Pete's Expert Summary
My human has brought home what appears to be a disassembled plastic soldier from the future. It's a box of colored plastic shards that The Staff is expected to snap together into a small, stationary robot armed with an absurd number of weapons. While the lack of paint or glue fumes is a considerate touch, saving my delicate nostrils from offense, the end product is destined to be a glorified dust-collector on a shelf. The real appeal, from a superior feline's point of view, is not the finished idol, but the construction process. The sheer volume of tiny, intricate parts—missile pods, knives, gun barrels—presents a veritable buffet of items to be "tested for gravity" and subsequently lost under the couch. The assembly may entertain the human, but the disassembly is where my fun begins.
Key Features
- Gattling Gun+shield x1, combat knife x1, beam saber attachment x1, many missle pods
- Molded in separate colors, no paint required
- Easy to snap together, no glue required
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The ceremony began at dusk. The Staff, with a reverence I usually reserve for a freshly opened can of tuna, cleared the coffee table and laid out the strange, plastic skeletons. They were brittle grids, each holding dozens of tiny, colorful bones. I watched from my perch on the armchair, tail twitching in mild contempt. Another one of his tedious projects. He called it "Gun-dam," a foolish name for what was clearly a ritualistic construction. For hours, he hunched over, a pair of tiny clippers in hand, making soft *snip-snip* sounds as he freed the plastic bones. Then came the *clicks*. A soft, satisfying *click* as a leg piece joined a hip, a louder *snap* as an arm attached to a torso. It was a rhythmic, meditative process, and I found myself mesmerized by the focused silence. He wasn't building a toy; he was assembling an effigy. A tiny god of war, bristling with missile pods and a ridiculous Gatling gun. Was this a tribute? An offering to a higher power? Clearly, that power was me. He was building a shrine in my honor. Finally, the plastic deity was complete. My human held it up, admiring its poseable joints and ludicrous armaments. He placed it on the mantle, a silent, colorful sentinel. And then... nothing. It just stood there. It didn't chirp. It didn't wiggle. It didn't dispense treats. As a tribute, it was a spectacular failure. I let out a sigh of profound disappointment and hopped down from my throne. The idol was a bore. But as I stretched, my paw brushed against something on the rug. It was a tiny, gray piece of plastic, a spare armor plate no bigger than my claw, that had escaped the ritual. I nudged it. It skittered. I batted it, sending it spinning across the hardwood before it vanished under the bookshelf. The human let out a small, frustrated noise. Ah. I see now. The statue itself is worthless, a mere monument to the human's wasted time. The *true* offerings are these wonderful, perfectly losable little pieces left behind. The ritual is flawed, but its scattered remnants are divine. This "Gun-dam" is worthy, after all.
