A photo of Pete the cat

Pete's Toy Box: Diamond Select

Diamond Select Toys Marvel Select Red Hulk 9-Inch Action Figure (Red)

By: Diamond Select Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human, in a fit of what I can only describe as arrested development, has acquired a large, crimson brute of a statue. They call it "Red Hulk" and seem very proud of its "new sculpt," which to me just means it has more angles to collect dust. It's supposedly a "bestselling" figure from a brand called Diamond Select, a name that implies a quality I have yet to see applied to my food bowl. While its primary purpose is clearly to loom menacingly from a shelf, I must admit some curiosity. Its nine-inch height makes it a satisfying target for a gravity experiment, and the mention of "16 points of articulation" suggests it can be contorted into amusingly undignified positions. The interchangeable fists are a bonus; small, detachable bits are the finest prey for batting under the heaviest furniture. It could be a monumental bore, or it could be a worthy adversary.

Key Features

  • Return of the bestselling Marvel Select figure
  • Completely new sculpt
  • 16 points of articulation
  • Stands approximately 9" tall
  • Interchangeable hands and fists

A Tale from Pete the Cat

It arrived in a clear plastic prison, a silent, furious, red giant. The human carefully liberated it and placed it on the desk, a new mountain in my familiar landscape of keyboards and mousepads. It stood there, fists clenched, muscles coiled, a monument to silent rage. An eyesore. Worse, it was positioned directly between me and my favorite afternoon napping spot: the warm patch of sun that hits the "important documents" tray. For a day, we were at a stalemate. I glared at it; it glared at nothing. A truly pointless creature. My frustration peaked on the second afternoon. The sunbeam was perfect, and this crimson buffoon was casting a long, obnoxious shadow right over my spot. I decided direct action was necessary. I leaped onto the desk, intending to give it a shove that would send it plummeting to the floor. As my paw made contact, however, something unexpected happened. Its arm didn't just resist; it pivoted at the shoulder with a soft click. I froze, paw still extended. I pushed again, this time at its elbow. Another click, another movement. This was no simple statue. This was a machine. A brilliant, devious idea began to form in my superior mind. The human had, for some reason, attached one of the alternate hands—an open, grasping one. It looked less like a threat and more like it was trying to catch a very slow ball. I ignored the sunbeam for a moment, my focus entirely on this new puzzle. With the delicate precision of a bomb disposal expert, I began to work. A nudge with my nose to its torso turned it slightly. A careful tap with my paw extended its arm. Another nudge angled the open hand directly towards the human's obnoxious, jangly keychain. The final move was a masterpiece of physics. A firm, calculated shove to the figure's base caused it to lurch forward just enough. The articulated arm swung, and the open plastic hand hooked the keychain, pulling it right off the edge of the desk. It landed with a delightful clatter on the hardwood floor, a prize I hadn't even known I wanted. I looked back at the Red Hulk, now posed as if it had just handed me a gift. The human would be confused later, but I knew the truth. This thing wasn't an adversary. It was an accomplice. A very useful, if unwitting, tool. It had earned its place on the desk. For now.
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Diamond Select Toys The Walking Dead Comic Series 1 7-Inch Rick Grimes Action Figure with 16 Points of Articulation (Black and White)

By: Diamond Select Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human seems to think that I, a being of supreme comfort and refined taste, would be interested in this... plastic effigy. It's a small, grim-looking man-doll from a company called Diamond Select Toys, rendered in the stark monochromatic austerity that, I must admit, complements my own formalwear. He stands a mere seven inches tall, which is a respectable size for batting off a shelf, and his purported "16 points of articulation" suggest he can be contorted into various states of undignified collapse. The most intriguing feature, however, is not the sullen man himself, but the small bag of what my human calls "weapons." To me, these are simply exquisitely-sized, potentially skittery floor-prey. The man is a mere vessel; the true prize is his tiny, lose-able luggage.

Key Features

  • Action Figurine of Rick Grimes: 7-inch action figure of the hero Rick Grimes with a bag to carry a variety of weapons from the hit comic book series - The Walking Dead
  • Scale and Height: This 1/10 scale action figure measures approximately 7-inch tall
  • 16 Articulation Points: This meticulously crafted figure boasts 16 points of articulation, allowing for a wide range of poses
  • Sculpted in Black-and-White: It comes in black-and-white to channel the feel of the groundbreaking comic
  • Packed in Window Box: The figure is carefully packaged in a full-color window box, making it not only a playable item but also a collectible piece for display

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The crime scene was the mantelpiece, a dusty plateau I reserve for judging the world below. That's where the human placed him, still trapped in his transparent prison. The box called him a "hero," but I saw only a suspect. He was a silent, stone-faced man, clad in shades of ash and bone, staring out with an intensity that suggested he'd seen things—probably the bottom of a food bowl. I watched from the arm of the sofa, tail twitching like a metronome counting down to an interrogation. My human, the warden, finally left the room, and my investigation began. With a leap that was nothing short of liquid poetry, I landed silently beside the box. I peered through the plastic film. He was carrying a satchel, a tiny bag that practically screamed "I contain objects of immense interest to felines." My human soon returned, liberating the suspect from his cell and posing him near the edge of the mantel. The fool. He positioned the man's arm to aim a tiny, harmless-looking object, then left again, satisfied with his grim little diorama. The suspect stood there, a silent challenge in my domain. I didn't rush. A true predator knows the value of patience. I circled him, sniffing the air. He smelled of nothing but industry and plastic—a professional. No history, no allegiances. I nudged his leg with my nose. He was rigid, unyielding. I gave a gentle pat with a paw, claws sheathed. He wobbled precariously. This was the moment of truth. This wasn't about play; it was about gravity, my oldest and most reliable accomplice. I gave him a firm, decisive shove. He toppled with a satisfyingly light *clack*, but his satchel, his bag of secrets, flew from his grasp and tumbled to the rug below. It burst open, spilling its contents: a delightful collection of small, hard-plastic shapes. Ah, so that was his game. He wasn't the prize; he was the delivery service. I hopped down, leaving the fallen "hero" to his fate on the mantel. My verdict was clear: the man himself is a bore, a stoic piece of junk. But his accessories? His accessories show promise. They skitter across the hardwood with a delightful sound, and one of them is already safely hidden under the radiator for a 3 a.m. celebration. He can stay. For now.
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Diamond Select Toys Invincible: Mauler Twins Series 4 Deluxe Action Figure

By: Diamond Select Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has procured what appears to be a pair of large, blue, and disproportionately muscular plastic men. Hailing from a company called "Diamond Select Toys," which sounds far more important than it is, these figures are apparently based on some loud animated program the human watches. They are of a substantial size, ideal for being swatted off a high shelf, and possess numerous "points of articulation," which is just a fancy way of saying they have joints I can test for structural failure. They come with a minuscule "energy cannon," an object so perfectly shaped for being lost under the heaviest piece of furniture that I suspect it was designed by a fellow feline. These are, in essence, static statues. Their only potential for amusement lies in their eventual, gravity-assisted demise, a fleeting spectacle that hardly seems worth interrupting a nap for.

Key Features

  • Based on the hit Prime Video animated series
  • Mauler Twins come with energy cannon
  • Figures measure 7"-8" tall
  • 14 points or more of articulation
  • Full-color window box packaging

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The Unboxing was, as usual, a ceremony of misplaced priorities. The human made cooing noises over the two blue brutes, freeing them from their plastic prison, while I, a connoisseur of fine corrugated accommodations, was far more interested in the box itself. It was a good box. Sturdy, with a crisp, crinkly window. But the human, in his infinite foolishness, placed the figures on the high kitchen shelf—the one directly overlooking my dining station. Then he posed them, their thick arms crossed, their scowling faces directed downward, right at my food and water bowls. My evening meal became an ordeal. I could feel their cheap, plastic eyes on my tuxedo-furred back. Every crunch of kibble felt... judged. Was I eating too quickly? Was my technique for lapping water not up to their standards? Their silence was more unnerving than any hiss or growl. They were the Mauler Twins, apparently, and now they were my mealtime overseers. I tried to ignore them, focusing on the savory chunks of tuna, but their presence was a palpable, silent critique of my very existence. One evening, I decided I’d had enough. This was my domain. I would not be intimidated by inanimate bullies. After finishing my dinner with a deliberate, slow dignity, I made the perilous journey to the countertop. From there, it was a simple leap to the top of the refrigerator, and a cautious, narrow walk to the shelf of judgment. I approached one of the twins, sniffing its oddly painted face. It smelled of nothing. It felt of nothing. I gave its oversized head a gentle *pat-pat-pat* with my paw. It wobbled slightly, its articulated neck joint offering a pathetic resistance. This was no great adversary. This was a hollow effigy. I gave its compatriot the same treatment. Then, with a flick of my wrist that was pure, elegant disdain, I hooked a claw into the small cannon accessory resting between them and sent it skittering off the edge. It landed with a tiny, insignificant *tink* on the floor below. I didn't bother to knock the figures themselves over; that would be giving them too much credit. I had disarmed them. I had proven their powerlessness. I left them to their silent, impotent watch as I leaped down to bat my new, tiny prize under the stove, where it would remain until the humans moved out. A small victory, but a satisfying one.
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Diamond Select Toys Marvel Select Sabretooth Action Figure

By: Diamond Select Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has procured another plastic effigy, this one a particularly garish specimen called "Sabretooth." Apparently, it is a seven-inch-tall monument to some fictional villain, which is redundant, as all non-feline creatures are villains in my story. It stands on a "Deluxe base," a feature I interpret as a direct challenge to my inherent desire to push things off high surfaces. Its main selling point seems to be "14 points of articulation," which means its limbs are floppy and can be batted into amusingly undignified positions. While the angry, sculpted face is a prime target for a swift paw-pat, this is ultimately a stationary object. It lacks the erratic, prey-like movement I crave, making it less of a toy and more of a long-term architectural problem I must solve.

Key Features

  • Stands approximately 7" tall.
  • A Diamond Select release!
  • Presenting a new take on a classic villain, this seven-inch action figure release features Wolverine's most hated enemy - sabretooth!
  • From the pages of Marvel Comics history, sabretooth is depicted with his classic costume and features a Deluxe base and multiple points of articulation
  • Designed by dig deep entertainment and sculpted by Gentle Giant, this is one heavy-hitting mutant you don't want to Miss!
  • Sabretooth is one of Marvel Comics' most famous villains
  • Sabretooth is a key player in Wolverine's comic adventures and the X-Men Origins: Wolverine film
  • Figure features a detailed facial sculpt, produced by Gentle Giant
  • Figure has 14 points of articulation
  • Stands 6" tall on base

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The new thing arrived in a transparent prison, smelling of factory dust and disappointment. The human carefully liberated the Furry Man-doll and placed it on the mantelpiece, a sacred space usually reserved for framed pictures of himself and fragile things he foolishly thinks are safe. This Sabretooth stood there, snarling, its plastic mane a mockery of my own impeccably groomed fur. It was an idol placed upon an altar, an affront to my authority. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail giving a single, contemptuous flick. My first overture was subtle. A graceful leap onto the mantel for a routine patrol, my tail "accidentally" sweeping across its back. The figure, securely pegged into its heavy base, didn't so much as shudder. It just stared ahead with its permanent, molded rage. The human, who had been watching, let out a small chuckle. And so, it became a matter of honor. This was no longer about gravity; it was a battle of wits. Over the next few days, I would use its articulated limbs against it. A delicate tap with my paw would reposition an arm into a jaunty wave. A head-bonk would tilt its torso as if it were peering over a fence. Each morning, the human would dutifully "fix" my artwork, resetting the doll to its original, aggressive posture. He thought it was a game. He did not understand this was a siege. The campaign's climax came on a quiet Tuesday evening. The human was engrossed in his glowing rectangle, the room filled with the soft drone of a nature documentary. I had observed the figure’s weak point: the joint connecting its feet to the base was its only true pivot. I took a running start from the bookcase, a silent gray blur. My leap was perfect, landing squarely behind the doll. Instead of a brutish shove, I applied precise pressure with my forehead to the back of its head. It tilted, fought the plastic peg for a moment of glorious tension, and then, with a soft pop, the figure detached from its base and tumbled onto the plush rug below. I hopped down, victorious. The Furry Man-doll lay prone, its articulated limbs splayed in surrender. The base remained on the mantel, an empty stage where a tragedy had unfolded. I nudged the defeated figure with my nose, then hooked a claw into its gaudy yellow costume and began the long, satisfying drag toward the dark, dusty kingdom beneath the couch. It wasn't a thrilling chase, no, but it was a conquest. A worthy, if stationary, opponent that provided a fine week's entertainment. It is now my prisoner of war.
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Diamond Select Toys Marvel Select Sue Storm 7-Inch Action Figure with 16 Points of Articulation and Interchangeable Features

By: Diamond Select Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

It appears The Staff has procured another plastic effigy, this one a slender female figure in a rather snug uniform. They mumble something about a "Sue Storm" and her "invisibility," a concept I perfected years ago whenever the vacuum cleaner appears. At seven inches tall, she's a respectable size for batting off her designated perch on the Forbidden Shelf. The promise of "16 points of articulation" is mildly intriguing; a posable adversary is far more sporting than a static one. However, the real prize is likely the "interchangeable parts." Small, detachable pieces are the caviar of floor-level prey, and I suspect these will provide a far more satisfying hunt than the doll herself ever could.

Key Features

  • Stands approximately 7" tall
  • 16 points of articulation
  • Interchangeable parts and accessories
  • Designed by Eamon O'Donoghue
  • Sculpted by May Thamtarana

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The Curator—my human—placed the new offering on the Great Shelf, a place usually reserved for hard-backed sleeping surfaces and objects too precious to be properly tested for their aerodynamic properties. The plastic woman stood there, frozen in a pose of what I assume was meant to be heroic readiness. I watched from my throne on the armchair, unimpressed. Another sentry for the dust bunnies. I gave a dismissive tail-flick and closed my eyes, feigning a nap. It was, I decided, a static bore. Hours later, in the deep quiet of the afternoon, I leaped silently onto the desk for a closer inspection. The figure stood between a heavy bookend shaped like a metal bird and a pot containing a long-suffering succulent. It was a terribly staged scene, lacking any dramatic tension. On a whim, I extended a single, careful claw and nudged her elbow. It bent. I nudged again. The entire arm swung forward. My ears perked. This was no mere statue. This was a puppet, and I was the puppet master. A new purpose ignited within me. I was no longer a mere critic; I was a director. Over the next hour, I orchestrated a silent, dramatic masterpiece. With delicate nudges of my nose and paw, I repositioned The Protagonist. I had her recoil in horror from the succulent, its spiky leaves now the tentacles of a verdant monster. I twisted her torso and bent her knees so she appeared to be cowering behind the metal bird, peering out at some unseen terror beyond the edge of the shelf. The 16 points of articulation were not a feature; they were my script. I could convey fear, defiance, and despair with the slightest adjustment of a plastic joint. When The Curator returned, he merely glanced at the shelf, chuckled, and said, "Silly cat, you knocked over my new figure." He then committed the ultimate artistic sacrilege: he righted her, putting her back in that same, vapid, heroic pose. I watched, a low rumble in my chest. He didn't understand. He saw a toy. I saw a muse. Let him have his order. I knew that tomorrow, the curtain would rise again on my tragedy, my comedy, my silent, perfect play. This "Sue Storm" was not a toy to be swatted, but an actress to be directed. She was, I concluded with a slow blink, worthy of my genius.
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DIAMOND SELECT TOYS Lost in Space: Electronic Lights & Sounds B9 Robot Figure, Multi-colored, 10 inches, (AUG142281)

By: Diamond Select Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My Human seems to have acquired another plastic totem for his shelf of strange, unblinking figures. This one, a "B9 Robot" from a brand called Diamond Select Toys, is a clunky, multi-colored humanoid effigy standing a full ten inches tall—a rather imposing height for a dust-collector. It's advertised with "lights and sounds," which could be either a fascinating new source of laser-like dots to chase or an utterly vulgar interruption of my afternoon meditations. It is, by design, not a toy for felines. It is meant to be looked at, not pounced upon. Its primary value to me seems to be the "Try Me" window box it arrived in, which offers both a superior napping receptacle and a tantalizing button for me to command this new, noisy butler at my leisure.

Key Features

  • A Diamond Select Toys release
  • DST's first electronic robot toy
  • Robot stands 10" high
  • Features lights and sounds taken straight from the classic sci-fi show
  • Packaged in full-color, "Try Me" window box

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The monolith arrived on a Tuesday. It was a glossy cardboard rectangle with a transparent window, a prison displaying its captive. Inside, a strange, gray being with accordion limbs stood frozen. The Human called it a "collectible," a word I've come to associate with objects that are forbidden to be knocked off shelves. He placed the entire containment unit on the floor, and I began my formal inspection. As sovereign of this domain, it is my duty to assess all new arrivals for potential threats, nap-ability, and treat-dispensing functionality. This one offered a peculiar feature: a small circle on the box that said, "Try Me." A direct invitation. After the Human liberated the figure and placed it on the low media console, a tense silence filled the room. The robot stood motionless, its glass dome head reflecting my own sleek, tuxedo-clad form. It was an emissary from an unknown world, and I was the diplomat assigned to greet it. I leaped silently onto the console, my paws making no sound on the polished surface. I circled it once, my tail held low and steady. It did not react. It did not smell of mouse or bird. It smelled of plastic and, faintly, of the Human’s nostalgia. This was not a creature of my world. Remembering the invitation from its prison, I decided to initiate communication. I extended a single, perfect paw, claws carefully retracted, and pressed the small, almost invisible button on its torso. The effect was immediate and startling. The robot's chest cavity exploded in a flashing, strobing light show of red and yellow. A metallic, disembodied voice shrieked, "DANGER! DANGER! WILL ROBINSON!" My ears swiveled, my pupils dilated, but I did not flinch. This was not a threat; it was a report. This strange sentinel was warning me of the omnipresent dangers of this household—the terrifying roar of the vacuum monster, the sudden absence of the sun in my favorite napping spot, the existential horror of a food bowl that is merely half-full. I stared at the robot as its lights faded and it fell silent once more. I had misjudged it. It was not a toy to be batted or a rival to be hissed at. It was a watchman. A fellow guardian, albeit a stationary one, who understood the gravity of our situation. I gave it a slow blink, the highest honor one can bestow, signifying acceptance and understanding. It may be a useless plaything, but its periodic, frantic warnings would serve as a welcome, if dramatic, confirmation of my own worldview. It could stay.
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Diamond Select Toys Jean-Claude Van Damme (Blue Gi) Deluxe Action Figure

By: Diamond Select Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has acquired another plastic man-doll. This one, apparently some sort of "Jean-Claude," is a 7-inch effigy clad in a blue pajama-like garment. The packaging boasts of its "detailed sculpting" and "16 points of articulation," which means its limbs can be twisted into various undignified positions. For me, the figure itself is little more than a potential new obstacle to knock off the mantelpiece. However, the mention of "interchangeable parts and accessories" piques my interest. Small, easily lost pieces are the bedrock of any truly entertaining household disruption. While the doll itself is a monument to my human's questionable taste, its detachable bits could provide a few glorious moments of hide-and-seek, with me doing the hiding and him doing the seeking. It might just be worth waking up for.

Key Features

  • Inspired by some of JCVD's most famous film appearances
  • 16 points of articulation
  • 7" tall
  • Detailed sculpting and paint applications
  • Interchangeable parts and accessories

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The air in the living room shifted. A new scent—the sterile perfume of factory plastic and cardboard—had infiltrated my domain. From my vantage point atop the leather armchair, I watched my human perform his ritual of unboxing. He handled the small plastic man with a reverence I usually reserve for a freshly opened can of tuna. He positioned the figure, codenamed "Blue Gi," on the mantelpiece, a prime piece of real estate I had long ago claimed. Blue Gi stood there, fists clenched, frozen in a pose of absurd aggression. An intruder. Later, when the house was draped in shadow and the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator, my investigation began. A silent leap carried me to the mantel. I circled the subject. He was rigid, his painted-on eyes staring into a void only he could see. He smelled of nothing, a hollow man. I prodded his articulated leg with a curious paw. It gave way with a faint click. Sixteen points of vulnerability. This was information. The human, in his carelessness, had left a small box of evidence on the end table below. Inside, a gruesome collection of spare heads and hands. A criminal's toolkit. But brute force is for the unsophisticated. Knocking him to the floor would be a fleeting pleasure, a crime of passion. I am an artist of subtle chaos. I selected a single, disembodied, open-palmed hand from the evidence box and carried it carefully back to the scene. I then set to work on the subject himself. Using my nose and the precise application of paw-pressure, I began to reposition Blue Gi. A bend at the waist here, a twist of a leg there. The "16 points of articulation" made him surprisingly compliant. When my work was complete, the fearsome martial artist was no more. He was now bent over at a ninety-degree angle, his head near the mantel's surface, one leg pointing straight up at the ceiling in a pose of extreme and comical distress. I placed the spare hand I had procured just in front of his face, as if he were contemplating it in his moment of crisis. The next morning, my human would find this bizarre sculpture. He would be confused, perhaps even annoyed, but he would not understand the message. It was a declaration: this is my house, and everyone in it, plastic or otherwise, is merely a prop for my amusement. The little man wasn't a toy. He was a canvas. And for that, he had earned my respect.
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Diamond Select Toys Invincible: Rex Splode Series 4 Deluxe Action Figure

By: Diamond Select Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has acquired another plastic effigy, this one apparently based on a character from that loud animated program they watch on the glowing screen. The manufacturer, Diamond Select Toys, seems to specialize in these static, posable dolls for overgrown kittens. From my perspective, the primary appeal is not the 7-inch figure itself, which seems destined for a life of collecting dust on a high shelf, but its accessories. The promise of an "alternate unmasked head" and "energy-charged hands" translates directly to "small, lightweight objects perfect for batting under the heaviest piece of furniture." While the main statue might serve as a decent scratching post in a moment of dire need, its true value lies in the tiny, lose-able pieces that my staff will foolishly leave within my reach.

Key Features

  • Based on the hit Prime Video animated series
  • Rex has alternate unmasked head and energy-charged hands
  • Figures measure 7"-8" tall
  • 14 points or more of articulation
  • Full-color window box packaging

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The box arrived with the usual fanfare—the human made cooing noises and carefully sliced the tape with a silver letter opener. I watched from my post atop the armchair, feigning disinterest. Another two-legged plastic man to stand sentinel over the bookshelf. This one, however, was different. The human, my so-called provider, removed him and began… assembling him. He twisted the doll's arms and legs, then popped off its head and replaced it with another, smaller one. My tail gave a single, involuntary twitch. This wasn't a statue. This was a puzzle. Once the human was satisfied with his grotesque creation, he placed it on the mantelpiece and left the room, presumably to fetch my dinner (he was running three minutes behind schedule). More importantly, he left the discarded parts on the coffee table: the original helmeted head and a pair of translucent blue hands, crackling with sculpted, impotent energy. I leaped down, my paws silent on the rug. The main figure on the mantel was the distraction, the decoy. The real prize lay scattered below. I approached the coffee table not as a cat, but as a bomb disposal expert. The blue hands were clearly the volatile components. I gave one a tentative pat. It skittered across the polished wood, a flash of sapphire lightning, before coming to rest near the edge. A perfect trajectory. I batted it again, harder this time. It flew from the table and disappeared under the antique credenza, a place no human hand could easily reach. A wave of deep, primal satisfaction washed over me. One device disarmed and secured. I then turned my attention to the helmeted head. It stared up at the ceiling with empty, painted eyes. It felt solid, a good weight. I nudged it, rolled it, and finally, with a deft flick of my paw, sent it spinning like a top. It was a most satisfying game, a test of physics and finesse. The large figure on the mantel could stay; he was a monument to my triumph. But his dismembered parts? They were my trophies. This "Rex Splode" was utterly useless as a whole, but brilliant in pieces. A truly successful deconstruction.
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Marvel Select Comic Iceman Action Figure

By: Diamond Select Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

Honestly, the Human bringing me a "toy" that is clearly meant for their own clumsy hands is a bit of an insult. This "Iceman" is a seven-inch piece of translucent blue plastic, which, I'll admit, has some potential for catching sunbeams in a visually stimulating way. It comes with its own little plastic glacier, which offers interesting angles for a strategic shove. The most appealing feature, however, is the "multiple interchangeable parts." Small, easily lost pieces are the lifeblood of any good game of "Where Did That Go and Why Is the Human Making That Annoying Panicked Sound?" It's likely destined to gather dust on a shelf, a tragic waste of potential, but if liberated from its plastic prison, it might just be worth waking up for.

Key Features

  • Cast in translucent plastic
  • Stands 7" tall
  • Ice slide diorama base
  • Multiple interchangeable parts
  • Display-ready Select action figure packaging

A Tale from Pete the Cat

It arrived in a transparent tomb, a shrine of thin plastic and cardboard that the Human handled with an infuriating reverence. He called it a "collectible," which I've learned is Human-speak for "expensive dust-magnet." He placed the entire sarcophagus on the mantelpiece, a monument to his poor financial decisions. For days, it watched me from its perch. A silent, blue man, frozen mid-stride on a shard of what my instincts told me was not water, but pure, solidified arrogance. I felt a professional rivalry brewing. He was icy and cool, but I am the master of aloofness in this domain. One evening, during a fit of what I can only describe as "re-organizing," the Human finally broke the seal. The scent of a Chinese factory filled the air, a disappointing perfume for such a mythic-looking figure. He assembled the man on his little ice ramp and, for a moment, left him on the living room rug. This was my chance. I approached not as a predator, but as a connoisseur of fine art. The late-day sun slanted through the window, striking the figure. It did not merely reflect the light; it captured it, splintering it into a thousand tiny, shimmering blue ghosts that danced on the floorboards. I was momentarily captivated. This was not a toy; it was a prism. I circled the statue, my soft gray form a stark contrast to its sharp, crystalline edges. Its face was a mask of grim determination, but its eyes were blank. A hollow god. I extended a single, white-gloved paw, claws meticulously retracted, and gave the base a gentle, testing tap. It slid an inch. The light patterns skittered across the room. Ah, so it *was* interactive art. I gave it a more purposeful nudge with my nose. The figure tipped, slid down its own pre-packaged glacier with a faint *ziip*, and landed perfectly upright on the rug. We stared at each other. He, with his vacant, icy gaze; me, with the profound understanding of a true critic. The Human, of course, snatched it away and returned it to the dreary prison of the mantelpiece. But he was careless. He left behind a small, alternate hand, balled into a tiny, blue fist. I waited until the house fell into the deep silence of night, then I hopped onto the coffee table. The fist was my tribute, my critic's choice award. I batted it from the table, chased its skittering form across the floor, and finally, triumphantly, nudged it into the dark abyss beneath the television stand, where all true treasures are kept. The statue can keep its cold vigil on the shelf; I have claimed its soul. It was a worthy, if temporary, exhibit.
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