Pete's Expert Summary
It appears my human has acquired a quartet of hard plastic totems, supposedly representing characters from that noisy light-box she calls a "movie." There's a blue one, a yellow one with an excessive number of tails, a red one who looks like he missed a meal, and a rather dramatic-looking black and red one. They're about the right size to be swatted from a high perch, and the human claims they have "points of articulation," which I presume means their limbs can be satisfyingly twisted before a final, fatal push. While they lack any sort of organic material, scent, or feather—a clear oversight—their potential for being knocked over repeatedly offers a flicker of interest. Still, they are just plastic, a far cry from a sunbeam or a freshly opened can of tuna.
Key Features
- Sonic The Hedgehog Sonic 3 Movie 5" Action Figures: New Character Wave #3
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The Offering was placed upon the Great Wooden Plateau, the flat, polished surface my human calls the "coffee table." She arranged the four figures in a line, like some bizarre, colorful honor guard, and then retreated, watching me with that hopeful expression I know so well. I remained on my velvet cushion, observing. They were an invading force, silent and still. My domain—this living room—had new, unwelcome occupants. I decided a reconnaissance mission was in order. I leaped silently onto the plateau, my paws making no sound. My first inspection was of the blue one, the supposed leader. He had a cocky smirk I found deeply offensive. I gave his head a tentative *pat-pat-pat* with a soft paw. He wobbled but did not fall, his oversized feet granting him a low center of gravity. A worthy adversary. I moved on to the yellow one, intrigued by its twin tails. A design flaw, surely. Too easy to grab. I hooked a single claw around a plastic tail and *pulled*. The figure spun and fell with a dull clatter. So much for that one. The red one was next; he looked angry, with fists that could probably do some damage if he weren't made of inert polymer. A single, decisive shove from my nose sent him toppling into the yellow one's wreckage. Two down. But the last one… he was different. The black and red figure stood slightly apart from the others, arms crossed, exuding an aura of profound indifference that I, frankly, respected. He didn't look like he was trying to impress anyone. He looked like he was judging the quality of the sunlight filtering through the blinds, much as I do. He was not an enemy soldier; he was a rival sovereign. I circled him slowly, my tail giving a low, thoughtful twitch. A direct assault felt too crude for this one. Instead of batting him, I began a delicate game of physics. I nudged his base with my nose, pushing him ever so slightly toward the precipice. This was not a brawl; it was a coronation. My coronation. He slid, inch by inch, balanced precariously on the edge of the plateau. For a moment, he seemed to stare into the abyss of the shag carpet below. Then, with a final, deliberate *boop*, I sent him tumbling into the void. He landed silently in the plush fibers, defeated. I surveyed my work. The battlefield was clear. The plastic statues had offered a decent tactical puzzle for a Tuesday afternoon. They were, I concluded, an acceptable diversion. Not as good as a nap, of course, but their silent challenge was worthy of my intellect. I hopped off the table and curled up on the spot of sun he had been occupying, a silent acknowledgment of a worthy, if temporary, foe.
