Let me start by saying this kind of thing is why I rarely have pets in the Sims games. It’s too upsetting when things go wrong!
At some point during the last batch of birthdays and toilet-befriendment, Margo grew into an Elder cat. As an Elder, she had stars spinning around her head.
This made sense to me, but it also made me sad because my last cat, Cinnamon, had feline dementia for the last few years of her life.
Cinnamon meowed a lot and often lost her bearings in the house, especially at night. I confined her to a single room at night at the vet’s suggestion. It helped with the disorientation, which she appreciated. Maybe she just liked how I always cranked up the heat in the room overnight in conjunction with a kitty cat heating pad. Maybe both!
There I was, feeling bad about an imaginary computer game cat when suddenly, things got much worse.
I was going to have Henry give Margo a little extra love. When I clicked on her, I noticed the “What’s wrong?” interaction.
Wait… could something actually be wrong with Margo?
The game informed me that Margo was sick and should be taken to the vet “immediately.”
This jolted me. I was about to rush Henry out the door when I realized he was starving, which I didn’t care about except that it might interrupt his vet visit.
I frantically made him eat a quick ham and cheese sandwich. OK, let’s go!
I clicked on Margo and selected “Take to vet.” No problem. The game cut to the map view and asked me to choose a location. Problem! I didn’t know where the vet was.
At this point, I realized I was sweating and starting to hyperventilate. I was in the early stages of a real-life panic attack. I left the computer, went into the TV room, and took a break with Marshall until my nervous system re-regulated.
OK. We’re back. Brindleton Bay—there must be a vet there, right? Yes, I found the Brindleton Pawspital.
When we arrived at the vet, Margo told Henry how much she loved him.
Then she vomited.
The cold, sick feeling this gave me! I tried to focus on my breathing and sent Henry inside to get her checked in at the kiosk.
- Why is it so dark in here? Is this a veterinary clinic or a romantic Italian restaurant?
- Options available at the kiosk include:
- Spay/neuter your pet: $100
- Un-spay/un-neuter your pet: $100
The game tells you to wait and be patient. GOOD LUCK WITH THAT. Henry decided to pass the time doing various stupid BlicBlock dances.
Henry was so committed to his BlicBlock dance that when the vet called his number, he ignored it. Poor little Margo had to go in on her own.
Sometimes I really hate how this game makes me feel stuff.
Margo hopped up on the exam table. The vet, Rafa Barredo, diagnosed her as having something called “Super-Duper Swamp Mouth.” The game gave me the following options:
- Basic Treatment ($150). Cure your pet with effective but somewhat uncomfortable treatment methods.
- Expensive Treatment ($750). Spare no expense and cure your pet with the best medicine available!
- Decline Treatment. Want your pet to tough it out? Have the vet perform no treatment and the pet will remain sick.
Having recently spent an absurd amount in real-life kitty cat dentistry, I, of course, chose Expensive Treatment.
Mr. Fluffypants also suffers from Super-Duper Swamp Mouth.
After the vet cured Margo’s Super-Duper Swamp Mouth, I had him give Margo a checkup. This gave me the option of giving her a Preventative Shot ($200), which “will prevent your pet from getting sick in the near future.” Obviously, yes. And if I had known about this, I would have been doing it all along.
Finally, we returned home. Margo was clearly feeling better. First, she took a dump.
Then, she and Henry spent some quality time on the couch together.
At which point, I saved and exited the game, then laid down with a cool washcloth over my eyes and wondered, “Why do I even play this game?”