A photo of Pete the cat

Pete's Toy Box: Visual Stimulation

URMYWO Black and White Baby Toys, Tummy Time High Contrast Newborn Toys 0-3 Months, Soft Baby Book, Visual Stimulation Montessori Sensory Infant Toys 0-6-12 Months, Shower Gift for Boys Girls

Pete's Expert Summary

So, the human has presented me with a "toy" clearly intended for a less-developed, drooling lifeform. It appears to be a foldable, soft fabric structure—some sort of "book"—adorned with high-contrast black and white shapes. While the "infant" branding is frankly insulting, the bold, stark patterns are at least visually stimulating for a superior predator's eyes, and I hear whispers of integrated crinkle material and a mirror for admiring my magnificent gray tuxedo. The fact that it can stand on its own might provide a decent, if rudimentary, ambush barrier. It teeters on the edge between being an egregious waste of my time and a potentially passable distraction.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The object was placed on my favorite sunning rug with an air of ceremony that was entirely unearned. I observed it from the arm of the sofa, giving it a slow, deliberate blink of utter disdain. It was a bizarre, monochrome accordion of fabric, an insult to my refined sensibilities. The human made a pathetic "crinkle-crinkle" sound with their own mouth, hoping to entice me. Fool. As if I, Pete, could be swayed by such a clumsy imitation. I flicked an ear in annoyance and began fastidiously grooming a single, perfect whisker, pretending the offensive item didn't exist. Eventually, of course, my professional obligation to inspect all new additions to my territory took over. I descended from the sofa with the fluid grace of smoke and padded silently towards the thing. I gave it a wide berth, circling it twice before extending a single, tentative white paw. The moment my claw tip made contact, a glorious, crackling rustle erupted from within the fabric. My ears swiveled forward. Well, now. This was an unexpected development. I tapped it again, harder this time, producing a satisfyingly loud *CRINKLE*. A low purr rumbled in my chest. I peered closer at one of the panels and was met with the reflection of a startlingly handsome cat with intense eyes and an impeccable tuxedo. I arched my back slightly, admiring my form, before realizing it was merely a mirror. Still, a quality feature. My initial skepticism began to melt away. This was no mere "book." When stood on its edge, it formed a low wall, a perfect blind from which to launch a surprise assault on the human's unsuspecting ankle. The simple black and white patterns, a fish here, a spiral there, were surprisingly captivating to stalk. The little ribbons at the edges were ideal for batting. I crouched low, wiggled my hindquarters, and pounced, collapsing the entire structure in a delightful cacophony of crinkles. I allowed myself a full minute of undignified, frantic play before I remembered who I was. I immediately stopped, sat up, and began grooming as if this had been my intention all along. The human seemed pleased. Let them have their little victory. The crinkle-fort is mine now.
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URMYWO Tummy Time Toy - Black and White High Contrast Baby Toys for Newborn - Baby Visual Stimulation Mirror - Montessori Sensory Crinkle Toy for Infant 0-3-6-12 Months - Shower Gift for Boy Girl

Pete's Expert Summary

My human seems to think my opinion is required on this... this *thing*. Very well. They call it a "Tummy Time Toy," which I assume is a rather primitive name for a low-profile, multisensory engagement station. From my initial assessment, it is a soft, foldable fabric book designed for the tiny, loud human they recently acquired. It features high-contrast black and white patterns, which are admittedly stimulating and easy for a superior feline visual cortex to process. The key features of note are a "crinkle" component, which mimics the delightful death throes of a well-captured beetle, and a small mirror for mandatory moments of self-admiration. While the entire enterprise is clearly intended for a less discerning audience, the promise of crinkly sounds and a reflective surface suggests it might be a worthy distraction between my more important napping appointments.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The indignity of it all. There it sat, a strange, triangular monolith in the middle of *my* favorite sunbeam. The human placed it there, cooing something about "visual stimulation" for the small creature that now inexplicably lives here. I observed from the arm of the sofa, my tail twitching with irritation. It was an object of stark black and white patterns, an offense to the nuanced grays and warm creams of my well-appointed home. My nap was disturbed, my sunbeam occupied. An investigation was required, if only to determine the best way to shred it. I padded silently across the rug, my soft gray paws making no sound. I circled the object. It was flimsy, fabric, and beneath contempt. I extended a single claw, intending to give it a warning snag, but my paw brushed against a corner. It let out a sharp, satisfying *CRINKLE*. My ears, previously flattened in annoyance, perked forward. I froze. What was that? I tapped it again, this time with more purpose. *CRINKLE-CRUNCH*. The sound was intoxicating, reminiscent of a bag of my favorite salmon-flavored treats. My cynicism began to waver. I noted the silly little ribbons dangling from the side—primitive, yes, but undeniably battable. As I batted at a particularly jaunished-looking yellow ribbon, I caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. An intruder! I whipped my head around the side of the contraption and came face-to-face with the most magnificent cat I had ever seen. He had brilliant green eyes, impeccably groomed gray fur, and the most dashing white tuxedo markings. I crouched, ready for a confrontation. He crouched, too, perfectly mimicking my powerful stance. I narrowed my eyes; he narrowed his. It was then I realized this was no intruder, but a magical viewing portal. A mirror. A tool for appreciating my own devastating handsomeness. This changed everything. This was not a baby toy. This was a throne with built-in auditory stimulation and a personal admiration station. The human, for once, had chosen wisely. It could stay.
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Nuby Super Soft Silicone Teether with Suction Base - Visually Stimulating and Easy to Grasp Toy for Baby Teething Relief - 3+ Months

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has presented me with what they apparently believe is a toy, though the packaging suggests it's for some sort of tiny, drooling human. It appears to be a garishly-colored silicone... thing... with a variety of textures that, I must admit, look moderately interesting for a good chew. The entire contraption is designed to be "easy to grasp," which is frankly insulting to my superior dexterity. Its only potentially redeeming feature is a suction base, which promises the toy might actually stay put when I deign to give it a proper thwack, rather than pathetically skittering under the nearest piece of furniture. It is likely a profound waste of my valuable napping time, but the novelty of a stationary opponent has, against my better judgment, piqued my curiosity.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The object landed on the polished hardwood floor with a soft, undignified *thump*. I observed it from my vantage point on the velvet armchair, allowing one eye to crack open just enough to register its existence. It was a lurid shade of green, an offense to the carefully curated neutral tones of my home. My human, making those absurdly cheerful noises they reserve for new acquisitions, pushed it towards me. I responded with a slow, deliberate blink, the highest form of feline dismissal. This was clearly a "teether," intended for a creature with far fewer teeth and significantly less dignity than myself. Eventually, the sheer audacity of its presence compelled me to investigate. I slid from the chair with practiced grace, my paws silent on the floor. I circled the green monstrosity, my tail giving a slight, irritated flick. It smelled of nothing, just a sterile, clean silicone scent. I extended a single, perfect paw, claws sheathed, and gave it a tentative pat, fully expecting it to slide away into the abyss under the couch. But it did not. It wobbled, then held fast. I frowned. What was this dark magic? I tapped it again, with more force this time. It sprang back, defiant. This changed the calculus entirely. A toy that doesn't flee is not prey; it is a worthy sparring partner. I crouched low, my pupils dilating. I pounced, wrapping my front legs around its lumpy form and sinking my teeth into one of the nubby ridges. The texture was surprisingly satisfying. I began to kick furiously with my back legs, a technique I reserve for only the most deserving of foes. The toy held its ground, anchored by its clever suctioned base. It was a silent, unyielding opponent, a pillar against which I could unleash my full predatory fury without the tedious chore of retrieval. After a vigorous, one-sided battle, I sat back, panting lightly, and began to meticulously groom a stray piece of my white tuxedo fur, feigning nonchalance. The green thing stood, slightly askew but unbroken. It was a crude, unsophisticated object, no doubt. But its stubborn refusal to be easily defeated had earned it a measure of respect. It could stay. For now. It would serve as an adequate outlet for my aggression until something more interesting, like a sunbeam or an unattended glass of water, presented itself.
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beiens High Contrast Baby Flashcard, 80 Pcs 160 Page Black White Colorful Visual Stimulation Learning Activity Card for Babies Ages 0-3-6-12-36 Months, 5.5'' x 5.5'' Newborn Infants Toys Gift

Pete's Expert Summary

My human, in a baffling attempt to curate my entertainment, has presented me with a box of what appear to be... flat, silent squares of paper. They are called "High Contrast Baby Flashcards," an offensive name on two counts, as I am neither a baby nor in need of flashing. The premise is visual stimulation via simple black-and-white images, eventually progressing to garish colors, for the undeveloped minds of human infants. I must concede that the stark, bold patterns are not entirely unpleasant to my superior feline eyes and might offer a brief, meditative distraction. However, as they make no noise, do not taste of salmon, and cannot be properly disemboweled, I suspect their primary function will be to clutter the floor, a space I have already perfected for napping.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The crinkle of the box being opened was an unwelcome intrusion on my post-meal grooming session. I paused, one leg held aloft, and leveled a cool gaze at the Human. She was cooing, a sound that usually precedes either an unwanted cuddle or a subpar treat. This time, she produced a stack of stiff, shiny cards and placed one on the rug before me. It was an image of a fish, but rendered in such stark, absolute black against a white background that it seemed to vibrate at the edges. I was, of course, utterly unimpressed. A two-dimensional fish is an insult to my hunting prowess. I returned to my grooming, pointedly turning my back to the offering. Yet, I could see the card reflected in the gleaming surface of the water bowl. It was... precise. Clean. My tail gave a single, traitorous twitch. The Human, sensing a crack in my composure, slid the card a few inches. The smooth, silent glide across the rug snagged my attention. This was not the clumsy wobble of a stuffed mouse; it was a sleek, deliberate movement. Against my better judgment, I rose, stretched languidly to demonstrate my complete lack of urgency, and padded over. I sniffed the card. It smelled of cardboard and disappointment. Still, the visual was compelling. I extended a single, impeccably soft gray paw and gave it a gentle tap. It skidded. My pupils, those twin abysses of predatory focus, widened. I tapped it again, a little harder this time. It shot across the polished hardwood, a fleeting shadow. A new game unlocked. It was a silent, minimalist hunt for a geometric ghost. I crouched low, my white-bibbed chest nearly touching the floor, and prepared to pounce. The Human, now beaming with misplaced pride, began sliding more cards my way. A spiral, a checkerboard, a rather unflattering silhouette of another cat. I ignored her, my focus entirely on the silent prey I had cornered near the leg of the sofa. It was not a feathered wand, and it was certainly not a live cricket, but it had its own strange charm. It was a worthy adversary for a cat of modern, minimalist tastes. I would permit these paper squares to remain. For now. With a final, decisive pounce, I pinned the fish to the floor, its stark form a trophy of my intellectual victory.
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High Contrast Baby Flashcards, 96 Pcs 192 Pages Black White Colorful Visual Sensory Stimulation Learning Activity Card for Newborn Ages 0-3-6-12 Months, Brain Developmental Infant Toys Montessori Gift

Pete's Expert Summary

My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has presented me with what appears to be a stack of printed paper rectangles. They call them "flashcards" and insist they are for stimulating the undeveloped mind of a tiny, loud human. The collection features a progression of high-contrast images, starting with simple black and white patterns that might, for a fleeting moment, hold my attention more than a particularly intricate shadow on the wall. While the sheer volume of cards presents a tantalizing opportunity for widespread, systematic shredding, their inherent lack of bounce, crinkle, or chaotic movement suggests they are fundamentally flawed as an object of play. Frankly, unless I am permitted to test their durability with my claws and teeth, they seem like a colossal waste of my valuable energy.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

I was in the midst of a critical nap-based analysis of a sunbeam's trajectory across the living room rug when The Human approached. They knelt, presenting a thin, flat square. It depicted a stark black spiral on a white background. I offered a slow, unimpressed blink. They waved it gently. It did not chirp, wiggle, or smell of tuna. It was, to my highly refined sensibilities, an insult in two dimensions. I turned my head away pointedly, focusing my attention back on the far more engaging dust motes dancing in the light. Undeterred, The Human laid several more of the cards on the floor like a pathetic offering. A checkerboard, a simple circle, a stylized fish. My gaze lingered on the fish for a half-second longer than the others; the subject matter was, at least, appropriate. My interest, however, was not in the image but in the object itself. I lazily extended a single, perfect claw and hooked the edge of the card. A light tug sent it skittering a few inches across the hardwood. Well, now. That was… something. My initial disdain began to curdle into scientific curiosity. I stalked the checkerboard card, my haunches low. A swift pat sent it sliding towards the sofa. I pounced, pinning it beneath both front paws. The material was thick, satisfyingly resistant. I grabbed it with my teeth to carry it off to my lair, but the rounded corners were a disappointment—poor for teething. It was then that I discovered its true purpose. By hooking my paw underneath the edge and flicking my wrist, I could launch the card into the air. It would flutter down, a wounded, silent bird. The Human made a pleased sound, no doubt believing their "visual stimulation" experiment was a success. The fool. They saw a baby toy; I saw a primitive but effective prey-simulation device. While these silent squares could never replace the thrill of a real hunt, they served as an adequate training tool for my pouncing and flipping techniques. They are not worthy of my full, enthusiastic attention, but for a slow afternoon, they will do. They have been judged and deemed… marginally acceptable.
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PLAY Tummy Time Toys Rolling Baby Mirror Activity Toy Newborn Toys 0 3 6 9 12 Months with Teethers Infant Mirror Crawling Toys Montessori Toys for Brain Development Visual Stimulation, Double-Sided

Pete's Expert Summary

My Human, in what I can only assume is a profound misunderstanding of my sophisticated needs, has acquired a 'Tummy Time Toy' intended for a creature far less evolved than myself. It appears to be a soft, rolling prism of some sort. One side features a mirror, which is admittedly a point in its favor, as it allows for the convenient admiration of my own handsome, tuxedo-clad form. The other sides are adorned with loud patterns and various rubbery bits, allegedly for 'visual stimulation.' While the premise of a toy designed for drooling infants is insulting, the fact that it *rolls* presents a mild possibility for a chase. It might just be engaging enough to warrant a brief pause in my napping schedule, or it could be yet another piece of colorful garbage destined to gather dust bunnies under the sofa.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

I was in the middle of a vital solar-recharging session on the living room rug when The Human placed the offending object near my tail. It was a triangular monstrosity of soft fabric, loud patterns, and an overall air of desperation. I registered its presence with a single, slow blink, refusing to grant it the dignity of a full head turn. A *baby* toy. The audacity. I could feel my pristine gray fur bristling with indignation beneath my crisp white bib. I resolved to ignore it into non-existence, a fate I have bestowed upon many a lesser offering. But then, The Human committed an act of war: they nudged it. The object wobbled and then began a slow, unsteady roll across the rug. My tail, against my better judgment, gave a reflexive twitch. As it rolled, a flash of light caught my eye. I saw him—another cat, impossibly handsome, with sleek gray fur and a distinguished white chest, trapped within the side of the strange prism. He moved as I moved, his gaze as discerning and intelligent as my own. My nap was officially postponed. I rose, stretched with performative nonchalance, and sauntered over as if I were merely inspecting a dust mote. I approached with caution, circling the toy as it came to a rest. The mysterious, silent cat watched my every move. I extended a single, perfect paw, claws sheathed, and gave the toy a gentle pat. It rocked, and the rubbery nubs attached to its side wiggled invitingly. A low-grade diversion. I batted it again, this time with more purpose. It rolled away, and the chase was on. It wasn’t a frantic, feather-wand sort of chase, but a more strategic, intellectual pursuit. I would stalk, pounce, and then pause to confer with my handsome counterpart in the mirror. We were a team, silently agreeing on the toy’s mediocrity, yet finding its slow, predictable roll a passable form of afternoon sport. After several minutes of this calculated assault, I delivered a final, decisive thwack that sent the toy skittering under the coffee table. It was conquered. My verdict? The "Tummy Time Toy" is an object of profound silliness, clearly not designed for a predator of my caliber. However, its gentle rolling action provides a satisfactory low-effort hunt, and the mirror feature offers an excellent opportunity for moments of quiet self-appreciation. It is... acceptable. For now. I returned to my sunbeam, curled up, and feigned sleep, though my ear remained swiveled toward the coffee table, listening for my next opponent.
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beiens High Contrast Baby Flashcards, Black White Color Newborn Brain Development Toys, Visual Stimulation Learning Activity Cards, Educational Infants Gift (Black & White(for 0-3 Months))

Pete's Expert Summary

My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has presented me with what they seem to think is a "toy." It is, in fact, a collection of flat, printed cards featuring stark black-and-white patterns. They are apparently designed for the "brain development" of a newborn human, a creature with significantly less-developed faculties than my own. While I must admit, the high-contrast geometric shapes and simple animal figures are visually arresting and do tickle the primal predator-response centers of my brain, their inherent lack of three-dimensionality is a fatal flaw. They do not bounce, they do not crinkle, they possess no feathers, and they are utterly devoid of the tantalizing scent of catnip or prey. They might serve as a momentary distraction for an unrefined mind, but they are a profound waste of my time, which could be better spent monitoring the sunbeam's progress across the rug.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

I was in the midst of a particularly sublime nap, my luxurious gray and white fur soaking up the precise patch of afternoon sun on the living room floor, when I was disturbed. The Tall One knelt beside me, holding a small, flat box. My ear twitched in annoyance. I had already inspected the box—it was of inferior, non-corrugated quality and thus useless for sitting purposes. From it, they produced a series of stiff, shiny squares. One was held before my face. It was a dizzying swirl of black and white. An insult. Did they think my sophisticated mind could be entertained by such two-dimensional folly? I gave a slow, deliberate blink to communicate my profound disappointment and turned my head away. Undeterred, the human laid several of the cards out on the hardwood floor like some sort of bizarre, minimalist art installation. A checkerboard. A circle. Something that was vaguely fish-like but lacked all the proper fish-like smells. I sighed, the sound of a patient aristocrat forced to endure the whims of the common folk. Yet, I could not deny it; my eyes kept being drawn to the stark patterns. Against my better judgment, I rose, stretched languidly, and padded over. I sniffed a card depicting a series of black dots. It smelled of paper and human hands. Pathetic. I gave it a single, gentle tap with a soft, retracted claw. It skittered a few inches across the slick floor. A flicker of interest. I tapped it again. It slid. This was not a chase. This was... sweeping. After a few more perfunctory taps, I grew bored of this menial labor. The human was watching me with that hopeful, simple expression they get. I needed to deliver my final verdict. I walked deliberately across the field of cards, feeling their cool, smooth surface under my paws. Then, finding the one with the most visually offensive pattern—the chaotic spiral—I lay down directly on top of it, tucking my paws beneath my chest and obscuring it completely from view. I closed my eyes, letting out a soft purr of finality. The cards were not a toy. They were not even an adequate source of visual stimulation. They were, it turned out, a slightly uncomfortable and wholly unsatisfying placemat. Having thus conquered the strange paper squares and declared them unworthy of my attention, I resumed my far more important work of napping. The Tall One could clean them up whenever they were ready.
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BBWOO High Contrast Baby Toys for Newborn Development - Tummy Time Black and White Baby Toys for 0-3-6-12 Months - Soft Montessori Visual Stimulation Sensory Infant Book - Shower Gift for Boys Girls

Pete's Expert Summary

My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has procured a "soft book" intended for a small, un-furred human. It's a foldable panel of black and white images—shapes and creatures, I gather—which is a respectable, if basic, artistic choice. The marketing nonsense mentions "sensory stimulation," which translates to crinkly sounds when batted, and it's designed to stand up on its own, creating a sort of minimalist visual barrier. While the crinkling might offer a fleeting moment of diversion between naps, and the high-contrast patterns are easy on the eyes, I suspect its true purpose will be as a slightly sub-par pillow. It's certainly not worth interrupting a serious grooming session for.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The object was placed on the floor with an air of ceremony I found entirely unearned. My human unfolded it, creating a low, zigzagging wall on *my* favorite sunning rug. A wall of black and white patterns. A zebra, a penguin, some geometric nonsense. I watched from the arm of the sofa, tail twitching with profound skepticism. Another piece of juvenile paraphernalia, no doubt destined to be covered in slobber. It smelled faintly of a factory and the human's misplaced hope. I yawned, displaying my fangs to show just how unimpressed I was, and began meticulously cleaning a single, perfect white whisker. My calculated indifference was, of course, a challenge my human could not resist. They poked one of the panels. *CRINKLE-CRUNCH.* My ears, those magnificent gray satellites, swiveled instantly, betraying my feigned disinterest. The sound was sharp, crisp. Like a large, delectable beetle scuttling under a dry leaf. Against my better judgment, I rose, stretched languidly, and padded over for a closer inspection. I extended a single, white-gloved paw and gave the contraption a tentative tap. *CRINKLE!* Well, now. That was interesting. I gave it a firmer thwack. The panel yielded satisfyingly, and the entire flimsy structure collapsed onto the rug. Pathetic, but the sound was undeniably compelling. With the wall now vanquished and lying flat, I could conduct a proper analysis. I sniffed each panel. One of them held a distorted, shiny reflection of the most handsome cat in the world. I held my own gaze for a moment, admiring my sleek tuxedo coat, then batted at the face of my lesser, crinkly twin. My investigation concluded, I circled the flattened object three times, as is tradition. The fabric was soft, though not up to the standard of my cashmere throw. After a few moments of vigorous kneading, I settled into a loaf upon the black and white patterns. As a toy, it was a momentary distraction. But as a crinkly, slightly lumpy, portable napping station? It was adequate. It would be permitted to remain. For now.
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High Contrast Baby Cards for Infants, Black and White Baby Cards High Contrast Baby Toys for Newborns Visual Stimulation Brain Development Learning 20 Pcs 40 Pages 5.7'' x 5.7'' （0-3 Months）

Pete's Expert Summary

My Human, in what I can only assume was a moment of profound confusion, has presented me with a collection of flat, silent squares of pressed wood pulp. They call them "High Contrast Baby Cards," which suggests they are intended for a small, loud, and significantly less intelligent creature than myself. These cards feature stark black and white patterns and crude drawings of various objects and lesser animals, allegedly for "visual stimulation." While I appreciate the minimalist aesthetic—it is, after all, quite slimming—the complete lack of feathers, catnip scent, or satisfying crinkle-sound is a glaring oversight. The primary appeal I can deduce is that their 5.7-inch size might make them moderately acceptable for batting under the sofa, but honestly, this seems like a tremendous waste of energy that could be better spent sleeping in a sunbeam.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The offering was presented with the usual cooing noises my Human reserves for things she finds inexplicably fascinating. I, of course, was in the middle of a vital nap atop a cashmere throw, and I opened one green eye to fix her with a look of deep skepticism. She fanned out the collection of cards on the polished hardwood floor. They lay there, inert and pathetic. "For you, Pete!" she chirped. For me? These two-dimensional insults? I am a creature of texture, of movement, of the thrilling hunt. These were nothing more than glorified coasters. With a sigh that conveyed the full weight of my disappointment, I stretched languidly, extending each claw for emphasis before retracting them into my soft gray paws, and hopped down to inspect the mess. My initial investigation confirmed my suspicions. The cards smelled of paper and the factory they were born in. A tentative pat sent one skittering across the floor with a dull, unsatisfying *shhhhff* sound. It was mildly amusing for precisely 0.7 seconds. I sniffed at the images: a simplistic fish, a series of dizzying lines, a shape that might have been an umbrella. My tuxedo-front puffed out in indignation. Was my superior intellect not worthy of a more complex challenge? I noted the matte finish, which prevented a satisfying glare, and the rounded corners, which denied me the pleasure of a sharp edge to test my teeth on. I was about to turn my tail on the whole sorry affair and return to my nap. But then, my Human, ever persistent, propped one of the cards against the leg of the coffee table. It was different. It wasn't a pattern or an object. It was a face. A stylized, geometric, black-and-white face of a *cat*. The sheer audacity. This flat impostor stared back at me, its bold lines a silent challenge to my authority in this household. My cynicism momentarily gave way to a primal instinct. My tail gave a sharp, involuntary twitch. My pupils, mere slits moments before, expanded into black pools of focus. This was not a toy. This was an effigy. An intruder. With a low growl rumbling in my chest, I dropped into a predatory crouch. The world narrowed to me and the two-dimensional trespasser. I wiggled my hindquarters, calibrating my trajectory. Then, I sprang. My pounce was perfect, landing a soft but firm paw directly on the face of my paper nemesis, pinning it to the floor. I batted it, flipped it, and sent it sliding into its brethren, scattering them in a delightful explosion of monochrome chaos. Very well, Human. These... *cards*... are not toys. They are targets. They will serve as an adequate warm-up for my more important duties. They are, for now, worthy of my attention.
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