Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to think I care about their noisy social rituals, but this one, from a company called "Big Potato," at least has a theme I can respect. It's a game called "Sounds Fishy," where the humans sit in a circle and lie to each other about trivia questions. One knows the real answer, and the others invent fakes. The goal is to fool the guesser. Honestly, the whole charade seems like a dreadful waste of energy that could be better spent napping or demanding treats. However, the game involves little plastic fish tokens. While the humans are busy with their clumsy attempts at deception, these shiny "red herrings" might just find their way under the sofa, providing a worthy challenge for a later hunt. The box also looks decently sturdy for sitting purposes.
Key Features
- FAKE IT AND MAKE IT: A hilarious board game for adults and family that combines inventing funny answers with not getting caught. Can you convince the guesser your answer is the right one?
- NO ANSWERS? NO PROBLEM: Some family board games are tricky, but here you get given the one correct answer and you invent the other (fake) answers so it’s a new board game that is perfect for all your friends and family
- DIVE IN:There’s something for everyone in this fast-thinking, bluffing, push your luck, family board game — creativity, trivia and even a little bit of sneakiness
- PLENTY MORE FISH IN THE SEA:It’s packed full of content, making it the ideal board game for groups of people who want to dive in again and again
- QUICK TO LEARN EASY TO PLAY:A board game for families that’s easy to learn and quick to play. Spend less time worrying about the rules and more time focused on having fun
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The evening began with the usual cacophony—the clatter of plates being cleared, the rising pitch of human chatter. I was enjoying a particularly deep meditation on the structural integrity of a sunbeam when my human presented the box. "Look, Pete! It's called 'Sounds Fishy'!" The garish blue packaging, bearing the name of a root vegetable, was an immediate offense to my refined aesthetic. I gave her a slow, unimpressed blink and turned my head away, a clear dismissal. They, of course, were oblivious. They spread the game's innards across the coffee table, a collection of cards and, to my astonishment, a school of glistening plastic fish. Fish! The symbol of all that is pure and delicious in this world, reduced to a mere game piece. An outrage. The humans began their ritual. A question was read: "The inventor of the Pringles can is now buried in one." One human read the true answer, while the others, with the subtlety of a dog trying to sneak onto the sofa, concocted their pathetic falsehoods. "He's buried in a giant, hollowed-out potato!" one declared, puffing out his chest. I had to suppress a sigh. Amateurs. This display of clumsy deceit took me back. I remembered a similar trial by fire. A prized porcelain bird, a family heirloom, had mysteriously shattered on the floor. I, having merely been investigating its aerodynamic properties with a gentle paw-pat, was the primary suspect. As the humans gathered, pointing and lamenting, I did not run. I did not hide. I simply walked calmly to the doorway, looked back at the mess, and let out a soft, mournful "mew," as if I, too, shared their grief for the fallen ceramic. Then, I pointedly stared at the open window, where a breeze was rustling the curtains. Their suspicion evaporated, replaced by theories of wind gusts and structural failure. Now *that* is how you sell a false narrative. As the humans brayed with laughter at some particularly poor lie, my eyes locked onto one of the little red fish tokens. It sat perilously close to the table's edge, its plastic scales catching the light. Their game was a mockery of a true art form, but this... this was an opportunity. With the fluid grace they could only dream of imitating, I leaped onto a nearby ottoman. In one swift, elegant motion, my paw shot out, batting the fish. It spun through the air in a perfect arc before skittering into the dark abyss beneath the entertainment center. The game stopped. "Hey, where'd the fish go?" one asked. All eyes turned to me. I was already curled into a perfect circle, purring loudly, the very picture of blameless, sleepy innocence. The game itself is beneath me, but I'll admit, the pieces are of an excellent quality for batting. It is… acceptable.
