Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has procured what appears to be a stationary, brown, and frankly pathetic-looking creature. This "NECA E.T. Prop Replica" is, I deduce, meant to be a monument to some cinematic drivel they enjoy. It stands a foot tall, exuding an aura of silent judgment that I find artistically derivative of my own. Its primary feature, a construction of "hand painted foam rubber," is the single point of interest in an otherwise static display. While I have no time for inanimate objects that do not scurry, flutter, or contain catnip, the potential tactile satisfaction of sinking a claw into that spongy, rubbery flesh is a mild curiosity. It is, most likely, a colossal waste of shelf space that could be better utilized for my afternoon sunbathing.
Key Features
- Based on the 1982 film E.T. The Extra Terrestrial
- E.T. stands about 12 inches tall
- hand painted foam rubber
- Open tray packaging
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in an "open tray," which is human-speak for "no challenge." It simply appeared one afternoon, perched on the media console, a silent, wrinkled interloper under the giant black mirror the humans stare at for hours. My human made cooing noises, calling it "E.T." and adjusting its position by millimeters. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail a metronome of pure disdain. It looked like a potato that had been left in the sun for a decade, grown a giraffe's neck, and then developed a tragic, soul-gazing sadness. It was an affront to my sleek, gray-and-white aesthetic. That night, under the sliver of moonlight filtering through the blinds, I began my reconnaissance. The house was silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the gentle snores from the master bedroom. I leaped from the floor to the console with a practiced hush, my paws making no sound on the polished wood. I was now face to face with the intruder. It smelled faintly of chemicals and paint, an artificiality that confirmed my suspicions: it was a fraud. It wasn't a living rival, but a hollow effigy. I stared into its enormous, glassy blue eyes, trying to assert my dominance. It stared back, its expression unchanging. Unacceptable. My interrogation moved to the physical. I extended a single, perfect claw, a pearl-white dagger against my gray fur. I needed to know its composition. I prodded its stubby little arm, just above the hand with that one grotesquely long finger. The foam rubber gave way with a soft, yielding squish. It was… surprisingly pleasant. A firm, yet forgiving texture that seemed to almost invite the claw. I retracted, intrigued. This was not the hard, unforgiving plastic of most of the human's other idols. This had potential. I did not attack it, of course. That would be beneath me, and the resulting human theatrics would be insufferable. Instead, I established a new protocol. The brown creature could stay. It was a silent, unmoving testament to my own superior vitality. It would serve as my watchpost, a companion in my nightly vigils. I will permit it to occupy my territory, and in return, I will occasionally test its structural integrity with a gentle but firm claw-press. It is not a toy, but it is a worthy object of study. And its silent, unwavering gaze seems to understand who is truly in charge here.
