Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in her infinite and often baffling wisdom, has brought home a "ZF-MO" branded kit for the smaller, louder human. It appears to be a cheap plastic apparatus designed to turn the boy into some sort of arachnid-themed hero, complete with a flimsy cape and a mask that will do little to improve his already questionable aesthetics. While the noisy charade that will inevitably follow is a clear detriment to my napping schedule, I must admit a flicker of interest. The kit includes a wrist-mounted launcher and twenty small, dart-like projectiles with suction cups. The potential for these darts to be fired erratically, skittering under furniture and into my designated ambush zones, is... promising. The rest of the ensemble is rubbish, but the prospect of twenty new "bugs" to hunt makes this a situation worth monitoring.
Key Features
- Safe Materials: Made of non-toxic and harmless plastic, gloves wrinkle resistance, shape retention, breathable. These toys are safe for children to play with.
- Feel just like a superhero when your child wear this electronic Hero mask and glove. -- Stimulates Children's imagination: When a child wears this spider glove launcher and plays role-playing games with friends, they will feel like a hero.
- Suits include: 1 * Glove, 1 * Transmitter, 20 * toy launcher，1 * Cape, 1 * Felt Mask; Glove size: 9.5" X 4.7", one size fits most children age 12 and younger
- Easy to Operate: Simply insert the dart into the shooter, pull the plastic rod at the back, and press the switch to launch. (Don't grab the switch when pulling the plastic rod to load the launcher., or it won't be able to load.)
- Perfect for Christmas, Halloween, Birthday Party and Dress-up Party, boy's birthday gift. Let their imagination run wild as they dress up as their favorite superhero and heroically save the day!! Note: Please remind your children not to shoot at people.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The peace of the afternoon was shattered not by a bang, but by a *thwip*. It was a pathetic sound, followed by the soft *splat* of plastic against the living room window. I cracked open an eye from my post on the velvet armchair. The small human, a whirling dervish of cheap red polyester and felt, was stomping around, one arm encumbered by a gaudy plastic contraption. He was a mockery of a superhero, a discount avenger whose only power was to generate noise and disrupt a perfectly good sunbeam. He fumbled with the device, pulling back a thin plastic rod with a grimace of intense concentration. I watched, unimpressed. This was the source of the disturbance. He aimed again, this time at the ficus tree my primary human is so fond of. *Thwip... thwack.* A small, blue dart with a ridiculous suction cup on the end fell limply among the leaves. My tail gave a single, irritated flick. This was an insult to projectile engineering. A gnat had more impressive aerodynamics. I was about to close my eyes and return to my scheduled nap when the boy, in his triumphant flailing, launched a third dart. This one, however, didn't hit its intended target. It ricocheted off a lamp shade and skittered, with surprising speed, directly under the sofa. My ears perked. Under the sofa. My domain. The shadowlands where lone socks and the ghosts of kibble past reside. A place of ambush and tactical advantage. I slid from the armchair, my movements liquid silk. The boy was already trying to load another dart, his attention span as flimsy as his cape. He wouldn't miss one. He had nineteen more chances to be clumsy. I peered into the gloom beneath the couch. There it was, the little blue dart, nestled against a dust bunny of epic proportions. It wasn't a worthy adversary, not in the way a laser dot or a real June bug was. It was clumsy, inanimate, and smelled vaguely of a factory in a place I couldn't pronounce. But it was an intruder. And it was now *mine*. I extended a paw, hooked a single claw into the plastic, and dragged my prize deeper into the darkness. The boy could play his noisy game. I, Pete, was beginning a collection. The launcher was for him; the ammunition, I had decided, was for me.
