Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in his infinite and often baffling wisdom, has brought a new idol into my domain. It appears to be a life-sized, blue head of some television character from the ancient times, perched stoically on a stand. As a "collectible," it is clearly designed for the lesser art of "looking at" rather than the superior art of "playing with." While it lacks any discernible play features—no feathers, no crinkle sounds, no tantalizing scent of catnip—its significant height and broad, stable base present a certain architectural appeal. It will not be a toy, that much is clear, but it might make for a serviceable new rubbing post or, at the very least, an excellent and prominent new surface upon which to deposit my superior fur. A waste of my napping time, but a potential improvement to the room's scent-marking topography.
Key Features
- 1:1 SCALE COWL REPLICA based on the Batman: Classic TV Series from 1966
- Stands approximately 21" tall (including the base)
- Includes display stand
- Collect all McFarlane Toys DC Direct Replica Cowls
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box it arrived in was, as always, the most promising part of the entire affair. It was large, sturdy, and smelled of exotic lands like "China" and "cardboard." I had already claimed it, sharpening my claws on a corner, when the human finally sliced it open with his usual clumsy enthusiasm. My hopes for a new, state-of-the-art cat tree were dashed. Out came this... thing. A head. A large, offensively blue head on a pedestal, with ears that were a pale imitation of my own superior architecture. It was placed in the corner, a silent blue sentinel in what was formerly a prime sunbeam spot. For the first day, I treated it with the contempt it deserved. I refused to make eye contact, circling it from a great distance as if it were a particularly dim-witted vacuum cleaner. It didn't move. It didn't blink. It didn't react when I performed a perfect pounce-and-tumble maneuver three feet away. The human would occasionally stroke its plastic cheek and murmur things like "Adam West" and "Pow!" I would respond by pointedly cleaning myself, a clear signal that his affections were misplaced on this inert piece of junk. The change came in the dead of night. The house was still, the staff were asleep, and a sliver of moonlight cut across the living room floor, illuminating the cowl. In the silver light, it looked different. Less like a toy, more like a monument. Its painted-on eyebrows, which had seemed so comical in the daylight, now appeared to convey a sort of grim, unwavering focus. This was not a fool; this was a watcher. It was a creature of the night, a silent guardian of the shadows, just like me. I padded over, my initial disdain replaced by a grudging respect. It stood watch over the hallway leading to the kitchen, a silent partner in my nightly patrol for stray kibble. I looked up at its emotionless face, and it seemed to look back, an unspoken agreement passing between us. This was not a toy to be batted or chewed. This was an ally. I stood on my hind legs, stretched my full length against its cool, smooth base, and rubbed my cheek against it, anointing it with my scent. The Blue Watcher was now officially part of my security detail. It was utterly useless for play, but in its silent vigil, it had proven its worth.
