Pet technology is absurd, and I can't stand how much I desire it.

      Recently, one of my cats caught a bug, which led to a vet visit, blood tests, and left me about $135 lighter. In the end, it was just a regular fever. That’s good for the cat, but a bit embarrassing for me as I spent the following hours pondering whether a gadget could have helped me manage my panic more effectively.

      That’s the issue with pet technology. It may sound absurd until you experience one unusual symptom, a missed meal, or an unexpectedly quiet day. There are feeders that dispense meals via an app, collars that monitor escape artists, cameras for owners to watch nap times, and water fountains that track drinking habits, as if even the bowl warrants analytics.

      At CES 2026, a PETKIT fountain was highlighted for its camera and AI capabilities that monitor individual drinking behavior, perfectly illustrating how this category can appear both absurd and indispensable.

      My initial reaction is to dislike all of this. Then I recall that I have cats, which means I’m not observing this market from a safe intellectual distance; I’m directly involved in it.

      **PETKIT**

      **The business of reassurance**

      This is the annoying brilliance of these gadgets. They might seem luxurious, perhaps even absurd at times, but they target something more sensitive. They assure that workdays can feel less laden with guilt, routines can feel more stable, and emergencies can feel somewhat more predictable.

      None of this seems silly on its own. What is silly, however, is how quickly care transforms into a habit of constant checking. A pet camera starts off as a comfort, but within two weeks you’re scrutinizing footage of a cat strolling by the couch as if it holds vital clues.

      **Peace of mind, now billed monthly**

      The subscription aspect is where my fondness begins to sour. Purchasing a device is one thing, but shelling out every month for the privilege of feeling marginally less anxious about the pet already lounging in my home is another. For instance, Fi’s Mini GPS tracker operates on LTE-M, tracks activity and sleep, and comes with an annual subscription priced at $129.

      Yet, this is where the straightforward criticism falls apart. Cats are charming little oddities that excel at hiding issues until they escalate into expensive problems. One odd week of drinking, a missed meal, or an unusually quiet afternoon, and suddenly that seemingly pointless gadget starts to make a frustrating amount of sense. I can ridicule the camera all I want, but I know I’m the type of person who would check the app just to confirm that they’re alive, dramatic, and probably judging me.

      **The useful stuff is hard to mock**

      The distinction becomes blurry quickly. A gadget that pretends to replace attention, instinct, or a vet deserves skepticism. However, a device that assists with the mundane aspects of care is harder to criticize. Consistent feeding and early detection of potential issues are practical needs, even if the presentation makes them look like a startup just discovered pets.

      I don’t want my cats to become another dashboard, nor do I enjoy the thought of affection being reduced to push notifications and an additional monthly fee nibbling at my budget. But if a gadget helps me identify a problem early on, I know what will happen: I’ll charge it, give it a name, complain about it, and check the app like a hypocrite.