I am a cat person. I have never really cared much for dogs, and the presence of several very loud, very prone to barking dogs outside my apartment window for the last seven years has served only to sour me further on canine compatriots. I grew up with cats, two (irregularly quiet) Siamese cats and when I finally moved out of my college's repressive dormitories I adopted a tabby cat whose owners had cruelly thrown out to the streets, as the apartment they were moving to did not allow pets.

A month or two after taking in the cat (whom I eventually named Heike) I found out that she was pregnant and on Mother's Day six years ago, Heike quietly gave birth to three tiny little kittens underneath my bed. I found a good home for two of the kittens and kept the third, the obvious runt of the litter, to tend to.

These two kitties aren't quite the quiet, aloof Siamese cats of my youth - they're often as cloying and vocal as a young pup, but they have extremely distinct personalities and mannerisms that I constantly find endearing. Heike's eyes open wide when she wants something, but not to the extent where you can tell exactly what she wants. It's a blank sort of need that looks eternally youthful, despite her age falling squarely in the equivalent of her 40s. Cynica (the runt) is ever alert and resourceful. She's the sort of cat that gets into the cupboards, steals time on furniture she's not supposed to lay on, always batting around sundry items that fall to the floor (no matter whether they're toys or not). Despite how well I feel I know them, every day they always do something that takes me a bit by surprise: be it a new squint or gait, or even an especially intriguing chain of meows.

With my natural proclivity towards cats and aversion towards dogs, I'm retrospectively scratching my head wondering why I bothered to take a look at Nintendo's puppy love simulator for the DS, Nintendogs. I can't say I'm immune to the wily charms of a young puppy though, as many of them are infernally cute, even when yipping, a fact that hit me full-on immediately upon booting up the game. Three adorable little puppies filled the screen; they jumped and frolicked, rolled and tumbled. They move with an immediately recognizable fluid youthful exuberance that amazes, at least for an interactive portable game. The young dog's animations are energetic and incredibly realistic, and easily compensate for the slightly clunky visuals. More so, they're lively: at first look they appear very similar to flesh and blood puppies, tussling in a kennel.

With such a fooling appearance, you just can't help but to try and lavish them with attention. I tap the screen and they waddle over to me. I scrub the screen and the pup I'm petting responds accordingly, cocking its head to let me scratch under his ear, then flopping over to allow me to rub his tummy. It's sickeningly precious, and causes my face breaks into a wide grin, complete with a slight giggle.

They're just so damn cute!

I quickly decide to adopt a brown dachshund and already notice something is wrong: I didn't actually want to take in a long hair! Sure, maybe the puppy wasn't sleek but it didn't look like a longhair! Alas, I can't return this puppy - I had just named her Alita! Poor longhaired, unwanted Alita.

I feed her and give her water, take her for a short walk and even toss the ball around with her a bit. But mostly I pet her as she seems to love the attention, and seeing her react to my stylus is much more fulfilling than winning an obedience contest. But even I can't spend more than ten minutes doting on this pup. For the first few days of 'ownership', I rack up only about 15 minutes of interaction with Alita; a pathetically paltry number if I do say so myself.

It's not as if I weren't walking her or feeding her or anything. She was in fine shape! According to the details screen she was even feeling beautiful! However helpful the details screen may be, it does rather take the mystique out of owning a pet. To have a cheat sheet telling you exactly what they're feeling seems like a bit of a cop-out. After spending time with a real pet, you learn why they do their actions. You can tell by looking at them that they're hungry, that they want attention, whether they're thirsty, or whether they're just plain doing something they know they're not supposed to. It'd be nice if the same followed for Nintendogs, and occasionally the dog's needs are so obvious you won't need to consult the 'cheat sheet' (for example, if your dog is dirty you'll spot little fleas jumping off of its coat).

There are a few moments while caring for your Nintendog where you can immediately tell what your dog is going to do. When walking your dog, at least in Alita's case, she would always, always kind of bow and toss her head before emitting an insult or other bodily excretion. Similarly, Alita would always lick her hind paws after chowing down on some dry dog food. There is a thin line between a mannerism and obsessive behavior, and it appears that Nintendo felt inclined towards the latter.

Ignoring the more heavyhanded 'ticks' of your pet, there's the subtlety in raising a pet. Part of that is observational, but a good deal of that is straight-up interaction with them and sadly that's an area where Nintendogs surprisingly falters. The touch screen does make adoration a slightly more tactile experience than twiddling with a d-pad, but not by much. What appears to be the major hindrance is that you, as the owner, maintain a fixed position at all times. You cannot walk towards your dog, it has to come to you. You do not walk the dog, you hold its leash while it walks down the street. If you want to chase your puppy and roughhouse with it a bit, you're out of luck. The best you'll be able to muster is getting it to hop a bit while you wave your stylus above its head. Perhaps the most damning example of the game's static viewpoint is: if you let the DS go without input and watch your puppy from the top screen, the camera feels more like a security camera than that of a loving owner. Shot angles change more out of a timing necessity than a need to show you a better angle of your pup at play, not to mention that the angles displayed are utilitarian and sterile rather than aesthetically pleasing and flattering to your puppy. Sure, you can zoom in a bit closer, but eventually the camera will zoom out again, leaving the display with a cold and distant eye towards your pet.

To feel a bit closer to your virtual pet, you can train your puppy to respond to voice commands. One of the first tasks you're given post-adoption is to train your dog to recognize their name when spoken aloud. It's a neat trick but, it is really just a bit of chicanery. I taught Alita a few simple tricks, like to sit and shake, but quickly realized that there were stylus triggers that the puppy would recognize to perform a trick, so the vocal component is really just window dressing. It's a nice touch and great use of the DS's microphone, but nothing more than that.

In fact, the very same can be said for the entire Nintendogs package. I was initially afraid I'd become terribly attached to my virtual puppy and fret over it, caring for it over a span of months only to end up neglecting it like I did my poor Animal Crossing town, or my Seaman who never lived to utter his first sarcastic quip. I went as far as making sure to only rent Nintendogs, knowing that I could then pass along my pup to another 'owner' that could love him/her like I would. It turns out that I didn't have much to fear, as the two weeks I spent with Alita weren't rosy. There is so much we can learn by observing animals, especially animals at play, that it seems sad when the puppy mannerisms and actions in Nintendogs, as fluid and realistic as they are, fail to be insightful. When I'm playing with my cats, be it dangling a fishing rod-like device with a bundle of fake feathers as a lure or simply tossing them a plastic ring from a milk carton, I can see how play is effective for physical and mental growth. I can see the feral look in Heike's eyes as she hunches down on her haunches to try and 'blend in' with her environment and pounce on her prey. I watch how mother and daughter cats tumble and race across my apartment, partially making their own entertainment and partially training themselves with skills that will (in theory) aid them in future years. It's no different from the skill sets we try and hone by playing own video games and sports: puzzle solving, improved reaction response, increased dexterity and so on. I can see the twinkle in my cat's eyes as they live and learn, and while there's a slight spark in Alita's eyes, it's all too easy to remember that this is just a simulacra of a pet's identity, one that falls short, way short, of a believable pet.

The quirks and nuances of a pet is what gives them character, and while my little Alita had a semblance of character that caused her to be deathly afraid of anything that wasn't pungent sidewalk trash, character that provoked severe yipping whenever she heard a car drive by our virtual abode, the automaton-like reactions she'd give after eating or performing other bodily functions destroy the illusion that it's a real pet. Couple that with the fact that her mannerisms never felt to have meaning, that she exhibited no insightful quirks, the kind of unique motions that indicate life. It may be unfair to hope that a simulation game hits on par with the real thing, but Nintendogs fails to impart the strongest, most fulfilling and rewarding part of tending to a pet: being able to watch it grow and evolve into a creature of stunning depth and complexity, one that surprises and delights its owner as it educates itself through play and everyday interaction.

Also, I never claimed to love simulators. I just love my cats.