Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite and often baffling wisdom, has presented me with a "mystery box." Apparently, the thrill is in not knowing what useless fluff you're about to waste your money on. The box promises three of these "Squishmallows," which from my vantage point appear to be bulbous, unnaturally cheerful pillows designed to look like things that have no business being pillows, such as pickles or pancakes. Their primary appeal seems to be their softness, which I will admit is a feature of some interest. They offer zero potential for a satisfying hunt—no feathers, no crinkles, no frantic scuttling. They are, in essence, professionally manufactured lumps. Their only conceivable purpose is to augment my already extensive collection of napping surfaces, a role for which they may be suited, provided their squish-factor meets my exacting standards.
Key Features
- This Squishmallows Mystery Pack contains 3 medium-sized mystery Squishmallows!
- Includes possibilities like Sheila Chocolate Pancakes, Pierogi Banana Monkey, and Charles Green Pickle.
- Official Squishmallows product: look for the official seal and join the Squad!
- Look out for other Squishmallows extensions, including FuzzAMallows, HugMees, and Stackables, only by Original Squishmallows.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived with the usual fanfare of a package—the crinkle of tape, the sigh of cardboard yielding to a blade. I watched from my perch atop the sofa's armrest, tail giving a single, dismissive flick. The human cooed about a "surprise," a word that in my experience usually precedes a vet visit or a new piece of furniture I haven't approved. Three figures were extracted, plump and silent. They were not adversaries. They were not food. They were... an audience. I descended with the gravitas of a monarch entering his court. My inspection began with the first subject, a green, gherkin-shaped absurdity with a vacant smile. I gave it a thorough olfactory interrogation. It smelled of nothing but the factory it was born in and the faint, cloying sweetness of human optimism. I circled it, my gray tuxedo immaculate against its garish green. I gave it a tentative pat with a single, unsheathed claw. The fabric yielded with a slow, luxurious rebound. Intriguing. This was not a simple cushion; it was a specialist. Its oblong shape seemed engineered to support a cat of distinguished posture. I mentally designated it ‘The Lumbar Support.’ Next, a creature that was allegedly a monkey but also, inexplicably, a banana. The conceptual dissonance was offensive to my refined sensibilities. What self-respecting primate would associate with such a pedestrian fruit? Still, the texture was consistent with the first. I nudged it with my head, a test of its structural integrity and comfort potential. It rolled slightly, creating a perfect hollow. A cradle. A throne for my magnificent head whilst I surveyed my domain. It would be known as ‘The Headrest.’ Finally, I approached the third: a stack of what appeared to be chocolate-chip pancakes. The sheer decadence was almost impressive. I placed a paw upon its surface, then another, and began the ancient ritual of kneading. The plushness was sublime, a deep, satisfying squish that accepted my claws without complaint. My verdict was delivered not with a meow, but with an action. I dismissed the Green Pickle and the Banana Monkey to the periphery for now, their specific functions noted for future naps. It was the Pancake Stack that had won the day. I circled it three times, a ceremonial claiming, before collapsing into its center. They were not toys; that much was clear. They were infrastructure. The human saw a cute collection. I saw the foundation of a new empire of comfort. They were utterly useless for play, but as silent, pillowy vassals in my kingdom of slumber, they were, I had to admit, worthy.
