Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in his infinite and often misguided quest for self-amusement, has procured a piece of trickery from a brand called "Canailles," a name that sounds suspiciously like something one would cough up after a bad meal. It is, apparently, a counterfeit coin designed to be "bitten" or folded. From my perspective, it's a small, metallic object that lacks the fundamental qualities of a proper toy—it does not crinkle, it is not infused with catnip, and it certainly isn't feathered. While its potential to skitter across the hardwood floor holds a sliver of appeal, I suspect my human will hoard it for his clumsy "magic," making it a frustratingly unobtainable, and therefore useless, piece of junk. It is, in all likelihood, a complete waste of my valuable waking moments.
Key Features
- New Folding and Bite Coin, connected with a small removable elastic that holds both pieces together. This magic coin can be used like a normal bite coin (just take the elastic off) or a folding coin (leave the elastic on)
- Great for pranks, magic tricks, magic practice, etc
- Includes a spare elastic hinge just in case it requires replacement
- Excellent quality, looks legit from a very close distance. As with any hinged coin, the hinge section is easily felt if handled but it looks as convincing as can be
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The evening air was thick with the scent of microwaved leftovers and human satisfaction, a combination that always put me on edge. My human, the large one who controls the food dish, placed a small, shiny disc on the antique rug I use for sharpening my afternoon claws. He called it a "quarter." I, of course, am the household's leading numismatist. I know the weight, the satisfying *skirr* sound, and the cool metallic taste of every piece of currency that has ever fallen from his pockets. This was my domain, and he had presented a specimen for appraisal. I approached with the solemn dignity befitting my station. A low, circular patrol, tail held high. The scent was the first clue: a faint, coppery tang, yes, but overlaid with the cheap smell of manufactured deceit and a hint of rubber. I lowered my head, my whiskers brushing its surface. My nose, a far more precise instrument than any human tool, detected a microscopic seam running across George Washington’s long-suffering face. A flaw. A forgery. I nudged it with my nose. The sound it made against the wood floor was a dull, pathetic *clack*, not the bright, musical *chink* of a true coin of the realm. It was an insult. Then the human performed his "trick." He picked up the fraudulent disc, held it to his mouth, and made a comical crunching sound. The coin appeared to bend, a piece of it vanishing into his mouth. I simply stared, my expression a carefully crafted mask of profound disappointment. Did he think me a fool? Did he believe I couldn't see the clumsy hinge, the way the light caught the cheap elastic holding the two halves together? It wasn't magic; it was just something broken that he was pretending to break again. An infant could see the shoddy construction. He set the mangled "coin" back down, beaming with pride. I gave it one final, dismissive sniff. The metal was an offense. The trick was an embarrassment. But the elastic… ah, the tiny, black, removable elastic band holding the sham together. It was taut, springy, and full of kinetic potential. *That* was the real treasure. The coin was worthless, but the binding agent was a masterpiece of minimalist toy design. While the human continued to marvel at his cheap illusion, I began plotting a heist. I would liberate that tiny band from its metallic prison and give it the life it was meant to have: being batted under the sofa at three in the morning. He could keep his fake money. I had my eyes on the real prize.
