Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in his infinite and often baffling wisdom, has acquired a black, rectangular parasite with a long tail. It seems to be a universal charger for his various wheeled contraptions he uses to briefly escape my majestic presence. The primary unit is an unremarkable black brick, but it comes with a bundle of five different plug-in appendages, suggesting it's some sort of master key for his noisy outdoor hobbies. From my perspective, its main features are a new, tangly cord to disdainfully step over and a single, tiny light that glows with either a malevolent red or a smug green. Ultimately, it’s an energy-siphoning device that powers machines which take my staff away from me. Therefore, its existence is, at best, tolerated.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It arrived in a box of promisingly chewable cardboard, but the contents were a grave disappointment. My human, whom I shall call The Warden for this narrative, extracted a somber black block and a cluster of what looked like surgical implements attached to a wire. He laid them on the floor with an air of satisfaction, then left the room. This was my chance. I approached the object with the low, silent glide I reserve for serious espionage. The central unit was cold and smelled of sterile plastic. The true mystery, however, lay in the five-headed cable. Each tip was a different shape and color, a collection of cryptic sigils. I nudged the green-ringed one with my nose. Nothing. I batted lightly at the yellow one. It skittered with a cheap, hollow sound. What was their purpose? Were they keys to a series of increasingly complex puzzle boxes? Perhaps they were different flavors of a terrible, inedible treat meant to mock me. For a moment, I imagined a vast, underground network of spies, each with a different scooter, and this LHIBYOLO device was the master decoder ring that united them all. I was on the precipice of uncovering a suburban conspiracy. My musings were interrupted when The Warden returned, wheeling in that two-wheeled metal beast he sometimes rides. He plugged the black brick into the wall, and its little circular eye instantly glowed a baleful, unblinking red. My pupils dilated. A worthy adversary. He then selected one of the five "keys" – the one with the three small prongs – and plugged it into the flank of the metal beast. A low hum confirmed the connection. It wasn't a set of keys. It was a feeding tube. This dark parasite was transfusing life from the wall into the garage monster. I sat back on my haunches, the entire sordid picture now clear. This was not a toy, nor was it an item of any import to my world. It was merely a piece of logistical support for The Warden's strange life. The hypnotic red eye held my attention for another moment, a tiny, stagnant star in the gloom of the hallway. But there was no sport in it. No thrill of the hunt, no satisfying crinkle. I gave my tuxedo chest a brief, dismissive lick, turned my back on the entire pathetic scene, and stalked away. The cardboard box it came in, however, was now a five-star nap fortress. The Warden had, as usual, chosen the wrong item to be the prize.
