COPYCAT REVIEW: A FELINE EMOTIONAL ROLLERCOASTER THAT'LL LEAVE YOU FURBALLED
Well, well, well, cat lovers and masochists alike, gather 'round for a tale of whiskers, woe, and what-the-actual-fuck. Copycat, the game that promises to let you live out your feline fantasies, is here to remind you why some dreams should stay in the litter box.
Pawsitively Painful Gameplay
Let's start with the basics: you're a cat. Congratulations, you now have the power to knock shit off shelves and meow incessantly at 3 AM. But wait, there's more! You also get to experience the joy of being abandoned, abused, and generally treated like yesterday's kibble. It's like the developers sat down and said, "You know what people really want? To feel like absolute garbage for three hours straight."
The controls are about as smooth as a cat's tongue, which is to say, they'll probably leave you bleeding. You'll spend half your time trying to figure out if you're supposed to be pressing F or Z or maybe sacrificing a small rodent to the cat gods just to make a simple jump. But hey, at least the quick-time events are there to keep you on your toes – or would be if they actually mattered. Spoiler alert: they don't.
A Story That'll Have You Feline Blue
Now, let's talk about the story, or as I like to call it, "How to Traumatize Cat Lovers in 10 Easy Steps." You play as "Dawn," a shelter cat adopted by Olive, an old lady with all the pet-owning skills of a potato. Olive's brilliant idea of cat care involves leaving open paint cans around and wondering why her furniture looks like a Jackson Pollock painting.
But wait, it gets better! Just when you think you've found your forever home, Olive decides to pull a magic trick and make you disappear – right into the middle of fucking nowhere. Because apparently, that's a totally normal and ethical thing to do with a pet you can't care for anymore. Who needs shelters when you have the great outdoors, am I right?
The Moral of the Story: Stockholm Syndrome is Apparently Cool Now
Here's where things really go off the rails, folks. After putting you through emotional hell, the game has the audacity to try and sell you on the idea that "home is where you're needed." Translation: it's totally cool to go back to your abuser because, hey, they might need an emotional support animal!
It's like the writers were playing Mad Libs with toxic relationship advice and decided to publish the results. The message is so twisted, it makes a pretzel look like a straight line. Congratulations, Copycat, you've managed to make "The Human Centipede" look like a heartwarming tale of connection and friendship.
Character Development: As Deep as a Puddle of Spilled Milk
Let's talk about our cast of characters, shall we? First up, we have Olive, our geriatric pet owner extraordinaire. Her character arc is about as impressive as a cat's ability to follow commands – which is to say, nonexistent. She starts as a lonely old lady who can't properly care for a pet and ends as... a lonely old lady who can't properly care for a pet. Character growth? Never heard of her.
Then there's Mae, Olive's daughter, who's about as charming as a hairball on your pillow. Her solution to every problem seems to be "kick the cat out," which makes you wonder if she's secretly working for a dog propaganda machine.
And let's not forget our protagonist, "Dawn." Poor kitty goes through more trauma than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, yet somehow comes out of it all thinking, "You know what? I should totally go back to the person who abandoned me in the wilderness." If that's not character development, I don't know what is. (Spoiler: It's not.)
Narrative Structure: A Tangled Ball of Yarn
The game's narrative structure is about as coherent as a cat's 3 AM zoomies. It starts off slow, lulling you into a false sense of security with its "aww, cute kitty" moments. Then, faster than you can say "pspspsps," it takes a hard left turn into Depressville, population: you.
The pacing is more erratic than a cat on catnip. One minute you're happily exploring Olive's house, the next you're fighting for survival in the mean streets (or should I say, mean parks) of wherever-the-hell you got dumped. It's like the developers couldn't decide if they wanted to make a cozy pet sim or a hardcore survival game, so they just shrugged and said, "Why not both?"
Gameplay Mechanics: As Smooth as a Cat's Hairball
Now, let's dive into the nitty-gritty of actually playing this emotional terrorist simulator. The game boasts about its "choice-based gameplay," but let me tell you, your choices matter about as much as a cat's opinion on your new curtains.
You'll spend a good chunk of your time navigating through dialogue options that seem important but ultimately lead to the same outcome. It's like being a cat trying to choose between two identical food bowls – no matter what you pick, you're still eating the same boring kibble.
The exploration segments are a mixed bag. On one paw, it's kind of fun to scamper around and interact with the environment. On the other paw, the camera sometimes decides to go on its own adventure, leaving you disoriented and questioning your life choices – much like a real cat after spinning in circles chasing its tail.
And don't even get me started on the stealth sections. You'll feel about as sneaky as an elephant in a china shop. The AI of the other animals is so unpredictable, you'll swear they're actually controlled by real cats walking across keyboards.
Graphics and Sound: A Feast for the Senses (If You're Into Pain)
Credit where it's due – the game looks pretty good. The environments are detailed, and the cat animations are spot-on. It's a shame they're used to depict scenes that'll make you want to curl up in a ball and never pet a cat again. The attention to detail is impressive – you can almost smell the despair wafting off the screen.
The sound design is equally impressive, perfectly capturing the soul-crushing despair of being a homeless feline. The voice acting for the narrator deserves a special mention. It's so dramatically over-the-top, it makes Shakespeare sound like a casual conversation. Every "meow" is delivered with the weight of a thousand tortured souls, which, to be fair, is pretty accurate for most cats at dinner time.
Replayability: Like Trying to Bathe a Cat... Repeatedly
In theory, Copycat offers multiple endings and different paths to explore. In practice, it's about as appealing as trying to give your cat a bath for the second time. Sure, you could go back and try to make different choices, but why? To see if you can make Dawn's life even more miserable? To check if there's a secret ending where everyone gets therapy and learns to make healthy life choices? (Spoiler: There isn't.)
The achievements are there for the completionists, but getting them all feels less like an accomplishment and more like a cry for help. Congrats, you've seen every possible way to traumatize a virtual cat. Maybe it's time to go outside and touch some grass... or pet a real cat, if you can still look at one without bursting into tears.
Conclusion: A Catastrophe or Purr-fection?
Look, I get it. The developers were trying to tackle some heavy themes here. Animal abandonment, the cycle of abuse, the complex relationships between pets and owners – all worthy subjects. But holy catnip, did they miss the litter box on execution.
If you're a glutton for punishment or just really hate yourself, then by all means, dive into Copycat. It's a beautifully crafted guilt trip that'll leave you questioning every life choice you've ever made, especially the one to play this game.
For everyone else, maybe just go pet your actual cat. Or if you don't have one, volunteer at a shelter. Trust me, it'll be a lot less traumatizing than this feline fever dream.
Final Score: 7.6/10
We at NLM received a key for this game for free, this however didn't impact our review in any way. Our therapist bills, on the other hand.