Pete's Expert Summary
So, the human has brought home a rival. It's a small, plastic rectangle that beeps incessantly, demanding attention for some pixelated 'monster' trapped inside. The premise is insulting; they already have a superior being to feed and train—me. Still, I will concede a few points of interest. It possesses a small chain, which could provide a moment's diversion, and its alleged ability to glow in the dark might make it a worthwhile target to bat off the nightstand. Ultimately, however, it seems like a tremendous waste of thumbs that could be better spent opening a can of tuna or scratching behind my ears.
Key Features
- The original virtual Monster you loved back in the ‘90s is back!
- Raise, feed, and train your Digimon. Its future depends on how well you prepare it for battle!
- Your Digimon will alert you when its hungry or requires more training
- Engage the exclusive dock ‘n rock feature and pit your Digimon in a digital battle against your friend’s Digimon
- With over a hundred different Digimon in each device, each battle has endless combinations and outcomes!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It arrived not with a roar, but with the crinkle of a plastic prison. The human called it a "Digimon," a name that sounded like a clumsy attempt at digital royalty. I watched from my velvet throne atop the bookcase as the human performed the daily rites, poking the tiny buttons with a focused reverence I have not received since breakfast. The little box would chirp, and the human would respond, tending to the needs of a creature I could not smell, a ghost made of light and sound. It was, I concluded, a cult of one. My investigation began under the cloak of night. The human had left the artifact on the bedside table, a silent sentinel in the moonlight filtering through the blinds. As my eyes adjusted, I saw it. A faint, ethereal green luminescence emanated from the plastic shell. It wasn't the warm glow of a sunbeam, but a cold, chemical light, the kind one might find on a deep-sea fish or a strange forest fungus. It pulsed with a silent, alien rhythm. I crept closer, my paws making no sound on the hardwood floor. This was no mere toy; it was a captured star, a soul trapped in a cheap plastic cage. With the cautious grace only a creature of my standing can possess, I extended a single, perfect paw. My claws remained sheathed; this was a scientific inquiry, not a street brawl. I tapped the glowing surface. It was cool and smooth. No life force, no heartbeat, just inert polymer. A series of agitated beeps suddenly erupted from the device, the captive spirit protesting my touch. The human stirred in their sleep, mumbling something about "training." The spell was broken. The creature within was a phantom, a flicker of light with no scent, no substance, no soul. A pale imitation of life. But its vessel... its vessel was another matter entirely. The glowing shell, the jangling chain, the satisfying *clatter* it made when I finally nudged it over the edge and onto the floor—these were tangible realities. The digital monster was a bore, a flicker of no consequence. But its glowing, noisy house? An excellent midnight plaything. I shall allow it to remain, not as a rival, but as my glowing, clattering trophy.
