Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in a fit of what I can only assume is profound boredom brought on by a lack of sufficient chin-scratching duties, has acquired a box of plastic shrapnel. The brand, Kotobukiya, is familiar; it signals one of the human's long, tedious projects involving tiny parts, strange glues, and intense concentration that could be better spent admiring me. This "Raven Raptor" appears to be some sort of mechanical bird-lizard, an affront to both biology and common sense. Its appeal to a feline of my stature is precisely zero. It is not soft, it does not contain catnip, and its "playability" seems limited to sitting on a shelf and gathering dust. The only feature of note is the cardboard box it came in, which might offer a few moments of satisfactory confinement.
Key Features
- ZOIDS Figure from Kotobukiya!
- Base Stand included
- Official Licensed Product
- ZOIDS
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The assembly was a multi-day ritual. The Tall One would sit for hours under a bright lamp, the sharp *snip* of clippers echoing as limbs and armor plates were liberated from their plastic frames. I watched from the arm of the sofa, feigning disinterest, but my eyes followed the creature's slow genesis. It was a thing of sharp angles and a deep, menacing purple, like a bruise on the evening sky. A predator, yes, but a cold and lifeless one. Once completed, it was placed on a high bookshelf, posed mid-stride on its little stand, a silent, motionless hunter. That night, I was dreaming the deep dream of the well-fed, a tapestry of chasing sunbeams and conquering freshly laundered towels. But the dream shifted. The familiar landscape of the living room warped, the floor stretching into a vast, crystalline desert under a sky of swirling binary code. A shadow fell over me, and I looked up. It was the Raptor, but it was no longer a hand-sized statue. It towered over me, its mechanical joints whirring with a low hum that vibrated through the crystal sands. Its single red optic eye pulsed with cold, analytical light. I did not feel fear. I am Pete, after all. I arched my back, my own gray fur bristling not with terror, but with a primal challenge. This was my territory, dream or no. The mechanical beast lowered its head, its metallic beak inches from my nose. It didn't chomp or screech. Instead, a series of low-frequency clicks emanated from its chassis, a language of pure logic and data. It was not a threat; it was an inquiry. It was assessing me, one apex predator to another, a being of flesh and instinct meeting a being of steel and code. I responded not with a meow, but with a slow blink, the ultimate expression of trust and dominion. The giant Zoid processed this for a long moment, its optic eye dimming slightly. Then, with a final, soft whir, it turned and stalked away, vanishing into the digital horizon. I awoke with a jolt, the morning sun warming my tuxedoed chest. My gaze drifted up to the bookshelf. The little plastic Raptor stood exactly as the human had left it, inanimate and inert. It was still a ridiculous shelf-ornament, utterly useless as a toy. But as I settled back to sleep, I gave it a respectful nod. It was no simple plaything; it was a fellow guardian of a strange and silent world.
