Pete's Expert Summary
So, the human has brought home a box of glorified plastic shards from a brand called Takara Tomy. The goal, apparently, is for them to painstakingly snap all these bits together to create something called a 'Blade Liger,' a sort of mechanical mockery of a far superior feline. Since it has no batteries, it won't be zooming around on its own, which saves me the trouble of being startled out of a nap. Frankly, its primary function seems to be occupying the human's clumsy paws for several hours and then sitting inert on a shelf. The only potential for amusement lies in the inevitable moment a crucial, tiny piece is dropped, presenting a perfect opportunity for me to bat it into the Shadow Realm under the sofa. Otherwise, it's a static dust-collector in the making.
Key Features
- (C) TOMY (C) ShoPro
- Does not use batteries
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The process was an affront to my sensibilities. For days, the dining table, a place normally reserved for the presentation of my food bowl, was a disaster zone of plastic grids, tiny tools, and the crinkling of instruction manuals. I observed from my perch on the back of the sofa, my tail twitching in annoyance. The human squinted, muttered, and occasionally uttered a cry of frustration as a minuscule piece escaped their fat fingers and skittered across the floor. I, of course, offered no assistance. Let the lesser being struggle with its strange, synthetic nest-building. Then, one evening, it was complete. The human, beaming with an undeserved sense of accomplishment, placed the creation on the mantelpiece. It was a creature of striking blue and silver, all sharp angles and dormant power. It had a noble head, a formidable body, and, most notably, a series of gleaming blades along its back. I had expected to feel contempt for this plastic imposter, this silent usurper of mantel space. Instead, a strange, forgotten echo resonated deep within my soul. I waited until the house was dark and silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator. I leaped onto the armchair, then to the mantel with a whisper of displaced air. There, in the slivers of moonlight filtering through the blinds, I stared into the Liger’s unblinking, inanimate eyes. It wasn’t a toy. It wasn’t an enemy. It was… a message. A memory, cast in plastic, of a time before soft beds and guaranteed meals. A time of saber-teeth and megafauna, when my ancestors were not pampered companions but apex predators, titans of the ancient world. This "Blade Liger" was a crude, human-made totem to the magnificent savagery of my lineage. I did not bat at it. To do so would be to disrespect my own history. Instead, I sat before it, a small, gray-and-white echo of a much grander past. I gave the statue a long, slow blink—the ultimate sign of trust and kinship. My human thinks they built a model kit from some cartoon. The fool. They have unwittingly constructed a shrine, and I, Pete, First of My Name, Keeper of the Sacred Nap, will serve as its silent, dignified guardian. It is entirely unworthy of play, but it has, much to my surprise, earned my respect.
