Pete's Expert Summary
So, my Human has brought a grim-looking plastic man-doll into my domain. They call him "Batman." He's a towering, 12-inch effigy of solemnity, all dark plastic and pointy ears, clearly designed to brood on a shelf. For a being of my refined taste, the primary appeal is obvious: the cloth cape. A dangling, swattable, and potentially shreddable piece of fabric is a classic feature that never fails. His 11 points of articulation mean the Human can pose him in various ridiculous "dynamic" positions, which I suppose could present interesting new angles for me to knock him over. Otherwise, he's just a large, stationary object. He doesn't squeak, he doesn't crinkle, and he certainly doesn't dispense treats. A passable distraction, but hardly a revolutionary addition to my collection.
Key Features
- 12-INCH ACTION FIGURE: With 11 points of articulation, it’s easy to pose this 12-inch Batman action figure into a variety of dynamic action poses. Create your own Batman pretend play adventures
- AUTHENTIC COMIC STYLING: This articulated action figure is highly detailed, featuring a cloth cape and comic styling that brings your favorite Batman toys to life
- COLLECT THEM ALL: Bring the excitement of Batman home Add Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, The Joker and more to your Batman toy figures & playsets collection (each sold separately)
- FANS AND COLLECTORS: This Batman 12-inch collectible Action Figure is a must-have Batman toy for fans and Justice League collectors
- GIFT FOR KIDS: Gifts for kids who love DC Super Heroes, Batman action figures, Justice League toys Superhero toys are the ultimate birthday, holiday and toy gifts for boys and girls
- 1 Figure
- Covered by the Spin Master Care Commitment. See below for full details
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It arrived in a transparent prison, this silent, dark figure. The Human freed him with a series of tears and rips that I found momentarily thrilling, then placed him on the end table next to my favorite napping sofa. A sentinel. He stood there, arms akimbo, his face fixed in a permanent state of disapproval that, I confess, I respected. He was a creature of the night, a watcher. We had that in common. For the first day, I simply observed him from afar, judging his stillness, his utter lack of engagement. He was an insult, a plastic pretender to my throne as the household's true nocturnal guardian. My investigation began under the cloak of twilight. I leaped silently onto the end table, my gray fur a shadow against the dark wood. We were face to face. His painted eyes stared blankly past me, toward some unseen injustice in the hallway. I gave a low, testing hiss. Nothing. I extended a single, perfect claw and gently hooked the fabric of his cape. It was thin, synthetic, and utterly delightful. I pulled, and he tilted backward, a silent, slow-motion fall cushioned by the arm of the sofa. He landed without a sound, his cape now draped awkwardly over his head. Victory felt... hollow. He hadn't fought back. There was no struggle, no thrill of the hunt. I left him there, a defeated king. But the next morning, he was back on the table, repositioned by the Human into a new pose—one leg forward, as if lunging. It was a challenge. And so our ritual began. Each night, I would find a new way to topple him: a head-butt from behind, a swift pat from the side, a complex maneuver involving a running leap from the floor. And each morning, he would be returned to his post, a silent, uncomplaining adversary. He is, I have concluded, the perfect sparring partner. He never truly loses, because he doesn't know he's playing. And he never complains when I sink my teeth into his cape, which makes him infinitely better than the Human's hand. He is a worthy, if witless, keeper of the end table.
