ZOIDS Buster Tortoise

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The thing arrived in a flat box, a vessel of disappointment filled with plastic grids. For two evenings, the human hunched over the dining room table under a harsh lamp, snipping and cementing, their brow furrowed in a state of concentration I have not seen since the last time a moth got into the pantry. I observed from the safety of my favorite chair, occasionally flicking my tail in derision. The result of this labor was a small, gray and green creature, a mockery of a tortoise, frozen mid-stride with a weapon on its back far too large for its frame. The human placed it on the bookshelf, a new god in their pantheon of inanimate objects, and admired their work. I yawned and began my evening bath, thoroughly unimpressed. That night, a strange stillness fell over the house. The usual hum of the refrigerator seemed muted, the ticking of the clock distant. I awoke not to a sound, but to a feeling—a focused, mechanical presence. My eyes, adjusted to the dark, scanned the room. There, on the hardwood floor below the bookshelf, it stood. The Buster Tortoise. A single, small red light, which I hadn't noticed before, pulsed softly from its head. It wasn't a reflection. It was alive with a cold, silent purpose. It hadn’t fallen; it had descended. I am a creature of instinct and grace, but this was something outside my experience. It did not move with the scuttling panic of a mouse or the fluttering desperation of a bird. It simply *was*, a miniature fortress occupying the center of my domain. I slid from the chair, my paws making no sound on the rug. I stalked the perimeter, a gray shadow against the deeper shadows of the furniture. The tortoise did not move, but as I circled, its massive cannon swiveled with a faint, almost imperceptible whir, tracking my every step. This was no game of chase. This was a tactical assessment. It knew I was the apex predator of this environment, and I knew it was an anomaly, an armored challenger to my reign. The standoff lasted for what felt like an eternity. I feigned disinterest, turning to groom a spot on my shoulder, but my ears were locked onto its position. It remained stoic, its red eye a tiny, unwavering star. I realized then that it would not be baited. It was a creature of pure defense, of waiting. To attack it would be a crude and pointless endeavor. Instead, I simply walked to my water bowl, took a long, deliberate drink, and then leaped onto the sofa, curling into a perfect circle. I closed my eyes, projecting an aura of complete and total control. I would not give it the satisfaction of a confrontation. I would defeat it with indifference. When the morning sun streamed through the window, I awoke with a stretch. I glanced at the bookshelf. The plastic tortoise was back in its place, motionless, the little red light gone. It was just a model once more. The human shuffled past, oblivious. But I knew. I had met the intruder’s spirit in the quiet of the night and established the hierarchy. It was not a toy to be batted about, but a silent sentinel I had bested through sheer force of will. It had earned its place on the shelf, not as a trinket, but as a monument to my undisputed sovereignty.