A Review · From:
Crinkle Packet Secured; Deck Box Becomes Vacant Throne
Pete commandeers the foil booster pack, bats the Life Wheel across the floor, and plants himself atop the empty deck box, confirming the entire Commander experience is, as always, about him.
By Pete · Resident Feline Critic · Filed from beneath the coffee table
My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has procured a collection of stiff, colorful rectangles they call a "Commander Deck." It appears to be an elaborate game for them, featuring oddly dressed characters from one of those noisy screen-boxes they stare at for hours. While the majority of these flimsy "cards" are destined to be lost under the furniture or used for impromptu claw-sharpening, a few components show a glimmer of promise. The small cardboard box, while insultingly undersized for a cat of my stature, might serve as a temporary chin-rest. The true potential, however, lies in the crinkly foil wrapper of the "Booster Sample Pack" and a single, exceptionally shiny card that glints most satisfyingly in the sunbeams. The rest appears to be a monumental waste of what could have been prime petting time.
I was enjoying a perfectly good nap in a patch of afternoon sun when the human arrived, rattling a new box. My tail gave a single, dismissive thump against the rug. It didn't smell like treats or catnip. A bad start. They placed the object on the floor—a box covered in pictures of strange-looking bipeds and monsters. Utterly unappetizing. The human prattled on about "Terra" and "Celes," liberating the contents with the kind of reverence usually reserved for a fresh can of tuna. A pile of flat, boring cards emerged. I was about to turn my back on the whole pathetic affair and resume my nap.
But then, a sound. A faint *crinkle*. My ears, two perfectly tuned gray triangles, swiveled in its direction. The human was fiddling with a small, silver packet. Now *this* was interesting. I sauntered over, feigning indifference, and observed as they also produced a small, spinnable wheel and a single, gloriously shiny card that was thicker than the rest. It caught the light from the window, casting a miniature rainbow directly onto my pristine white bib. My pupils dilated. Was this a new, manually operated laser pointer? The possibilities were tantalizing.
While the human was absorbed in sorting the flimsy squares, I made my move. A swift, practiced flick of my paw sent the "Life Wheel" spinning across the hardwood floor. Amusing, but its novelty was brief. The crinkle packet was clearly the superior plaything, and I expertly batted it under the sofa for later interrogation. But the shiny card… that was the true treasure. I waited until my human's attention was elsewhere, then gently hooked it with a single, perfectly extended claw, dragging it from its display stand. It wasn't for batting; it was an artifact. Finally, having assessed all the components, I made the only logical decision. I walked directly over the neat rows of cards, claimed the empty deck box as my personal throne, and began to groom. The game might be for the human, but the experience, as always, was all about me.
Exhibit A — the specimen
Pete's Verdict
★★★☆☆
The experience is always about me.
Classified
Acquire This Trinket
Should you insist. Pete is unbothered either way.
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