The fear of cheating on an old faithful car

Even though itās just a hunk of metal (and whatever the inside is made of), I think Iām cheating on my car. Nonsensical as it may sound, fondness for inanimate objects is hard to avoid. No matter how much you say āwell, that hoover/kettle/brushpan set/underpants didnāt owe me anything, anyway,ā you feel guilty throwing it away.
This object may have been broken or scuffed, or torn years earlier, but it carried on and, like a three-legged dog, you loved it all the more for its imperfection. My car has many breaks, scuffs and tears, but the current problem is a failed NCT. Itās putting a strain on our relationship and my eyes have started to wander. Itās tearing me apart. This separation anxiety is idiotic. The 1997 Corolla is hardly sentient. But what will happen if cars become automated and drive themselves?