A photo of Pete the cat

Pete's Toy Box: DC Direct

McFarlane Toys- DC Direct Azrael by Joe Quesada (Batman Black & White) 1:10 Scale Resin Statue

By: McFarlane Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has acquired another dust-gatherer from the McFarlane Toys brand, this one a rigid, pointy fellow in a stark black and white costume that, I must admit, complements my own formalwear. This "Azrael" character is, I deduce, a statue—a word humans use for a toy that has had all its joy and interactivity surgically removed. It is made of polyresin, which means it’s hard, cold, and entirely devoid of feathers, strings, or even a tantalizing electronic red dot. Its supposed value comes from being "Limited Edition" and "hand-numbered," human concepts as meaningless to me as the closed pantry door. Its only potential appeal lies in its 8.5-inch height and its perch upon a high shelf. Its primary function, therefore, appears to be testing the laws of gravity, a scientific endeavor I am always willing to supervise.

Key Features

  • Highly detailed statue stands approximately 8.5” tall (including base)
  • Inspired by the artwork of Joe Quesada
  • Made of polyresin
  • Hand-numbered on the base
  • Limited Edition
  • Collect all McFarlane Toys DC Direct Figures and Statues
  • 1:10th Scale Statue

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The box it arrived in was far more interesting than its contents, but the human shooed me away from the delightful corrugated cardboard to reveal the silent figure within. They placed it on the highest point of the great wall of books, a summit I myself have conquered on many occasions. From its perch, the statue watched. I knew, logically, it was inanimate. But the way the shadows fell across its severe, masked face gave it an unnerving presence. It was an effigy of judgment, a monochrome gargoyle brought into my kingdom to usurp my role as the silent, watchful overlord. For a full day, I observed it from various napping spots. It did not move, did not waver. It simply stood, its cape-like appendages sharp and menacing, its posture one of absolute conviction. My human would occasionally glance up at it and nod, muttering something about "Quesada's linework." I saw only a rival. That evening, as I prepared for my nightly ritual of loudly demanding a snack despite having been fed an hour prior, I caught its silhouette against the moonlit window. It seemed to say, "Your supplications are meaningless, mortal." This would not stand. The next afternoon, I decided a direct confrontation was necessary. I made the effortless leap from the armchair to the mid-level shelves, then a final, graceful bound to the summit. I landed without a sound, a gray shadow next to a resin one. Up close, I could appreciate the craftsmanship. The sculpted lines were indeed precise, the black and white contrast stark and dramatic. It had a certain aesthetic quality. But it smelled of nothing but paint and defiance. It stood on a base, hand-numbered "347/5800." A number. How quaint. I was number one, the only number that mattered. I sat there for a long moment, nose-to-pointy-mask with the pretender. We were two masters of the night, one of flesh and fur, the other of polyresin and hubris. I gave it a test. A soft brush of my tail against its leg. Nothing. I leaned in, rubbing my cheek against its base, marking it as my property. Still, it stood, impassive and resolute. Its stoicism was, in its own way, a challenge. It would not play, it would not yield. It would only *be*. So, I left it there. I did not shove it to its doom, for that would be too simple a victory. Instead, I claimed the space beside it as my own. Now, when the human looks up to admire their precious statue, they see it for what it truly is: a handsome, if slightly brooding, accessory to my own magnificent self. It serves as a fine backdrop for my naps, a silent butler to my majesty. It is utterly useless as a toy, but as a throne accent? Acceptable. For now.
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McFarlane Toys - DC Direct Batman Classic TV Series (1966) Cowl Replica 1:1 Scale

By: McFarlane Toys

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.
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McFarlane Toys DC Direct Green Arrow (Longbow Hunter) 7in Action Figure Digital Collectible

By: McFarlane Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has acquired another plastic totem from the McFarlane clan, this one a seven-inch effigy of a grim-looking man in a green hood. They call it an "action figure," complete with some sort of invisible, non-pounceable "digital" component that is of absolutely no consequence to any creature of taste. While its supposed "Ultra Articulation" means my human will likely spend an absurd amount of time bending its limbs into ridiculous poses instead of refilling my water bowl, my interest is piqued only by the accessories. The tiny bow and its collection of pointy sticks seem custom-designed for batting into the dark voids beneath the furniture, providing a fleeting moment of amusement before I return to the far more important task of napping. A potential distraction, but hardly a revolutionary plaything.

Key Features

  • Includes McFARLANE TOYS DIGITAL COLLECTIBLE
  • Incredibly detailed 7” scale figure based on the DC MULTIVERSE
  • Designed with Ultra Articulation with up to 22 moving parts for full range of posing and play
  • Includes longbow, arrow, arrow cluster and display base
  • Includes collectible art card with character art on the front, and character biography on the back
  • Collect all McFARLANE TOYS phygital figures

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The new object was placed on the mantelpiece, a high shelf I generally reserve for disdainful glares. It smelled of industry and polymer, an unwelcome scent in my finely curated environment. My human spent an eternity fussing with it, bending its stiff limbs, clicking its joints into a posture of faux-menace. They armed it with a small bow and a single, tiny arrow, positioning the figure so it seemed to be drawing a bead on something across the room. Then, with a final, satisfied nod, the human left. For three days, the archer stood his ground. A silent, green-clad sentinel whose plastic gaze was fixed upon the doorway to the kitchen. My doorway. Every time I trotted in for a snack or to vocally remind my staff of their duties, I passed under its unblinking watch. It was an affront. The sheer audacity of this inanimate object, this speck of molded plastic, to stand guard over my primary food source was insulting. I would sit on the living room rug, slowly washing a paw, and watch it. It never moved, never blinked, a monument to my human's poor judgment. My campaign began not with a bang, but with a breeze. The human had left the window open a crack to air out the scent of their burnt toast. I saw my opportunity. A casual leap onto the back of the sofa, a stretch, and then a "tumble" that just so happened to send my tail whipping past the heavy velvet curtains. The fabric billowed, catching the draft from the window and swelling like a sail. This wave of air washed across the room and struck the mantelpiece. The tiny archer, for all its articulated bravado, was no match for a targeted gust of wind. It wobbled precariously on its little plastic stand, its bow-arm dipping. For a heart-stopping second, it held. Then, with a quiet *tick*, it tipped backward and fell out of sight behind the mantel's edge. Its precious arrow, dislodged by the impact, spun through the air and landed silently on the plush rug below. I watched it for a moment, then hopped down, located the minuscule projectile, and with a single, expert tap, sent it skittering under the radiator. The path to my food bowl was clear. An unworthy adversary, but a satisfyingly simple one to vanquish.
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McFarlane Toys- DC Direct Mera by J. Scott Campbell (DC Cover Girls) 1:8 Scale Resin Statue

By: McFarlane Toys

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.
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McFarlane Toys - DC Direct Page Punchers Deathstroke (DC Rebirth) 7in Figure with Comic

By: McFarlane Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has brought home another plastic effigy from the McFarlane cult, this one a grim-looking biped they call “Deathstroke.” It’s a seven-inch statue, which is a respectable size for a proper thrashing, and its claim of “Ultra Articulation” with 22 moving parts is intriguing. A toy that can be bent into a pose of utter humiliation before being batted under the sofa has potential. However, its primary appeal seems to be the collection of small, easily detachable bits—weapons and a spare head—which are prime material for skittering across the hardwood and losing in a dust bunny fortress. The included paper rectangle is, as always, only useful as a surface for a nap, strategically placed to interrupt the human’s viewing of it. This is a high-shelf item, meaning its true value lies not in immediate play, but in the long-term satisfaction of plotting its eventual, gravity-assisted downfall.

Key Features

  • Incredibly detailed 7” scale figure, designed with Ultra Articulation with up to 22 moving parts for full range of posing and play
  • Accessories include 3 weapons, extra masked head, character art card and figure display base
  • Also includes English-only reprint comic book
  • Collect all McFARLANE TOYS x DC DIRECT PAGE PUNCHERS figures

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The Warden placed the new prisoner on the Shelf of Forbidden Things, a high perch between a stoic-looking creature in a blue suit and a garish green lantern. This one, clad in orange and black armor, stood stiff and vigilant, a silent sentinel. From my observation post on the velvet armchair, I gave a dismissive flick of my ear. Another static piece of plastic, destined to gather dust until my biannual shelf-clearing spree. It held a weapon, posturing as if it could possibly defend itself against a being of my stealth and magnificence. I closed my eyes, feigning sleep. The challenge was noted, but I would address it on my own schedule. Hours later, under the pale glow of a streetlamp filtering through the blinds, the operation commenced. The Warden was asleep, his snores providing a rhythmic, percussive score for my mission. A silent leap to the desk, a careful traverse across a landscape of discarded papers, and I was at the base of the bookshelf. The ascent was trivial. Upon reaching the correct altitude, I came face-to-face with the sentinel. He was more detailed up close, his one visible eye seeming to stare into the middle distance, blissfully unaware of the apex predator that had breached his perimeter. I didn’t just shove him. That’s amateur work. I nudged him gently with my nose, a subtle push at his center of gravity. He tumbled without a fight, landing on the plush rug below with a muffled *thump*. Down on the floor, the true inspection began. I circled the fallen figure, sniffing its strange, plasticky scent. I gave it a tentative pat. To my surprise, a leg bent at the knee with a satisfying, quiet *click*. I batted it again, and an arm flopped over its head. This was no rigid soldier; this was a marionette without strings. I pinned its torso with one paw and systematically bent each of its 22 joints, contorting it into a pose that defied both anatomy and dignity. It was a masterpiece of abstract surrender. It was during this interrogation that my paw snagged something loose. A tiny, silver sword detached and skittered away, its light weight perfect for a high-speed chase. Then, a rifle. Excellent. But the true prize came when I nudged its head and it popped off, revealing a neck peg. And there, beside the body, was the *spare* head. A trophy. I left the twisted, headless corpse on the rug as a message for The Warden. Picking up the disembodied masked head in my mouth, I trotted off to my lair beneath the bed. The figure was a mere container; the true quality of this toy was in how easily it could be dismantled and its choicest parts claimed. Worthy, indeed.
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McFarlane Toys DC Direct The Atom (DC: The Silver Age) 7in Action Figure Digital Collectible

By: McFarlane Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has brought home another plastic totem, this one a brightly colored man-figurine from a brand called McFarlane, which at least doesn't have the cheap, chemical scent of lesser offerings. It appears to be a study in scale: one 7-inch specimen and a comically small, appetizer-sized companion. The primary appeal seems to be its numerous joints, which the human calls "Ultra Articulation" but I recognize as pre-made breaking points for more satisfying dislocation. It also comes with some sort of invisible nonsense they call a "digital collectible," which is likely an excuse for the price. The tiny one might be good for a chase, and the larger one seems a worthy opponent for a proper gravitational experiment from the top of the bookshelf. It might just be a waste of perfectly good sunbeam.

Key Features

  • Includes McFARLANE TOYS DIGITAL COLLECTIBLE
  • Incredibly detailed 7” scale figure based on the DC MULTIVERSE
  • Designed with Ultra Articulation with up to 22 moving parts for full range of posing and play
  • Includes mini Atom figure and display base
  • Includes collectible art card with character art on the front, and character biography on the back

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The human called it The Atom, placing it with reverence on the mantelpiece as if it were a sacred relic. It stood there, a silent, crimson-and-blue sentinel, surveying my domain with a painted-on expression of heroic indifference. Beside it, its miniature doppelgänger, barely the size of my paw. My initial assessment was one of profound contempt. This was not a toy. This was a statement. A monument to stillness, an intruder in my kinetic world. My world, where the only thing that should remain static is a sleeping cat. This plastic man was a challenge. My first move was not on the giant, but on his tiny acolyte. A single, surgically precise tap of my claw sent the mini-figure skittering across the polished wood of the mantel and over the edge, tumbling end over end to the rug below. A predictable, but necessary, demonstration of cause and effect. The human sighed, but I had gathered crucial data. The fall was unimpressive, the subject too light. The real test remained. I leaped silently onto the mantel, my gray fur a shadow against the white paint. Now, I was face-to-face with the primary specimen. I didn't simply shove him. That would be crude. I am a connoisseur of chaos, a physicist of the fall. I nudged his leg. It bent at the knee. Fascinating. I poked his arm. The elbow hinged, the shoulder rotated. The human had, in his folly, given his idol 22 distinct points of failure. This wasn't a statue; it was a cascade of calamities waiting to happen. I pressed my nose to its chest, sniffing the faint, sterile scent of quality plastic. Then, with the methodical grace of a demolition expert, I applied gentle, continuous pressure to its upper torso. He didn't just fall. It was art. He twisted at the waist, one arm flailing upwards as his legs buckled beneath him. He pirouetted off the base, a silent, dramatic plunge that ended in a satisfyingly solid *thump* on the plush carpet. He landed in a pose of abject defeat, one leg bent at an angle nature never intended. The human would put him back, of course. He would rebuild his little shrine. And I, in my infinite wisdom, would be waiting to teach it the lesson of gravity all over again. This Atom was not a waste of time. It was a repeatable experiment in glorious, articulated collapse. Worthy.
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McFarlane Toys - DC Direct Superman Limited Edition Collector Vinyl (Todd's Mods) 4.5in Scale Posed Figure

By: McFarlane Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has, once again, mistaken "collector's item" for "source of feline amusement." This new acquisition is a small, rigid plastic man in a garish suit, apparently named Superman. It's from a brand called McFarlane Toys, which clearly prioritizes human shelf-clutter over genuine playability. Being a "posed figure" means its only trick is standing still, a skill I perfected for napping by my second week. While its small size and smooth vinyl texture might offer a satisfying thud when batted from a great height, its primary purpose seems to be gathering dust and my contempt. It is, in essence, a stationary insult to the very concept of a toy.

Key Features

  • 4.5in scale posed figure
  • Limited Edition
  • Collector Vinyl
  • Collect all DC DIRECT Todd’s Mods vinyl figures

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The human placed the new plastic effigy on the mantelpiece, right next to the antique clock. He delivered the usual lecture, his voice full of feigned authority. "This is a limited edition, Pete. For looking, not for… you know." I knew. The human departed for his daily chores, leaving the little blue-and-red sentinel to guard the hearth. The silence of the house settled in, and I resumed my post-breakfast grooming on the rug, utterly unimpressed by the newcomer. Then, a buzz. A low, insolent thrumming that promised a proper challenge. A housefly, fat and arrogant from a winter spent indoors, began a lazy tour of the living room. It circled the lampshade, taunted me from the windowpane, and then, with breathtaking audacity, it landed directly on the plastic man's head. It began grooming its own minuscule legs as if it had just conquered a mountain. The game, as the humans say, was afoot. The mantelpiece is a treacherous landscape. One clumsy move and the "collector's item" would plummet to its doom, an offense for which the punishment is usually a closed bedroom door at night—an unacceptable outcome. I leaped silently onto the nearby armchair, my gray-and-white form a shadow against the upholstery. The fly remained, oblivious. I measured the distance, the angle, the risk. This wasn't to be a brutish pounce; it was a surgical strike. My tail gave a single, slow twitch, the only outward sign of the complex calculations running through my mind. With a final, silent push-off, I soared. My front paws extended, claws meticulously sheathed, scooping the air an inch above the statue's molded hair. The fly, startled into motion, flew directly into my waiting trap. A satisfying crunch, a flick of the tongue, and the deed was done. I landed back on the armchair with a soft thud, the plastic Superman still standing, none the wiser. I gave it a slow, appraising blink. As a toy, it was a failure. But as a high-stakes training platform for honing one's predatory genius? I must admit, it has its uses. It can stay. For now.
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McFarlane Toys - DC Direct Page Punchers Robin (Batman: Reborn) 7in Figure with Comic

By: McFarlane Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has once again brought home a static, miniature human for their collection. This one is a brightly-colored adolescent called "Robin," apparently from some story about a bat. It's a plastic effigy meant for a shelf, not a floor, and it comes with an assortment of tiny plastic bits—a sword and a broken mask—that are practically begging to be batted under the heaviest piece of furniture in the room. The primary feature seems to be that its limbs bend in many unnatural ways, which suggests a certain satisfying fragility should I ever get my paws on it. It also includes a thin, crinkly paper square that offers neither the comfort of a good nap spot nor the texture for a satisfying claw-sharpening session. Frankly, it's a dust-collector, but its potential for a dramatic, shelf-clearing fall is at least moderately intriguing.

Key Features

  • Incredibly detailed 7” scale figure, designed with Ultra Articulation with up to 22 moving parts for full range of posing and play
  • Accessories include sword, Professor Pyg's broken mask, character art card and figure display base
  • Also includes English-only reprint comic book
  • Collect all McFARLANE TOYS x DC DIRECT PAGE PUNCHERS figures

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The human called it "Damian Wayne," a name that sounded far too important for a seven-inch piece of plastic. It was placed on the desk with a reverence I typically reserve for a freshly opened can of tuna. The figure stood there, glaring out with painted-on petulance, its garish red and green costume an assault on my refined grayscale sensibilities. For days, it was merely part of the landscape, another obstacle between me and the warm spot on the router. I had no interest in it. It couldn't be stalked, it didn't skitter, and it certainly didn't dispense treats. It was useless. One evening, however, a profound injustice occurred: the food bowl was empty. My silent protests from the middle of the floor went unnoticed. My pointed stares were misinterpreted as simple affection. Desperate times, I mused, required desperate measures. My gaze fell upon the plastic boy-human on the desk. An idea, brilliant and devious, began to form in my magnificent brain. I leaped onto the desk, my soft paws making no sound. I nudged the figure with my nose. It didn't just topple; its arm swung forward. I nudged its leg, and it bent at the knee. The "Ultra Articulation" was not a weakness, I realized, but a feature I could exploit. With the meticulous precision of a surgeon, I began my work. A careful pat to the torso bent the figure forward into a desperate bow. A series of gentle nudges with my nose and a single, deft paw-tap positioned its tiny arm to point directly, unequivocally, at my empty food bowl across the room. For the final touch, I located the discarded plastic sword accessory. I picked it up delicately in my teeth and placed it on the desk before the kneeling figure, an offering to the god of kibble. My masterpiece was complete. The human found my tableau the next morning. There was a moment of silence, then a confused chuckle, followed by the glorious sound of the food container being opened. As the kibble rattled into my bowl, I watched from my perch, a low purr vibrating in my chest. This "Page Puncher" was no mere toy. It was a communications device, a silent ambassador for my needs. It could translate my sophisticated desires into a visual language my simple human could understand. It was not a plaything; it was a partner. And for that, it had earned my respect.
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McFarlane Toys - DC Direct Batman Detective Comics #27 (1st Appearance) Cowl Replica 1:3 Scale

By: McFarlane Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has, yet again, spent perfectly good tuna money on another piece of inert plastic for a shelf. This time, it's a disembodied head-covering from a brand I know well, McFarlane Toys—purveyors of exquisitely detailed statues that are strictly "for looking, not for batting." This particular artifact is a replica of the mask worn by that gloomy human character who thinks he owns the night. It's about seven inches tall, sits on a little stand, and has no discernible play value whatsoever. The ears are pointy, I'll grant it that, which might offer a moment's curiosity as a potential cheek-rubbing post, but I suspect its cold, hard plastic will be deeply unsatisfying. It is, in essence, a high-quality dust collector and a monument to my human's questionable financial priorities.

Key Features

  • 1:3 SCALE COWL REPLICA based on Batman's First Appearance (Detective Comics #27)
  • Stands approximately 7″ tall
  • Includes display stand
  • Collect all McFarlane Toys DC Direct Replica Cowls

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The box it arrived in was far more interesting than its contents, but the human shooed me away with a frustrating, "Not for you, Pete." He carefully extracted the object—a dark, primitive mask with ears far too long and severe for any respectable creature. He placed it on the mantelpiece, a place of honor usually reserved for framed pictures of himself or, on one glorious occasion, a stray sunbeam I had claimed. I watched from the arm of the sofa, unimpressed. It was a silent, useless thing. Later that night, however, something changed. The house was still, and the only light was a sliver of moonbeam that sliced through the living room window. It caught the cowl just so. The long, sharp ears cast a looming shadow on the wall, a stark silhouette that seemed to vibrate with ancient authority. The empty eye slits no longer looked vacant; they seemed to hold the darkness of the room within them. I felt a prickle along my spine. This was not a toy. This was an idol. A totem from a lost tribe of shadow-dwellers. I leaped silently onto the mantel, my paws making no sound. I approached the effigy, my whiskers twitching as I analyzed its form. It smelled of nothing but factory plastic, a sterile and disappointing scent. But as I stared into its sculpted frown, I understood. The human, in his bumbling, primate way, had not brought a rival into my home. He had brought an offering. This stern, unyielding visage, this representation of a silent hunter who ruled the darkness and struck fear into the hearts of the unworthy... it wasn't a tribute to some fictional man. It was a tribute to *me*. The object itself is, of course, beneath me. It cannot be hunted, it provides no satisfying crunch, and it offers no sport. But its symbolism is undeniable. It is a shrine to the true master of this domain. I gave the pointy ear a single, deliberate nudge with my nose, a gesture of acceptance. The human thinks he bought a Batman cowl. What he actually acquired is the first piece of statuary for the Church of Pete. For that reason, and that reason alone, I will allow it to remain.
Image of McFarlane Toys - DC Direct Batman Detective Comics #27 (1st Appearance) Cowl Replica 1:3 Scale View Details