Pete's Expert Summary
Ah, yes. The human has brought home another box of what they believe constitutes 'fun.' This one, from a company called BANDAI, is a collection of glossy paper rectangles featuring garish, shouting lizards. They call it the 'Digimon Card Game Starter Deck,' which I deduce is a ritualistic activity for underdeveloped humans. The supposed purpose is to arrange these cards on a large, crinkly mat—a mat that would, I admit, make for a superior napping surface. While the intricate rules and the 'Dragon of Courage' nonsense are a complete waste of my cognitive energy, the individual cards possess a certain appeal. They are lightweight, have excellent glide potential on polished wood, and their corners look perfect for a brief, satisfying chew before I demand a real meal.
Key Features
- This product includes 54 cards, 2 memory gauge cards, 4 index cards, and 1 playsheet
- This product includes a ready-to-play deck that you can use to start the game immediately.
- The contents of this product are the same in any box.
- This product contains some identical cards.
- Ages 6+
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The Offering arrived in a flimsy cardboard box, which my human tore open with a reverence usually reserved for the delivery of salmon fillets. Out came a collection of thin, slick rectangles and a larger, folded sheet of paper. The human laid the sheet on the living room floor, smoothing its creases. It was a map, I realized, a strategic blueprint of some alien territory. They then began populating this territory with their paper soldiers, chief among them a boisterous orange creature they called the "Dragon of Courage." An insurgency, then. Right here on my sunning spot. I watched from the shadows of the dining table, my tail a slow metronome of calculation. The human was preparing for battle, moving the cards from one designated zone to another, mumbling about "memory gauges" and "raising phases." They were plotting, but their strategy was laughably transparent. They left their flanks completely exposed, their supply lines (the stack of yet-unplayed cards) woefully undefended. Amateurs. This territory—this entire apartment—was under my jurisdiction, and this paper dragon was a pretender to the throne. My assault was silent and swift. While the human was distracted, consulting what looked like a rulebook, I executed a perfect low crawl across the rug. I did not go for the flashy "Dragon." A true strategist cripples the chain of command. I identified a small, unassuming yellow card named 'Agumon,' the apparent precursor to the big beast. With a single, precise hook of my claw, I snagged it, dragging it under the sofa with me. It was a hostage situation. The human looked up, confused. "Hey, where did my Agumon go?" they asked the empty air. A panicked search began. From my fortress of dust bunnies and lost pens, I groomed a single white whisker, the picture of nonchalant victory. Let them keep their Dragon of Courage. I had captured its very soul. The game was over before it began, and the territory was secure once more. The cards may be flimsy, but their strategic value in manipulating my human's attention is, I must admit, quite high. It has earned a temporary stay of execution from being shredded.
