Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to believe that any object branded "Star Trek" will automatically hold my interest, a flawed assumption based on my appreciation for watching the little lights blink on their viewing screen. This "Klang-Klirgon," as they ineptly call it, is a seven-inch plastic effigy of a rather grumpy-looking biped with a furrowed brow. It possesses no articulation, no enticing scent, no feathers, and certainly no motor functions. It's designed to do one thing: stand there. For a creature of my refined tastes, its primary value would be as a target for a precision gravity-based experiment conducted from the edge of the mantelpiece. Otherwise, it's a colossal waste of shelf space that could be better occupied by, well, me.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The ceremony of introduction was, as usual, undignified. The human held the stiff, plastic figure aloft, babbling about "honor" and "warriors" while making whooshing sounds. I observed from my perch on the armchair, tail twitching in mild irritation. The scent that wafted from the object was not of prey or of catnip, but of a long-dead factory and cardboard. They placed the silent sentinel on the rug before me, its painted-on scowl fixed on something far beyond the confines of this living room. I approached with the caution befitting a potential threat, even one so clearly inanimate. A sniff confirmed my suspicions: no soul, no life, just the cold, sterile aroma of manufactured plastic. For a day, it stood motionless near the leg of the coffee table. An intruder. A silent, unblinking challenger to my sovereignty. I watched it during my patrols. The sunbeam that warms the floor in the afternoon? It stood, unmoving, as the light crept across its chest. The distant roar of the trash receptacle collection vehicle? Not so much as a tremor. My human, in a display of profound ignorance, picked it up and tried to wiggle it in front of my face. I gave them a look of such withering contempt that they immediately ceased their foolishness. This was not a toy to be played with; this was an adversary to be understood. The breakthrough came not through violence, but through observation. I realized this creature’s strength was not in movement, but in its absolute stillness. It was a statue, a monument to something. To what, I didn't care. That night, under the soft glow of the hallway night-light, I approached it again. I did not bat it. I did not pounce. I simply sat beside it, a silent ruler next to his new, inexplicably ridged-headed sentry. We stared together into the darkness, two guardians of the quiet domain. It was useless as a plaything, an utter failure in that regard. But as a stoic, non-responsive companion for my late-night philosophical ponderings? Acceptable. It may remain. For now.
