Pete's Expert Summary
So, my human has acquired a box full of flat, perforated sheets of what they call 'cardstock.' From my understanding, this is a tedious project for two-leggers, involving punching out 223 tiny pieces and fussing over them with smelly glue to construct some sort of gray, lumpy spaceship. The primary appeal, as I see it, lies not in the final, dust-collecting display piece, but in the glorious chaos of those small, lightweight punch-outs, which are practically *begging* to be skittered across the hardwood and lost under the credenza. While the human's prolonged concentration on this 'satisfying craft challenge' is a tragic waste of potential lap-and-petting time, I must admit the final, rather large, object might offer a novel, if precarious, napping spot.
Key Features
- DETAILED REPLICA: Embark on an epic building adventure with a film-accurate Star Wars room decor piece. This 4D Build Millennium Falcon cardstock model kit has movie-quality intricate detail, plus glue and a stand
- EASY TO ASSEMBLE: You get 10 sheets with 223 detailed durable punch-out pieces & instructions to complete this satisfying craft challenge. No tools required
- DESIGNED FOR DISPLAY: An authentic addition to your model kits collection- ideal for room decor, office decor, & bedroom decor. This Millennium Falcon measures 16.9 in x 12.4 in x 8.8 in (43 cm x 31.4 cm x 22.4 cm)
- GIFTS FOR EVERY FAN: Love your 4D Build model kit & need more fun? 4D Build also makes fantastic birthday gifts for men, gifts for women, gifts for boyfriend, and gifts for him
- BOARD GAMES FOR FAMILY NIGHT: Switch it up with 3-d puzzles, party games, & couples games. Don't forget 1000 piece puzzles for adults & card games for adults too Plus board games for kids 8-12 & games for kids ages 4-8
- Includes 10 Cardstock Sheets, Glue, Instructions
- Covered by the Spin Master Care Commitment. See below for full details
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The invasion began on a Tuesday. The human, my supposed staff and guardian, sat hunched over the coffee table, a place usually reserved for my mid-morning lounge. From a large, flat box, a plague was unleashed: hundreds of tiny, oddly-shaped cardboard squares. They were the first wave. I watched from my perch on the armchair, the tip of my tail twitching, as the human methodically 'punched out' these invaders. Each one that escaped the human's clumsy grasp and fluttered to the floor was a hostile scout. I met them with the swift, silent fury they deserved, a quick one-two of my white paws sending them skidding into the dark abyss beneath the sofa. One down. 222 to go. The war of attrition raged for what felt like days, an eternity in cat-time. My human, clearly a collaborator with the enemy, began assembling their primary vessel. Using a tube of pungent, forbidden goo, the flat pieces were fused together, forming strange, angular structures. It was a mothership, taking shape right in the center of my territory. I conducted several daring reconnaissance missions, sniffing at the skeletal framework whenever the human was distracted by the glowing rectangle on the wall. It smelled of processed wood and chemical adhesive—the unmistakable scent of an off-world threat. I considered a preemptive strike, a full-body launch to shatter their nascent fortress, but the collaborator was ever-watchful. Then, it was finished. It rested on a black plastic stalk, a silent, gray behemoth dominating the credenza. It had nooks, crannies, and a strange satellite dish perfectly sized for a single paw. For a full day, we were locked in a stalemate. I stared at it; it stared back, unblinking. It offered no food, no warmth, no purring vibrations. It was an inert usurper of prime sunbeam real estate. My initial skepticism curdled into disdain. It was useless, an affront to good taste and functional design. But then, during a high-speed chase involving a rogue sunbeam, I took a flying leap onto the credenza. My landing was… imprecise. I bumped the ship. It wobbled precariously on its stand. And in that wobble, I saw its true purpose. This wasn't a mothership. It was a challenge. A gravity-based puzzle. With a delicate, calculated nudge of my nose, I pushed it again. It swayed. A little harder. It tilted further. The sheer, unadulterated joy of knowing that I, with one perfectly executed shove, could send this entire, painstakingly constructed 'masterpiece' crashing to the floor in a glorious explosion of cardboard… well. Suddenly, this wasn't a waste of space at all. It was the most tempting, long-term-playability toy the human had ever brought home. The game was afoot.
