Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite lack of understanding, is considering a small, plastic man. It's not for me, obviously. It's a "WWE Elite Action Figure." This means it's a doll for grown-up humans who like to watch other humans pretend to fight. It boasts a disturbingly lifelike face and can be contorted into 25 different positions, which sounds exhausting. It even comes with spare hands, a feature I find both gruesome and pointless. Unless this six-inch man can operate a can opener or dangle a feather wand, he is of no use to me. The only potential for amusement lies in his small stature, which makes him a prime candidate for a gravity-assisted trip from the bookshelf to the floor, but frankly, my time is better spent supervising the dust bunnies under the sofa.
Key Features
- WWE Elite action figures bring WWE Superstars to life in 6-inch scale
- Each figure features highly detailed TrueFX technology for life-like facial features
- Recreate signature moves and dynamic poses with 25 points of articulation
- Includes interchangeable hands and iconic accessories for play and display
- WWE fans can find a favorite Superstar figure or can collect them all (each sold separately, subject to availability)
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived on a Tuesday. Through its plastic window, a tiny man stared out with an unnervingly placid expression. My human called him "R-Truth" and, after freeing him from his prison, set him upon the mantelpiece like some sort of household god. I observed from my perch on the armchair, unimpressed. He was small, rigid, and smelled faintly of a factory. My human fussed over him, bending his limbs in grotesque ways while boasting about his "twenty-five points of articulation." I yawned. Another piece of junk to clutter my domain. That night, a sliver of moonlight illuminated the living room. I was mid-groom, meticulously tending to my pristine tuxedo bib, when a glint from the mantelpiece caught my eye. The little man. He was no longer in the jaunty pose my human had left him in. His arm was raised, one of his swappable hands clenched into a tiny, defiant fist. I froze, my tongue still out. A trick of the light? A tremor from a passing truck? I dismissed it. But an hour later, I glanced up again. He had pivoted slightly at the waist. He was facing me. The "TrueFX technology" that made his face so realistic now seemed less like a feature and more like a threat. His painted eyes held a silent challenge. This aggression would not stand. This was my territory, my human, my premium heated blanket. I would not be intimidated by a six-inch plastic usurper. With the coiled silence of a predator, I leaped from the floor to the back of the sofa, and then in a single, fluid motion, to the mantelpiece itself. I was now face-to-face with the intruder. He was immobile, of course, but in the shadows, his vacant stare felt like a taunt. I imagined him whispering wrestling taunts, promising a "main event" for control of the sunbeam by the window. I extended a paw, claws sheathed for now, and gave his head a gentle tap. *Boop*. He wobbled precariously. There was no fight in him. No cunning retort. He was just... plastic. All the menace I had projected onto him deflated into absurdity. With a second, more decisive push, I sent him tumbling from his perch. He landed on the shag rug with a soft, unsatisfying *thump*. I peered over the edge. He lay there, one leg bent at an unnatural angle, defeated. My final verdict: He is not a worthy adversary or even a decent toy. He is merely an obstacle, and one that is easily removed. I hopped down, gave his prone form a disdainful sniff, and proceeded to the kitchen to yowl for a midnight snack, my victory absolute.
