Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in a fit of what I can only assume is a profound misunderstanding of my needs, has presented me with this... object. It appears to be a small, rigid totem of a perpetually furious little man with hair the color and texture of a dried sea urchin. It is from a brand called "Funko," a name that suggests a fleeting, frivolous joy this statue clearly lacks. Based on my initial inspection, it possesses no crinkle, no feather, and emits no tantalizing scent of catnip or desperation. Its primary feature seems to be "Collect them all," which is less a feature for me and more a threat of future shelf-clutter. Its only potential use appears to be as a paperweight, or perhaps a stationary target for a truly spectacular gravity experiment from the top of the bookshelf, though its wide stance suggests it might be disappointingly stable.
Key Features
- Dragon ball Z POP!
- Collect them all!
- Dragon ball z pop
- Collect them all
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It was placed on the mantelpiece, a silent, glaring homunculus surveying my kingdom. The Staff called it "Vegeta," a name that sounded like a particularly unappetizing vegetable. I watched from the safety of the armchair, my tail executing a slow, metronomic twitch of deep suspicion. This was no toy. Toys are prey. They skitter, they dangle, they yield. This thing was a sentinel. It stood, arms crossed, with a look of such concentrated arrogance it could curdle cream from across the room. For two days, we were locked in a silent war of wills. I would nap with one eye open, tracking its position relative to the sunbeams. It remained unmoved, its plastic scouter a malevolent red eye that seemed to follow my every move. I concluded it was a golem, an effigy animated by some dark human magic, placed there to judge my napping form and the efficiency of my purr. It was a rival for the prime sunning spot, a stoic contender that did not need to eat, sleep, or groom. It was, in its own infuriating way, perfect. On the third day, I decided on my course of action. A direct assault was beneath me and would likely only result in a scolding from the Staff. Instead, I opted for tactical displacement. With the grace of a falling shadow, I leaped onto the mantel. I did not touch the golem. I did not acknowledge it. I simply began to meticulously groom my pristine white bib, positioning my body so that my fluffy, gray tail slowly, deliberately, and repeatedly swept across its angry face. The static figure could not react. It could not flinch. It could only stand there, a silent monument to rage, while being tickled into utter insignificance. It is not a worthy toy, but it has proven to be an excellent prop for asserting my quiet, elegant dominance. It can stay.
