You are a cat. That’s it, that’s the pitch. You’re a cat who gets to do cat stuff all over the place, in a future-set cybercity inhabited by robots that don’t know or care enough to tell you otherwise. You can jump up onto couches, tables, counters, stacks of books, ledges, air conditioners, precarious beams, rooftops, literally anywhere you can reach. You can knock over bottles and cups and paint cans, push framed pictures off the walls, claw up rugs and sofas. You can meow incessantly. At this very moment, I’m taking a nap on the stomach of a robot wearing a cowboy hat, who is also taking a nap on a leather couch on a dingy neon-soaked street outside of a robot bar. My controller is purring. In Stray, You can do whatever you feel like all of the time like a proper feline, and you’re also the city’s best hope for salvation.