Pete's Expert Summary
So, the human has brought home a... box of flat paper. Apparently, the taller, less-furry creature is supposed to perform manual labor—punching, folding, taping—to assemble a squadron of what they're calling "dragons." It's from Scholastic, a name I associate with the smell of old library paste and the dull thud of books my human was forced to read. The potential appeal, I must admit, lies in the "flying" aspect. A dozen colorful, crinkly things swooping through my domain could provide a brief, but glorious, hunt. However, given that they are made of paper, their "flight" will likely be more of a pathetic, fluttering descent. It could be a spectacular waste of my finely-honed predatory instincts, ending with a mouthful of disappointing cardboard instead of a worthy foe.
Key Features
- Make and fly 12 vibrantly colored paper dragons
- Comes with 10 sheets of custom-designed punch-out dragon parts, 6 sheets of foldable hatchlings, robo-dragon body and spine, tape
- Includes a 48 page instructional book with Klutz certified crystal-clear instructions
- Includes fun and fascinating dragon facts
- Recommended for children ages 8+
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The operation began under the harsh glare of the desk lamp, a circle of light I typically reserve for my most profound naps. The human, whom I'll refer to as the Handler, was hunched over a colorful dossier—the "instructional book." The air filled with the sharp *pop-pop-pop* of perforated paper being liberated from its prison. This was an assembly line. From my observation post atop the warm printer, I watched as twelve enemy agents were methodically constructed. Each had a different livery: some were a garish sunset orange, others a venomous-looking green. The Handler’s work was clumsy, the application of tape both excessive and imprecise. The first asset was declared operational. The Handler held it aloft, a crimson beast with wings of questionable aerodynamic integrity. "Look, Pete! A dragon!" I gave no reaction, save for a slow blink. To show excitement would be to reveal my strategy. I remained a statue of soft gray fur, my white-gloved paws tucked neatly beneath me, analyzing the target. It was flimsy, I could tell. A single well-placed strike would compromise its entire fuselage. The Handler seemed pleased with their work, oblivious to the fact they were merely arming their own opposition. Then came the launch. With a flick of the wrist, the Handler sent the paper creature into the air. It didn't so much fly as it did... slice the air in a wobbly, desperate arc, heading directly for the territory I patrol between the sofa and the bookcase. This was it. The incursion had begun. I did not pounce. Pouncing is for kittens. I dropped from my perch with the silent, practiced grace of a shadow, my movements a fluid calculation of trajectory and velocity. The "dragon" spiraled, its paper wings making a faint, rustling whisper—a call to glorious battle. I intercepted it mid-descent. There was no ferocious bite, no shredding claws. That would be uncivilized. Instead, I met it with a single, perfectly calibrated paw-tap to its primary wing. The agent’s structural integrity failed catastrophically. It tumbled to the rug, a crumpled heap of colorful defeat. I sniffed it once, a gesture of finality, and sauntered away. The verdict was in. The materials were flimsy, the flight path predictable. These "dragons" were not a threat, but they would serve as excellent training simulations for the real thing. The Handler could keep building them. I would be waiting.
