Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in a perplexing display of poor judgment, has presented me with a collection of small plastic idols. They are apparently based on some cacophonous moving-picture show and are meant to represent felines with heroic pretensions. The set includes four of these so-called "SuperKitties" and, most curiously, a small canine figure named "Mr. Puppypaws." While their static poses and cheap plastic sheen are an insult to my dynamic grace, their diminutive size does make them ideal candidates for being swatted off the edge of the coffee table. The articulated necks are a laughable feature—as if I would deign to reposition their heads for a chat. However, the inclusion of a dog, even a plastic one, offers a tantalizing opportunity for some symbolic and deeply satisfying retribution. These are not toys; they are targets.
Key Features
- Includes: Ginny, Buddy, Bitsy, Sparks, and Mr. Puppypaws figures.
- Disney Junior SuperKitties Kids' Toys: The Disney Junior SuperKitties Hero Squad Figure Set comes with 5 SuperKitties figurines, purrfect for play or display.
- Inspires Imaginative Play: Ginny, Buddy, Bitsy, and Sparks figures are posed in superhero stances, ready to defeat Mr. Puppypaws and save the day. Preschoolers will love recreating SuperKitties episodes and inventing new adventures with this pawesome set of toy figures.
- Super Character Details: These collectible figurines range in size from 1.82 to 2.65 inches tall and have articulated necks for some poseability. Sculpted in dynamic poses with excellent character details, these Disney toys feature bright colors and expressive, glitter eyes—sure to delight any fan of the show!
- Ages 3 years and up.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The human arranged them on the Persian rug, a garish little tableau of primary-colored plastic. "Look, Pete! It's the SuperKitties!" she chirped, her voice full of the false enthusiasm she reserves for things she wants me to destroy. From my vantage point on the velvet ottoman, I regarded the scene with the detached air of a seasoned theater critic. Before me was a new play, a static diorama titled "Heroism in Miniature." I descended with a deliberate, silent grace, my paws making no sound on the plush wool. My initial inspection was, to be frank, disappointing. The four "heroes"—Ginny, Buddy, Bitsy, and Sparks—were frozen in absurdly dramatic lunges. I circled them, my nose twitching. They smelled of a cargo ship and disappointment. I nudged one, the orange one called Ginny, with my nose. Her head swiveled on its "articulated" joint with a faint squeak. A cheap trick. Her glittery eyes caught the lamplight, but they held no life, no soul. This was not art; it was an assembly line's hollow echo of it. A boring, one-act play with no plot and stiff actors. I was about to deliver my final, scathing review in the form of a dramatic turn-and-tail-flick when I saw him. He was set slightly apart from the others, a villainous cur in a purple suit. Mr. Puppypaws. His plastic face was molded into a smirk of pure, unadulterated canine arrogance. And in that moment, the entire performance shifted. This was no longer a critique of shoddy stagecraft. An ancient, instinctual narrative clicked into place within my mind. This was not a toy. This was an effigy. This was a challenge. The four frozen felines were not heroes; they were merely witnesses to the true drama about to unfold. With a speed that belied my previously languid mood, I hooked a single, perfect claw into the back of Mr. Puppypaws's plastic skull. The human gasped, likely thinking I was "playing." She was mistaken. This was justice. I ignored the useless hero statues and dragged the purple dog figure into the shadowy abyss beneath the entertainment center. Down there, among the dust bunnies and the forgotten silvervine stick, the true final act would take place. The play was a flop, but the villain? The villain was a masterpiece. He would make a fine addition to my permanent, private collection of the vanquished.
