Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in a fit of what I can only assume was profound boredom, has presented me with this... collection of small, static plastic effigies. It appears to be a set of seven figures from something called "Gabby's Dollhouse," featuring one small human and six rather insulting caricatures of my kind—a mermaid cat, a cupcake cat, a fairy cat, and others that defy polite description. They are, of course, completely inanimate, offering none of the thrill of the hunt or the satisfying tactile feedback of a real mouse. The primary appeal for a being of my refinement might be their size, which is ideal for a decisive shove off the edge of the coffee table. The inclusion of a small "surprise" box is a minor point of interest, as boxes are fundamentally intriguing, but I suspect it contains yet another useless plastic trinket. Ultimately, these seem designed to clutter my domain rather than to provide any meaningful enrichment.
Key Features
- 7 TOY FIGURES: This cat-tastic figure set is perfect for pretend play Includes Gabby and her adorable and irresistible kitty friends Pandy Paws, MerCat, Cakey Cat, Kitty Fairy, CatRat and Baby Box Cat
- DOLLHOUSE DELIVERY WITH SURPRISE ACCESSORY: The Deluxe Figure Set comes with a Dollhouse Delivery, just like in the show. Unbox it to reveal a mystery accessory to add to your storytelling play
- WORKS WITH GABBY’S DOLLHOUSE: This set is perfect for fun and exciting pretend play. Use it with the Gabby Cat Friend Ship or use it in Gabby’s Purrfect Dollhouse playset (each sold separately)
- BUILD A DOLLHOUSE WORLD: With everything from themed rooms and dollhouse furniture to toy figures and playsets, create a doll house world to help kids develop their imagination through pretend play
- COLLECT THEM ALL: Gabbys Dollhouse toys for kids are great preschool toys & gifts for kids that love playing with dolls and accessories, surprise toys, stuffed animals, jigsaw puzzles & board games
- Includes: 7 Figures, 1 Dollhouse Delivery, 1 Accessory
- Covered by the Spin Master Care Commitment. See below for full details
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The unveiling was, as usual, a spectacle of unwarranted human enthusiasm. The Human placed the box on my favorite sunning rug, tore it open, and began arranging the contents in a neat, offensive little line. I observed from the arm of the sofa, a gray and white monarch surveying the arrival of a bizarre and unwelcome delegation. There was the human child, Gabby, her smile a vacant, painted-on thing. Beside her stood her court of anatomical insults: the one with a fish tail, the one that was clearly a baked good, the winged one. They stared forward, a silent, colorful mob. My tail gave a single, irritated flick. I descended from my perch in a liquid pour of soft fur, approaching the assembly with the gravity the situation demanded. My initial inspection was purely olfactory. They smelled of plastic and the factory in which they were forged, with no hint of field or feather. I lowered my head, nose twitching, to examine the one they call "CatRat." Its posture was shifty, its grin undeserved. I gave it a firm, testing nudge with my nose. It tipped over without a sound, a pathetic and immediate surrender. This, I decided, was not a toy. This was an audience. With this newfound understanding, my perspective shifted. These were not playthings to be brutalized; they were subjects, my new Royal Court of Peculiarities. I sat before them, regally, and began my silent pronouncements. The rules were simple. My nap spots were to remain sacrosanct. The food bowl was to be regarded as a holy shrine, accessible only to me. Any sudden movements on their part—facilitated by the Human, of course—would be met with swift and decisive paw-based justice. I then turned my attention to the tiny cardboard cube, the "Dollhouse Delivery." The Human opened it to reveal a minuscule, glittering crown. A tribute. How appropriate. My final verdict was clear. While they would never replace the primal joy of disemboweling a crinkle ball or chasing the dot of doom, these figures could stay. They would serve as a permanent, silent testament to my benevolent rule, their plastic forms a constant reminder to all who entered this house of who was truly in charge. I gave the fallen CatRat a final, dismissive pat, righting him. He and his strange friends were now under my protection, and my scrutiny. They were not toys; they were decorative sycophants, and for now, that was amusing enough.