Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with what appears to be a miniature, non-functional effigy of their species. It's called a "Barbie," apparently, and this one is dressed for an event I was decidedly not invited to. Its main purpose, from what I can gather, is to stand there and look... shiny. The purple satiny skirt might offer a moment's distraction if it were dangling from a string, and the strappy heels are precisely the right size to be batted under the heaviest piece of furniture in the house. However, as a whole, it's a rigid, plastic observer with unnervingly permanent hair. It lacks the satisfying crinkle of a foil ball or the delightful unpredictability of a laser dot. It seems less like a toy for me and more like a strange, silent decoration destined to collect dust and my judgmental stares.
Key Features
- Designed to reflect the world kids see today, this diverse line of Barbie Fashionistas dolls showcases bright and trendy styles that inspire endless storytelling possibilities
- Barbie doll wears her brown hair down in soft waves Her look features fun details that make her personality pop, like a silvery necklace and matching strappy heels
- She is headed to a glitzy and glam event in her purple bubble dress The strapless bodice shines with a sequined print, while her satiny skirt adds plenty of fun flounce
- With such a versatile and stylish look, this Barbie doll is ready for any adventure that kids dream up
- Kids 3 years and up can collect other Barbie Fashionistas dolls for even more fun with friends and fashion at playtime
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in a cardboard box—the only part of the transaction that held any real promise—which my human promptly recycled after extracting the plastic totem within. She called it "Barbie," holding it up for my inspection. I gave it a cursory sniff. It smelled of a factory, of disappointment. With its frozen smile and a purple dress that shimmered obnoxiously, it was clearly no threat to my status as the most beautiful object in the home. The human placed it on the high dresser, a silent guest at a party only she could see. I dismissed it and returned to my important work of softening the sofa cushions with my body. A few days passed. The doll stood, unblinking, surveying my domain from its perch. Then, one afternoon, a strange thing happened. I was perched on the windowsill, watching a particularly brazen squirrel, when a flash of purple light danced across the wall. I tracked it to its source: the sun, hitting the sequined bodice of the doll's dress and refracting a pattern onto the plaster. I watched, intrigued, as the pattern shifted. And at that exact moment, the automated feeder in the kitchen whirred to life, dispensing my mid-afternoon snack. I narrowed my eyes. A coincidence, surely. But it happened again. The next day, while I was meditating on the cosmic injustice of closed doors, I saw a glint from its silvery necklace. Not a second later, the human stood up and asked, "Who wants a treat?" The day after that, a subtle draft, unnoticed by my clumsy human, stirred the doll’s stiff, brown waves of hair just moments before the mail carrier clattered the mail slot. This was no inanimate object. This was a fulcrum, a pressure plate for the universe. It didn’t *do* anything; it was a sign that something was *about* to be done. I have come to a conclusion. This "Fashionista" is not a toy. Toys are for grappling, for hunting, for glorious, disemboweled victory. This doll is an oracle. It is a shimmering, silent prophet that foretells the arrival of food and the whims of my staff. To bat it from its shelf would be to silence a valuable, if gaudy, seer. It has earned its place. Not as a plaything, but as a respected, and closely monitored, piece of household instrumentation.
