Pete's Expert Summary
It appears my human has procured a piece of molded plastic from a company called Rubies, designed to mimic a device from one of their more theatrical television programs. They call it a "Phaser," and its primary appeal, aside from its clunky, un-pounceable shape, is its ability to produce a sound, provided one sacrifices two perfectly good AAA batteries that could be powering a far superior laser pointer. The manufacturer states it is not intended for "rough play," a laughable disclaimer as that is the only kind of play that matters. While it lacks any discernible scent, feathers, or catnip-infusion, the potential for an interesting new noise presents a slim, but non-zero, possibility that this object might be worth a brief flick of my ear in its direction.
Key Features
- Officially licensed Star Trek The Next Generation costume accessory; look for trademark on label and packaging to help assure you've received an authentic safety-tested item
- Plastic Phaser modeled on The Next Generation; with sound
- Costume accessory not intended for rough play or battle action
- Requires 2 AAA Batteries for sound (batteries available separately); do not use rechargeable batteries
- Family-focused, and based in the U.S.A. since 1951; Rubie’s has classic and licensed costumes and accessories in sizes and styles for your entire family
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The Human brought the gray and black object into the living room with the sort of reverence usually reserved for a fresh can of tuna. I, of course, remained unimpressed from my post atop the suede armchair, offering only a slow, deliberate blink. It smelled of a distant factory and the faint desperation of licensed merchandise. It had no soft edges, no tantalizing string, no crinkly bits. It was, to my expert eye, a failure. The Human held it out. "Look, Pete! It's a phaser! From the Enterprise!" I responded by meticulously grooming a single, perfect tuft of fur on my white chest, a clear signal of my profound disinterest. Unfazed by my critique, the Human pointed the thing at the wall and pressed a button. A warbling, electronic chirp sliced through the quiet afternoon air. *Vworp-vworp-vweeeee*. My ears, which had been languidly monitoring the hum of the refrigerator, snapped to full attention. My grooming ceased mid-lick. That sound... it was not the squeak of prey nor the chirp of a bird. It was utterly alien. It was a clean, precise, and deeply unnatural sound. It vibrated in a frequency that bypassed my usual hunting instincts and plugged directly into my curiosity. I hopped down from the chair, my tuxedo-clad form moving with liquid grace. The Human, delighted at having finally captured my attention, made the sound again. I approached the plastic object not as prey, but as a puzzle. I sniffed the emitter, the little red plastic nub at the front. The sound was not a call to hunt, I realized. It was a transmission. My mind, usually occupied with calculating the trajectory of sunbeams for optimal napping, raced with possibilities. Was this a beacon? A signal to summon the Great Can Opener from the sky? A device that could communicate with the strange greebles that only I can see skittering in the corners of the room? The Human placed the phaser on the rug. I nudged it with my nose. It was light, hollow, and disappointing to the touch. But the *potential* within it was immense. I sat before it, staring, waiting. The Human was a simple creature; they would press the button again. They did. *Vworp-vworp-vweeeee*. I didn't pounce. I didn't bat it. Instead, I began to purr, attempting to match the strange, oscillating frequency. This was not a toy for chasing. It was a device for interdimensional communication. The Human thought they were playing make-believe, but they had unwittingly provided me with a direct line to... somewhere else. It is worthy, not as a toy, but as a tool. I will allow it to remain. For now.
