Pete's Expert Summary
My human has acquired what appears to be a small, plastic idol from a company with a needlessly dramatic name, TAMASHII NATIONS. This "Strike Freedom Gundam" is, apparently, a miniature warrior from one of their noisy cartoons. For me, its best features are its silence and lack of assembly; no batteries means no sudden, terrifying whirring, and no construction means the human's attention was only briefly diverted from its primary purpose: serving me. Its so-called "portability" simply translates to being light enough for me to shove off a high surface with minimal effort. While its many pointy bits present a mild curiosity for batting, its rigid posture suggests it will offer none of the satisfying, floppy chaos of a true plaything. It is, most likely, destined to gather dust and obstruct my path to a prime napping spot.
Key Features
- From "Mobile Suit Gundam SEED DESTINY" comes Kira Yamato's Strike Freedom Gundam!
- Batteries required : False
- Is assembly required : False
- Special feature : Portable
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The monolith arrived in a glossy box, which I dutifully inspected for structural integrity before the human shooed me away. Once freed, the plastic creature was placed on the mantelpiece, a zone usually reserved for framed pictures of my less-impressive baby photos and a hideously fragile glass vase. The human posed it, wings flared, little cannons aimed at nothing. It stood there, a silent, colorful sentry, and I immediately dismissed it as an inanimate bore. It didn't smell like fish, it didn't crinkle, and it certainly didn't wiggle. Useless. For two days, it was merely part of the scenery, another oddity in the human's collection of strange, un-lickable objects. But on the third night, a storm rolled in. Thunder rattled the windows, a deep, angry growl that always set my fur on end. I was hunkered down under the coffee table, pretending to be brave, when a flash of lightning illuminated the room. In that stark, white moment, the Gundam was thrown into sharp relief. Its golden wings seemed to blaze, its white armor shone like bone, and its impassive face looked out into the tempest, utterly unafraid. It was a warrior staring down the sky itself. A particularly violent clap of thunder shook the house, and I flinched, my ears flattening against my skull. My gaze shot back to the mantel. The vibration had been just enough to shift the figure's weight. One of its tiny, articulated arms, the one holding a blue rifle, had drooped slightly, as if weary from the long watch. It looked less like a toy and more like a soldier at the end of a long battle. An odd sense of kinship washed over me. Here we were, two guardians of this carpeted kingdom, facing the roaring chaos outside. When the storm passed and the morning sun streamed in, I leaped gracefully onto the mantel. I approached the plastic sentinel, sniffing its feet. They smelled of nothing. I gently nudged its lowered arm with my nose, a gesture of solidarity. It didn't move, of course. It was, and always would be, a piece of plastic. But it had held its post. I gave a low, approving purr and settled beside it, my soft gray fur a stark contrast to its hard, painted shell. The mantel was now a shared watchtower, and I had decided its new guardian was, against all odds, worthy of the post.