Pete's Expert Summary
So, my human, in a moment of questionable judgment, has presented me with a "Burrow Bunny" from Melissa & Doug. I recognize the brand; they typically create objects for the small, loud humans who occasionally invade my domain and fail to appreciate the proper scritching technique. This thing is essentially a stationary, floppy lump of polyester fur. While its vacant, stitched-on stare offers no intellectual challenge, its "super-cuddly" texture might have some merit for a post-meal grooming session or as a passive-aggressive barrier between me and the less-favored side of the sofa. Its primary function seems to be collecting dust and testing my patience, but its floppy nature could, perhaps, provide a satisfying target for a well-executed bunny-kick. A marginal prospect, at best.
Key Features
- Fuzzy and floppy sitting plush bunny
- Surface washable
- Super-cuddly polyester fabric
- 9"H x 10"L x 6"W
- Makes a great gift for all ages, for hands-on, screen-free play
- All ages
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It arrived in a clear bag, a prisoner of plastic, its button eyes staring out with a kind of placid stupidity that I found deeply insulting. My human called it "Burrow Bunny," a name as uninspired as its design. Once freed, it was placed on the ottoman—*my* ottoman. This was not a gift; it was a declaration of war, a fluffy, beige provocation. For a full hour, I watched it from the relative safety of the under-the-sofa command center, a gray shadow assessing a new and baffling threat. It did nothing. It just sat there, floppy and smug. The first move had to be mine. I emerged from my lair with the calculated silence of a predator, my tuxedo markings a formal announcement of the seriousness of the situation. I circled the ottoman twice, my tail twitching a Morse code of displeasure. The bunny remained motionless. I leaped, landing beside it with a soft thud. I sniffed its ear. A faint, synthetic scent of a factory. I nudged it with my nose. It tumbled over, a pathetic display of structural weakness. This was no warrior. This was a court jester. Disgusted by its lack of spine, I decided to test its utility. I delivered a series of rapid, precise kicks with my back paws, a technique I had perfected on lesser cushions. The bunny absorbed the blows with a soft, wheezing sound, its floppy body offering a satisfying, if unchallenging, resistance. It was durable, I’ll give it that. The polyester fur was also remarkably soft against my claws, a minor but notable point in its favor. Finally, having thoroughly established its inferiority and my unquestioned dominance, I took it by the scruff of its neck and dragged it from my ottoman to my preferred sunbeam spot. The human, of course, misinterpreted this act of conquest as affection. "Oh, you love him!" she cooed. I ignored her. The bunny, now properly subjugated, had found its true purpose. It was not a toy. It was not a friend. It was, however, a surprisingly comfortable and perfectly-sized pillow, a trophy upon which I could rest my head while dreaming of more worthy adversaries. It will do.
