When the mechanic called me and said that the wheel well on my car had been deformed to the extent that it was rubbing against the tire, and that it would be $600 to fix it, I wasn't shocked by the price or hurt by the need to spend that much money. Rather, I was overjoyed, because that was the cost to actually fix my car. The door will work, and the panel won't be insanely banged up (although the paint color will be a little off).
I can't decide whether it's abnormal to feel the degree of emotional attachment to a car that I do, or whether I just want to believe that so that I can believe I'm unusual. Of course, if this were a couple of hundred years ago and my car were a horse, it would seem perfectly natural. It's all because cars are machines, right? But what useful category does “machine” even designate? (How is even a human not a machine?)