was just unconscious. Surely, I thought, this adorable game wouldn’t actually let me die. Eventually, my delusion was shattered: I learned that these creatures, Zurks, evolved from experimental bacteria and eat anything and everything, including metal. I glanced at my real-life orange boy, Oni, who’d been yelling at me through this whole sequence of events, drawn to the sound effects and frenzied Zurks. Welcome to “playing Stray with a cat.”

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Stray isn’t just an adventure RPG — it’s a psy-op made for people who love cats, especially if you grew up watching Homeward Bound. It’s not quite the same premise, but the same strain of emotional anguish watching sweet animals brave treacherous circumstances. (Thank you for your service as Sassy, Sally Field.) I’m reluctantly conscious of the fact that the constant presence of Oni, a tender little coward who wouldn’t last five minutes outside, informs my perception of Stray’s protagonist; I suspect that many cat owners — bless toxoplasmosis — will form a similar connection. Most people don’t like to see