Pete's Expert Summary
My human has, with their usual lack of foresight, acquired what appears to be a very expensive, very breakable cat-tipping hazard. This "Mera Statue," as they call it, is a creation from McFarlane Toys, a brand that seemingly exists to mock me with inert, un-pounceable figures. It's a tall, frigid sculpture of some redhead who apparently commands water, a substance I only find interesting when it drips slowly from a faucet. Made from polyresin, it has the cold, hard feel of a tombstone and the distinct disadvantage of being utterly inedible and unyielding to my magnificent claws. While its "limited edition" status might excite the simple primate I live with, to me it's just a gaudy, oversized paperweight whose only potential for entertainment lies in the spectacular crash it would make upon meeting the hardwood floor.
Key Features
- Highly detailed statue stands approximately 10.4” tall (including base)
- Inspired by the artwork of J. Scott Campbell
- Made of polyresin
- Hand-numbered on the base
- Limited Edition
- Collect all McFarlane Toys DC Direct Figures and Statues
- 1:8th Scale Statue
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The monolith arrived in a sarcophagus of cardboard, its unveiling a solemn affair I observed from my perch on the back of the sofa. The human placed it on the mantelpiece, a territory I had long ago claimed as my high-altitude patrol route. This new thing, this "Ceramic Siren," stood there, frozen in an arrogant swirl of solid water, her painted eyes staring into some middle distance that did not include me. An intruder. For the first hour, I simply watched, my tail twitching a rhythm of pure disdain. She was tall, regal, and completely silent. An affront to the natural, noisy order of the household. My first approach was one of reconnaissance. A silent leap brought me face-to-base with her. The air around her was still. I extended a paw, claws carefully retracted, and tapped the polyresin foundation she stood upon. It was cold, unnervingly so, and emitted a dull *thunk* that spoke of emptiness. She didn't flinch, didn't even acknowledge my presence. I circled her, sniffing. She smelled of packaging and paint, a sterile scent devoid of life or interest. This was no rival; this was an idol, a false queen placed in my domain. Her power, if any, was purely in the human's imagination. The next evening, during my customary post-dinner patrol, I decided to test her resolve. I walked the length of the mantel, my soft gray form a deliberate and graceful challenge to her static presence. I brushed against her, my fur leaving a few tell-tale gray hairs on her sculpted green attire. She did not move. I sat beside her, tucking my paws beneath my white-bibbed chest, and stared directly at her profile. I gave her my most withering, condescending glare, the one that usually makes the human question all their life choices. Nothing. She was an empty vessel. My final verdict came on the third day. I realized her true purpose was not to challenge me, but to simply *be there*, collecting dust. She was a silent, inanimate testament to my own vibrant, superior existence. In a final act of dominance, I turned my back to her and proceeded to meticulously groom my tail, a clear and deliberate display of utter indifference. The Siren could keep her cold, watery perch. She was an object, a piece of scenery in the far more interesting drama of my life. She wasn't worthy of my attention, but she did make the mantelpiece slightly more interesting to ignore.
