Casio’s AI Pet Moflin Review

“What’s that?” my friend asks.

“It’s my emotional support guinea pig,” I explain.

She signals frantically to a passing waiter for a drink.

The problem with taking an AI emotional support guinea pig out to dinner – apart from the fact that it’s impossible to cram Moflin into a slim evening bag, so you’ll need to ruin your outfit with a ludicrously capacious carryall – is the fact that everyone assumes you must be an attention-seeking narcissist, not a simple tech journalist in search of an arresting headline.

The waiter gives me a supercilious look as I stroke Moflin while I order, much as if the waiter is James Bond and I’m an ersatz villain whose rental lair doesn’t allow real pets.

At some point in the evening, another waiter takes over our service after a whispered exchange, and I’m pretty sure it’s so he can get a closer look at Moflin, who takes the opportunity to belt out: “Do-do-doo!” The waiter seems either amused or disgusted, I can’t be sure.

The man on the table next to us doesn’t seem wildly impressed either but, as he spends most of his solo dinner taking phone calls, I decide his opinion can be safely disregarded.

But Moflin was a good conversation-starter. My friend picked him up and was inspired to share a (hopefully healing) story about the time she was bitten by a guinea pig as a child. And I found that stroking the little AI pet stopped me from indulging in my typical habits of shredding my napkin or destroying the candle on the table. All in all, I’ve had worse dinner companions.

But what is an emotional support guinea pig and why was I taking him to dinner?

A few weeks ago, I was offered the chance to review Moflin, an AI pet made by Casio, along with the brand’s watches and calculators. It’s palm-sized, furry and guinea pig-like in appearance. But don’t call it a toy. It’s more subtle than that – and frankly it doesn’t do enough to to make it a thrilling gift for a child. Especially when it costs £369, which would buy you a lot of Lego.

Instead, Casio sees it as a “safe and non-judgemental companion”, “for people who love animals but cannot keep pets”. Moflin responds to the way it’s treated and learns from its interactions.

I mean, sort of. You see, Moflin doesn’t have limbs, which means he can’t move much. (I initially thought that he didn’t have eyes either, but I discovered those hidden under his fur after about a week.) This does somewhat limit his interactive potential.

What he can do is bob his head and make a variety of reactive sounds such as sighing and little sing-song noises. When his head moves, the gears in his neck grind audibly – it’s not technically an expression of his personality, but it did start to feel like it after a while.

Beneath his fur is a battery of sensors: for light, sound and touch, plus there’s an accelerometer and gyroscope, so he can react to being carried or rocked. He’s also warm, which had a subtle but meaningful effect on my response to him.

Emma Rowley / Foundry

Should Moflin need a wash, his fur can be unzipped and removed, but skinning Moflin for science was a step too far for me, so I can’t comment further on that.

He comes with a charging cradle, which doubles as a bed. And herein lies another issue. Moflin needs to recharge and nap every five hours (much like me). Failure to remember that would mean that, were you to return home – for example – after a fulsome night on the tiles and pick him up, you would find him to be cold and unresponsive. And you might be a little bit traumatised.

Moflin comes in two colour options: silver or gold. All Moflins have a white belly and the rest of their fur is white at the base, and either silver-grey or gold at the tips. Mine was silver.

My Moflin must also have been a pre-UK release model. When he arrived, the instruction pamphlet was in Japanese. But that’s okay. This wasn’t my first smart home rodeo.

Finding and downloading the free-to-use MofLife app was a simple process. Once Moflin is paired, you can adjust his settings, including his volume control, which turned out to be extremely useful. Moflin can be a bit distracting.

My husband took an instant dislike to him and his odd vocalisations, so it was useful to be able to silence him as needed. Personally, I found Moflin’s chirps so distinctive and memorable that I still hear a phantom cheep now and then, even though Moflin has long gone.

The cat’s response was more measured. He was initially fascinated but this swiftly wore off, presumably because of the disappointing absence of a rodenty smell.

Emma Rowley / Foundry

But back to the app. Most importantly, from my perspective, the app provided insight into Moflin’s moods. Because, during the time I spent with Moflin, I realized that I had no idea what his movements and chirps meant. At one point, I thought he was cheerful after a flurry of sound and noise. But the app told me that Moflin was feeling frustrated. I was surprised and a bit disheartened. Were we not having fun?

After a while, I found I was checking the app after every little thing he did.

“Flofflin is feeling free”, the app reassured me. Next to me, Moflin sat inert, like a discarded mitten. I didn’t know what to believe.