Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have acquired a box of brightly colored plastic shrapnel, which they call "LEGO." Based on the packaging, they intend to spend hours meticulously clicking these tiny, paw-hazardous bricks together to construct a miniature, incomplete version of a house from that cartoon with the floating real estate and the talking dog. While the promise of hundreds of tiny, skitterable pieces to bat under the sofa is initially tantalizing, the end result appears to be a static, dust-collecting ornament. Its primary function, I suspect, is to divert my human's attention away from more important activities, like chin scratches and filling my food bowl. The inclusion of a blocky dog figure is a particular insult to my refined sensibilities.
Key Features
- Give a movie fan or any kid who lives for high-flying adventures a gift full of details to inspire the imagination with this LEGO Disney and Pixar ‘Up’ House (43217) set
- This 598 piece LEGO Disney set includes a partial house built with balloons, different rooms and functions, 2 minifigures, a LEGO animal figure and plenty of accessories to spark play
- The set includes beloved Disney and Pixar movie characters: Carl Fredricksen and Russell LEGO minifigures, and a Dug LEGO dog figure for dog lovers. The set is made for unlimited adventures on land or floating through the clouds
- Disney and Pixar fans with a passion for adventure will enjoy this set full of imaginative possibilities, with a house based on an iconic movie
- One of a limited number of LEGO sets created to celebrate Disney’s 100th anniversary; collect them all! Great for kids ages 9+. This also makes an impressive gift for adult Disney fans
- The LEGO Builder app guides kids on an intuitive building adventure. They can save sets, track progress and zoom in and rotate models in 3D while they build
- With detailed minifigures and a recognizable build, this Disney and Pixar construction set encourages open creative play that builds important life skills through fun
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The ceremony began at dusk. The Provider of Sunbeams and Salmon, my primary human, cleared the sacred low-lying table in the center of the room and brought forth a vibrant, rattling box. From within, she produced several transparent pouches filled with tiny, colorful artifacts, laying them out like a priestess preparing for a strange rite. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail giving a slow, judgmental thump-thump-thump against the upholstery. She then unfurled a cryptic scroll—a book of diagrams and symbols—and the clicking began. A monotonous, rhythmic sound that grated on my nerves, a sound that meant her hands were occupied with something other than my glorious fur. For what felt like an eternity, the structure grew. A wall here, a window there, all sharp angles and jarring colors. She built tiny furniture, a minuscule bed hardly fit for a mouse, and a chair for a grumpy-looking plastic elder. An effigy of a small, round boy-human followed. I remained unimpressed. It was a dollhouse for ghosts, a monument to wasted time. Then, my blood ran cold. From the remaining pile of plastic, she constructed it: a square-headed, vapidly-staring, yellow *dog*. She clicked its head into place and set the abomination on the table next to the house. The sheer audacity. Once her bizarre shrine was complete—the house tethered to a garish cloud of plastic bubbles—she placed it high on the bookshelf, a place of honor it did not deserve. Then, she made the foolish mistake of leaving the room. I waited a beat, listening for her footsteps to fade, then launched myself from the sofa to the desk, and from the desk to the top of the bookshelf in a single, fluid motion. I landed without a sound, a gray shadow of righteous indignation. The house was even more pathetic up close. But it was not my target. My eyes locked onto the plastic canine. "Dug," the box had called him. He stood there, a silent, blocky insult. He represented everything I was not: oafish, unrefined, and, most offensively, *not a cat*. With the precision of a seasoned hunter, I extended a single claw from my paw. I did not swat. I did not flail. I simply… nudged. The yellow dog toppled from the shelf, falling through the silent air and landing with a faint, unsatisfying *tink* on the rug far below. I glanced at the house, then back at the empty space where the dog had stood. The composition was much improved. My work was done. The house could stay, but its false idol had been cast down. Order, and proper species hierarchy, had been restored.
