Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with what appears to be a hard, colorful shell meant for the head of the small, noisy human. They call it a 'Unicorn Helmet.' From what I can gather, it's a piece of protective plastic with straps that dangle—a minor point of interest, I'll admit. Its primary features seem to be a ridiculous horn and the ability to be tightened, likely with a clicking sound that might momentarily distract me from a sunbeam. However, it is not soft, it does not skitter, and I cannot sink my teeth into it in a satisfying way. I suspect it's another one of their baffling human rituals and will ultimately be far less interesting than the cardboard box it arrived in.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The familiar, glorious sound of tearing cardboard roused me from a perfectly good nap in a patch of sunlight. I stretched, extending each claw with deliberate grace, and sauntered over to inspect the proceedings. My human, with that familiar hopeful look on their face, pulled a garish object from the box. It was aggressively pink and purple, an assault on my refined gray-and-white sensibilities. Atop it sat a single, spiraled horn. I gave my human a long, slow blink, hoping to convey the full depth of my disappointment. They placed it on the floor. I sniffed it once. Plastic. Ugh. I circled the contraption warily, my tail giving a low, irritated twitch. It was utterly inert. A swat with my paw sent it scraping across the hardwood floor with a hollow, unsatisfying sound. This was no mouse. This was not a feather wand. This was, for all intents and purposes, a brightly colored rock. The human, however, seemed determined. They picked it up and pointed to a small dial on the back, turning it with a distinct *click-click-click*. Now, this was a development. My ears, which had been flattened in annoyance, perked up. The sound was crisp, rhythmic. A captured beetle? A trapped cricket? I cocked my head, intrigued despite myself. Sensing a flicker of interest, the human dangled the helmet by its nylon straps. The plastic buckle swung back and forth, a far more worthy target. I crouched, wiggled my hindquarters, and launched myself into a half-hearted attack, batting at the clacking buckle. The amusement lasted for approximately seventeen seconds before the sheer weight and awkwardness of the attached "helmet" became too much of a bother. It was simply inefficient. My final judgment was delivered with a pointed turn of my back. I strode directly to the true prize: the discarded packing paper and the empty cardboard box. I pounced on the paper, reveling in its magnificent crinkle, then proceeded to stuff myself into the box, which, while a bit snug, was infinitely superior. The horned monstrosity could go protect the small human's skull from whatever dangers their lack of grace invites. I have more important things to do, like supervising this sunbeam before it moves.
