A photo of Pete the cat

Pete's Toy Box: E.T.

The Noble Collection E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial E.T. Plush

By: The Noble Collection

Pete's Expert Summary

The Human seems to have confused "collectible" with "cat toy," a frequent and frankly insulting error. This... creature, this "E.T.," is from a brand called "The Noble Collection," which already tells me it's designed to be looked at, not properly savaged. It's an 11-inch plush figure, a respectable size for a good wrestle, and the promise of "soft, premium materials" is its only saving grace. While its big, sad eyes and wrinkled form are deeply unsettling, its potential as a high-end, albeit bizarre-looking, napping pillow cannot be entirely dismissed. It’s a strange acquisition, likely destined for a shelf, but I might grace it with a trial nap if my regular velvet cushion is in the wash.

Key Features

  • Officially licensed by Universal and Amblin Entertainment
  • Intricate detail brings E.T. to life
  • Stands at approx 11"
  • Made of soft, premium materials
  • All ages

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The ship arrived in the dead of night. Not a starship, but one of those cardboard vessels with the smiling arrow logo that The Human seems to worship. I watched from my perch on the armchair as the strange being was unveiled. It was a refugee, clearly. Wrinkled, brown, with eyes that held the deep, silent sorrow of a creature who has seen the bottom of the food bowl and found it empty. It stood there, mute and unsteady, reeking of a sterile factory world. I am the established deity of this domain; all new arrivals must be vetted. I descended from my throne and began the ritual of circumnavigation. The newcomer was short and stout, its texture surprisingly soft under my exploratory paw-pat. It offered no resistance, a sign of either supreme confidence or abject terror. I leaned in, my whiskers twitching as I analyzed its scent profile. It smelled of… nothing. A void. This was no ordinary stray. This was an entity from beyond, a blank slate. Its most curious feature was a single, extended digit, pointing skyward as if trying to contact its home world. An absurd gesture. The only thing in that direction is the ceiling, and I can assure you, there are no tuna flakes up there. My initial assessment concluded it was harmless, but its purpose remained a mystery. Was it a silent judge? A poorly-conceived effigy of a lesser god? I decided a test of strength was in order. I crouched, wiggled my hindquarters, and launched myself at the alien. We tumbled to the rug in a flurry of soft gray fur and plush brown fabric. I wrapped all four paws around its torso and delivered a series of punishing bunny-kicks. The being absorbed the blows without complaint, its pillowy form yielding to my attack. It was like fighting a cloud. A very well-constructed, premium cloud. Exhausted from the interrogation, I lay panting against its flank. The alien was defeated, but in its defeat, I found a new truth. It was not a rival. It was not a threat. It was… a comfort. Its plush body was warm and molded perfectly against my own. Its sorrowful eyes now seemed to gaze at me with a quiet understanding. It was a refugee, yes, but it wasn't seeking asylum. It was offering it. I rested my head upon its soft chest, closed my eyes, and accepted. The alien could stay. For now, its primary function would be to serve as First Officer of Naps.

Funko Pop Movies: E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial - Elliott - Elliot with E.T. in Basket, 3.75 Inches - Collectable Vinyl Figure - Gift Idea - Official Merchandise

By: Funko

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has presented me with what they seem to think is a "toy," but my superior feline senses tell me otherwise. This is a small, static effigy, a plastic idol depicting one of their young on a wheeled contraption, carrying what appears to be a desiccated, wide-eyed potato in a basket. It is made by a company called "Funko," which apparently specializes in these dust-collecting totems. At a mere 3.75 inches, its only potential value lies in its satisfying trajectory when swatted from a great height. Its supposed "durable vinyl" construction suggests it might survive the fall, offering the possibility of repeat experiments. Otherwise, it lacks any features of genuine interest—no feathers, no crinkles, no scent of the sacred 'nip. It is an object designed to be looked at, a concept I find utterly pointless and a waste of a perfectly good patch of bookshelf.

Key Features

  • IDEAL COLLECTIBLE SIZE - At approximately 3.75 inches (9.5 cm) tall, this vinyl mini figurine complements other collectable merchandise and fits perfectly in your display case or on your desk
  • PREMIUM VINYL MATERIAL - Made from durable vinyl, this collectible is built to last and withstand daily wear, ensuring long-lasting enjoyment for fans and collectors alike
  • GIFT IDEA FOR E.T. THE EXTRA TERRESTRIAL FANS - Ideal for holidays, birthdays, or special occasions and as a present this figurine is a must-have addition to any E.T. the Extra Terrestrial merchandise collection
  • EXPAND YOUR COLLECTION - Add this unique Elliott vinyl display piece to your growing assortment of Funko Pop figures, and seek out other rare and exclusive collectible items for a complete set
  • LEADING POP CULTURE BRAND - Trust in the expertise of Funko, the premier creator of pop culture merchandise that includes vinyl figures, action toys, plush, apparel, board games, and more

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The box it arrived in smelled of cardboard and distant warehouses, a dull and uninspired aroma. My human, however, handled it with the reverence of a high priest, carefully sliding the plastic shell from its paper prison. My initial interest, piqued by the rustling, died the moment I saw the thing. A tiny, frozen tableau. A boy with an unnervingly large head, forever pedaling a bicycle that would never move. But my gaze was drawn to the basket. In it, wrapped in a blanket, was a creature so bizarre, so alien, that the fur along my spine stood on end. Its skin was wrinkled leather, its neck impossibly long, and its eyes… they were two blue saucers of cosmic sorrow. I allowed the human to place it on the mantelpiece, amidst photos and other stationary clutter. I feigned disinterest, executing a flawless grooming sequence on my white tuxedo bib. But I was watching. Once the room was empty, I launched myself onto the mantel with a practiced, silent grace. I approached the statuette slowly, my tail giving a single, contemplative flick. I sniffed at the bicycle's wheel. Nothing. I sniffed at the boy's head. Still nothing. Then, I leaned in close to the creature in the basket. Its oversized vinyl eyes seemed to follow me. There was no scent of life, only the faint, sterile smell of plastic. Yet, I felt a story emanating from it. It wasn't a story of play, but one of silent escape. Of a desperate, moonlit flight from forces unseen. This wasn't a toy; it was a memory, captured in vinyl. The boy, Elliott, wasn't just riding; he was fleeing. The creature, this "E.T.," wasn't a passenger; he was precious cargo, a secret friend being whisked away to safety. I could almost hear the frantic whir of the bicycle chain, the boy's ragged breathing, and feel the cold night air. The figurine, in its stillness, screamed with the motion it depicted. I sat back on my haunches, looking at the little drama frozen in time. This object was not for batting about. It was not for chewing. It was, strangely, for observing. I gave the creature's head a single, gentle tap with my softest paw. It wobbled slightly, a silent acknowledgment of my presence. Very well, little refugees. Your secret is safe with me. This Funko Pop is not a toy, it is a testament. It is unworthy of my claws, but it has, against all odds, earned a measure of my respect. I will permit it to occupy this space, a silent monument to a friendship that transcended worlds, and I will occasionally honor it with a thoughtful blink from my favorite napping spot across the room.

World's Smallest E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial Micro Figure (5094)

By: World's Smallest

Pete's Expert Summary

My human seems to have acquired this miniature totem from a brand called "World's Smallest," a name which, I must admit, is entirely accurate. It’s a tiny, brown plastic creature with unsettlingly large eyes, supposedly from one of those moving-picture stories they favor. Its primary features for a being of my caliber would be its diminutive size, which makes it a prime candidate for being batted under the heaviest furniture, and its supposedly "articulated" limbs and "telescoping" neck. While the potential for a satisfying skitter across the hardwood is present, the inclusion of a "display case" and "stand" suggests my human's tragic intention: to have it looked at, not played with. This is a fundamental misunderstanding of an object's purpose and a potential waste of my very valuable time.

Key Features

  • The beloved E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial is now available in micro size!
  • Measuring up to 1.25 inches tall, E.T. has a telescoping neck and two points of articulation
  • Includes: 1 figure, 1 mini display case and 1 stand
  • A perfect Easter basket stuffer, stocking stuffer, party favor, and more!
  • For E.T. fans of all ages. Recommended for ages 6 and up
  • Target Gender: Unisex

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The operation began at 0300 hours, under the pale glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. My target, designated "Subject Epsilon-Tango," was secured in a transparent polymer prison on the low table in the living room. My human, the Warden, was deep in her slumber-hibernation. I moved with the silence my sleek tuxedo form affords me, a shadow gliding over the terrain of the rug. Leaping onto the table was a triviality, my paws making no sound on the wooden surface. There it was, the strange little homunculus, staring out with its vacant, painted eyes. Phase one was liberation. A simple, well-placed nudge of my nose was sufficient to topple the flimsy containment unit. The door popped open on impact, and the subject slid out onto the polished wood. It was smaller than I had anticipated, smaller than the June bugs I sometimes allow to believe they have a chance of escape. I circled it once, my tail giving a slow, deliberate twitch. It had a peculiar, plasticky scent, devoid of the honest aroma of prey. Its vulnerability was an insult. I extended a single, sharp claw—my finest surgical instrument—and gently probed the creature. I tested its articulated arms; they flopped with pathetic weakness. Then, I found the mechanism for its primary defensive feature: the telescoping neck. With a delicate push, the head extended upwards with a faint *click*. A threat display? An attempt to communicate? I was unmoved. I pinned the creature lightly with my paw, feeling its hollow plastic form beneath my pads. This was not a worthy adversary. This was not even a challenging puzzle. It was merely... an object. My final verdict was delivered with a swift, decisive flick of my paw. Subject Epsilon-Tango went skittering across the floor, its gangly limbs tumbling in a most undignified manner until it vanished into the dark abyss beneath the entertainment center, a realm from which few trinkets ever return. The mission was a success, I suppose. The anomaly had been neutralized. It had provided a brief, if entirely one-sided, moment of engagement. Perhaps I will allow the Warden to acquire another, just to see if the next one puts up more of a fight. Now, to my heated bed. This agent's work is done.

NECA - E.T. - 40th Anniversary E.T. Ultimate 7" Action Figure

By: NECA

Pete's Expert Summary

My human, in her infinite and often misguided wisdom, has brought another plastic effigy into my domain. This one, a squat, brown creature from a company called NECA, is apparently a "collectible." From my perspective, it's a dust-gathering statuette whose primary function will be to occupy valuable shelf space that could otherwise be used for my afternoon sunbathing. While the main figure, with its unsettlingly large eyes and wrinkly physique, is a complete waste of perfectly good plastic, I must concede a sliver of potential. It comes with several delightfully small, eminently battable, and easily lost-under-the-sofa accessories. That "potted plant" and "candy bag" might provide a few minutes of sport before their inevitable disappearance into the void. The main event, however, is a certified bore.

Key Features

  • Look to the stars and create your own unforgettable interactive adventures; E.T. and Elliott on Bicycle features pull-back-and-go action
  • Ultimate E.T. stands in 7″ scale (meaning the figure is about 4.5″ tall) and is posable
  • INCLUDED ACCESSORIES: candy bag, blanket accessory, Speak & Spell and potted plant, plus interchangeable necks and hands
  • Display-friendly 40th anniversary window box packaging with opening front flap
  • Great gift for the collector

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The case landed on my napping spot on a Tuesday. The Human called it an "E.T. Action Figure," but I knew a suspect when I saw one. She sprung him from a transparent holding cell—a "display-friendly window box," the file said—and placed him on the coffee table, right in my territory. He was a strange one: short, brown, with a neck that looked suspiciously detachable. A master of disguise, perhaps. I circled him slowly, my tail giving a low, thoughtful twitch. He brought accomplices: a small bag of something sweet-smelling, a strange, blocky communication device, and a wilted-looking plant in a pot, no doubt a pathetic attempt at an alibi. My interrogation began with a prolonged, unblinking stare, a technique that has broken lesser beings (and usually earns me a treat). The suspect remained silent, his painted-on expression of mild bewilderment never wavering. I sniffed the evidence. The "candy bag" smelled of cheap sugar, a common street-level bribe. The "Speak & Spell" was cold and inert, but I sensed it was capable of transmitting coded messages to unknown associates. This wasn't some common house pest; this was a professional. He was posable, meaning he could feign injury or cooperation, a classic tactic. I put a paw out, gently at first, and prodded his oversized head. Nothing. Not a flicker of fear. He was a cool customer, this one. I read his file again, which was printed on the flap of his box. "40th Anniversary." So, he was an old-timer, been in the game for four decades. This explained his stoicism. He'd seen it all. He wasn't here to play; he was here to observe, a silent, big-eyed spy sent to monitor my activities and report back to whatever shadowy organization "NECA" was. I finally rendered my verdict with a dismissive flick of my ear. He was no toy. A toy fights back, it skitters, it jingles, it yields the satisfying crinkle of defeat. This creature was an idol, an ornament of questionable taste. He offered no chase, no challenge, only a silent, glassy-eyed judgment from his perch. I left him to his surveillance, leaping gracefully onto the couch. The case was cold, but my watch had just begun. He might not be fun, but he would be watched.

Little People Collector E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial Movie Special Edition Set for Adults & Fans, 3 Figures in Display Package

By: Little People COLLECTOR

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has presented me with what appears to be a box of small, plastic statues. They are apparently from a moving picture show they find emotionally compelling, a detail that is entirely lost on me. The brand, "Little People COLLECTOR," suggests these are not meant for vigorous play, but for that most baffling of human activities: staring. Inside the display case are three lumpy figures: a strange brown creature, a small human in a red coat, and an even smaller one with yellow hair. At over two inches tall, they possess a certain heft that might be satisfying to bat off a high shelf, but they lack the fundamental qualities of a worthy adversary—no feathers, no crinkle, no erratic movement. Ultimately, this seems to be an object of quiet, pointless adoration for the biped, not a tool for honing my superior predatory instincts.

Key Features

  • Special edition Little People Collector gift set featuring characters from the 1982 movie, E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial
  • Includes 3 figures, styled like E.T., Elliott, and Gertie
  • Each figure stands over 2.5 inches tall (6.9 cm)
  • Figure set comes in a highly detailed package featuring graphics from the classic film
  • For movie fans ages 1-101 years

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The thing arrived on a day like any other, which is to say, a day I had perfected through rigorous napping and strategic sunbeam relocation. My human, however, was behaving strangely, cooing at a rectangular box with a clear window. It was placed on the mantelpiece, a sacred space usually reserved for framed pictures of my less-impressive ancestors and that dreadful singing fish. I leaped silently to the back of the sofa for a better view. Inside the box-shrine, three figures stood frozen, prisoners in a silent, colorful tableau. They were, I deduced, new household gods. There was the primary deity, a squat, brown being with a strangely elongated neck and soulful, vacant eyes. Flanking it were its acolytes: a solemn boy-figure wrapped in a sacrificial red robe, and a smaller priestess with a shock of yellow hair, her mouth agape in a silent, eternal shriek. My human would stand before them, murmuring nonsense about "childhood" and "phoning home." It was a new and disturbing religion, and I was not included in the liturgy. This would not stand. One evening, under the cloak of my own magnificent gray fur, I decided to test the power of these new idols. The mantel was a challenging climb, but a worthy pilgrimage. After a deft leap from the armchair to the bookshelf, I was before them. I stared into their glossy, unblinking eyes. I gave them my most intimidating slow-blink, the one that communicates both affection and the promise of swift annihilation. They did not blink back. I nudged the box with my nose. It slid a fraction of an inch, the plastic making a dissatisfying scrape against the wood. They offered no sign, no divine intervention, no rattling sound of hidden catnip. I sat back on my haunches, tail twitching in profound disappointment. These were not gods. They were imposters. They were dense, silent, and utterly devoid of playability. They couldn't even be bothered to fall over with any real panache. With a sigh that ruffled my white tuxedo bib, I hopped down. Let the human have their false plastic idols. I would return to my own worship at the true altar of the household: the automatic food dispenser, whose divine power was, at least, tangible and delivered twice a day.

NECA - E.T. – Prop Replica - 12” Foam Figure

By: NECA

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.

AQUARIUS E.T. Playing Cards - E.T. Themed Deck of Cards for Your Favorite Card Games - Officially Licensed E.T. Merchandise & Collectibles

By: AQUARIUS

Pete's Expert Summary

It appears The Provider has acquired a set of fifty-four thin, rectangular pieces of paperboard, all contained within a box designed to mimic an ancient human artifact. These "cards," as they are called, are plastered with images of a rather sad-looking brown alien and the small humans who apparently befriended it. The stated purpose is for some arcane human shuffling ritual, which seems a tremendous bore. While the "linen type finish" might offer a mildly interesting texture for a casual claw-sharpening test, the cards themselves are too flimsy for a satisfying session of gravitational research (i.e., knocking them off the table). Ultimately, they seem destined to do little more than clutter up a perfectly good sunbeam.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The box itself was the first enigma. A clunky black rectangle, a relic from an era before The Provider spent her days staring into the Great Glowing Square. She slid open its sleeve and revealed the artifacts within: a stack of paper wafers, each bearing a cryptic sigil. She began laying them out on the rug, my rug, in a complex, overlapping pattern. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail twitching in slow, deliberate arcs. It was clearly a ritual. She was attempting to commune with the creature pictured on the cards—a wizened, brown being with eyes like polished river stones. She would tap a card, stare at it, then move it to a new position, a low murmur escaping her lips. I recognized the patterns of a supplicant. She was seeking guidance from this alien entity. But her arrangements were all wrong. She placed a card showing one of the hostile, key-jangling adult humans over a card depicting the small, friendly boy-human. A foolish, dangerous alignment. This would surely disrupt the flow of whatever cosmic wisdom she was trying to channel. The alien would be displeased. I could not stand by and watch this sacrilege. With the silent grace afforded only to my kind, I hopped down to the floor. The Provider was distracted, looking at the far end of her tableau. I identified the key card, the one with the wise alien's face, partially obscured by a lesser card showing a numerical symbol. This would not do. The master must be honored. I extended a single, perfect white claw and delicately hooked the corner of the alien's card, sliding it from its prison and placing it atop the entire spread. A correction. A clarification for the cosmos. The Provider sighed, a sound of profound spiritual exhaustion. She scooped up all the cards, my carefully placed totem included, and shuffled them into a meaningless chaotic jumble before returning them to their black sarcophagus. My genius was, as usual, unappreciated. She clearly lacked the spiritual clarity to understand my intervention. The cards themselves? Their surface offered a brief, unsatisfying glide beneath my paw, but they held no power, no weight, no real purpose. They were merely pictures, a failed medium for a conversation she was not equipped to have. The box, however, might make a fine napping spot. I'll have to investigate that later.

Funko Pop! Moment: E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial - Elliot and E.T. Flying (Glow in The Dark), Multicolor, 50769

By: Funko

Pete's Expert Summary

So, my human has acquired another plastic totem to clutter a perfectly good shelf. This one, from a brand called "Funko" that seems to specialize in these dust-collecting effigies, depicts a small human and a wrinkly brown creature on a bicycle, apparently frozen mid-air. It's made of "durable vinyl," which to me translates as "unpleasantly hard and unsatisfying to bat." Its only redeeming quality, and the only reason it might save itself from a one-way trip under the sofa, is its alleged ability to glow in the dark. While it offers zero playability and is a complete waste of my energy during daylight hours, a mysterious, glowing object could provide some minor amusement during my nightly security patrols.

Key Features

  • LEADING POP CULTURE BRAND - Trust in the expertise of Funko, the premier creator of pop culture merchandise that includes vinyl figures, action toys, plush, apparel, board games, and more
  • PERFECT GIFT FOR E;T; THE EXTRA TERRESTRIAL FANS - Ideal for holidays, birthdays, or special occasions and as a present this exclusive figurine is a must-have addition to any E;T; the Extra Terrestrial merchandise collection
  • EXPAND YOUR COLLECTION - Add this unique Elliott vinyl display piece to your growing assortment of Funko Pop! figures, and seek out other rare and exclusive collectible items for a complete set
  • PREMIUM VINYL MATERIAL - Made from high-quality, durable vinyl, this collectible is built to last and withstand daily wear, ensuring long-lasting enjoyment for fans and collectors alike

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The box it came in was, as usual, more interesting than the contents. I gave it a cursory sniff, rubbed my chin on a corner to claim it as my own property, and retired to my favorite sunbeam for a pre-dinner nap. I forgot about the plastic trinket entirely until the house fell into its deep, nightly silence. I was making my rounds, a silent gray-and-white shadow gliding through the dark, when I saw it: a faint, greenish luminescence from the top of the bookshelf. It was an unnatural light, a captured ghost. My ears swiveled, my tail gave a single, interrogative twitch. A breach? I leaped silently onto the credenza, then to the back of the armchair, and finally onto the shelf itself, moving with the liquid grace my human so clumsily attempts to emulate in their "yoga." There it was. The plastic statue. The moon behind the bicycle and the strange, long-fingered creature in the basket were emitting a soft, ethereal glow. It wasn't a ghost, but a trick. A cheap parlor trick involving phosphors and absorbed light. I felt a pang of disappointment, but also... curiosity. It didn't move. It didn't make a sound. It simply hung there in its plastic flight, glowing. I crept closer, my whiskers brushing against the vinyl. It had the sterile, uninviting smell of a factory. I nudged the base with my nose. It wobbled, a tempting invitation to test its gravitational fortitude. Oh, the story I could tell the human in the morning, a simple tale of physics and a misplaced paw. I could send the boy and his little brown friend on a real flight, one that would end with a satisfying clatter on the hardwood floor below. The power was mine. But I paused. The glow cast long, dancing shadows on the wall behind it, shapes that shifted as I moved my head. It was a silent, unblinking companion in the vast darkness of the living room. It was not a toy, nor was it a worthy adversary. It was… art. Terribly mundane, mass-produced art, but art nonetheless. A tiny, personal moon for my midnight contemplations. I decided to let it remain. For a static object with no feathers, strings, or catnip, its ability to hold my attention for more than three seconds was, I had to admit, mildly impressive. It could stay, a silent beacon for my nocturnal kingdom.

NECA - E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial 40th Anniversary 7″ Scale Action Figure – Elliott & E.T. on Bicycle

By: NECA

Pete's Expert Summary

So, my human presents me with this... this *diorama*. It's a plastic sculpture of the loud boy-human and the crinkly alien from that moving picture that always makes her leak from the eyes. It's made by a company called NECA, which sounds entirely too formal for a purveyor of fine playthings. They boast about its 'display-friendly' box and a cardboard backdrop, both of which are frankly just obstacles between me and a potentially decent sit. The only feature that piques even a sliver of my interest is the 'pull-back-and-go action.' If this contraption can't provide a satisfactory, high-speed chase across the hardwood floors, it's nothing more than expensive dust-gathering clutter destined to be knocked off a shelf during a 3 a.m. sprint.

Key Features

  • Recreate the Flying Scene: To re-create the famous flying scene, you can attach the figure to a freestanding movie backdrop for an iconic image
  • Display-Friendly Packaging: This action figure comes in display-friendly 40th-anniversary window box packaging
  • Easy to Open: The packaging features an opening front flap to get the action figure out easily
  • Dimension: This is a 7-inch action figure
  • Other Feature: E.T. and Elliott on Bicycle feature pull-back-and-go action

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The human freed the plastic monstrosity from its cardboard prison with an absurd amount of reverence, arranging it on the floor as if it were a sacred offering. I observed from my post on the armchair, utterly unimpressed. It was a crude effigy, static and silent. She then demonstrated its one supposed virtue, pulling it backward with a grating *zzzzzt* sound. It shot forward, wobbling unsteadily for three feet before toppling over with a pathetic clatter. A "toy"? This was an insult to the art of the chase. I yawned, showing the full pink interior of my mouth to convey my profound boredom. Seeing my lack of enthusiasm, the human retreated, leaving the fallen bicycle and its riders abandoned in the vast expanse of the living room rug. For a long while, I simply watched it. It was an anomaly in my territory, an unwelcome piece of alien geometry. Eventually, my innate duty as supervisor of all household objects compelled me to descend for a closer inspection. I circled it once, my tail held low and twitching with critical assessment. The plastic smelled sterile. The paint job was… adequate, I suppose. I extended a single, perfect paw and tentatively prodded the head of the little brown creature in the basket. And that's when it happened. Not an explosion, not a sound, but a sudden, strange shift in the air. The scent of pine needles and damp earth filled my nostrils, overpowering the faint aroma of last night's salmon. I felt a phantom vibration, a low thrumming that seemed to emanate not from the toy, but from the floorboards, from the very bones of the house. I had a fleeting, visceral image of a vast, dark forest, of towering trees silhouetted against a moon so large it filled the sky. It wasn't a memory, but an echo—the echo of a desperate flight, of a shared secret. The feeling was gone as quickly as it came, leaving only the mundane reality of the plastic figure under my paw. I withdrew, shaking my paw as if to dislodge the strange sensation. The toy hadn't moved. The world was as it was. But something had changed in my assessment. This object was not a toy. It was a vessel, a silent storyteller carrying a weight I couldn't quite comprehend. It held no appeal for a chase, but it possessed a quiet, mysterious gravity. It was not worthy of my play, but it had, against all odds, earned a measure of my contemplative respect. I would allow it to remain, a strange, silent monument in my kingdom.