Pete's Expert Summary
My human has acquired a box of small, hard, colorful rectangles from a brand called LEGO. The purpose, it seems, is for the adult human to engage in a lengthy, self-imposed task of clicking these bits together according to a pictographic manual. The end result is a static model of a helmet from one of their space fantasies, designed to sit on a shelf and collect dust. While the initial chaos of 854 tiny, skittering pieces being unleashed upon my floors holds a certain chaotic appeal for a cat of action, the final product appears to be the pinnacle of un-playability. It has no strings, no feathers, and I highly doubt it's filled with catnip. It is, in essence, a monument to wasted time that could have been spent stroking my magnificent gray fur.
Key Features
- Features a highly-detailed LEGO Star Wars Captain Rex Helmet model set which allows fans to pay tribute to the 501st Legion Clone Commander
- Relive spectacular scenes from Star Wars: The Clone Wars as you replicate authentic details of Captain Rex's helmet in LEGO bricks
- Proudly display this LEGO Star Wars memorabilia model on the brick-built stand with a nameplate; makes an attention-grabbing décor piece
- Part of a collection of LEGO Star Wars collectible helmets to build and display; includes picture instructions in print and on the LEGO Builder app
- This 854-piece LEGO Star Wars set for adults makes a great gift for any fan, an experienced LEGO builder or a Star Wars LEGO helmet collector
- This collectible Captain Rex helmet replica measures over 21 cm (8 in.) high, 12 cm (5 in.) wide and 13 cm (5 in.) deep. Contains 854 pieces
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The ritual began at dusk. My human, with a reverence usually reserved for the opening of a fresh can of tuna, carefully sliced open the cardboard vessel. A cascade of crinkling pouches spilled onto the coffee table, their contents like the teeth and bones of some tiny, colorful beast. He then unfurled a glossy scroll of pictograms and fell into a deep, focused trance. For hours, the only sound was the rhythmic *click-click-click* of plastic, a strange and hypnotic incantation. I watched from my perch on the back of the sofa, my tail twitching, certain I was witnessing some bizarre form of human magic. He wasn't building a toy. He was summoning a spirit. Piece by piece, a face began to emerge from the chaos—a stoic, armored visage of blue and white. It was a golem, born of plastic and patience. I crept closer, my paws silent on the rug, as the final, crucial piece was pressed into place. A soft *snap* echoed in the quiet room, and the spell was complete. The human sighed, a sound of profound satisfaction, and placed the effigy upon a small black altar, complete with a nameplate I couldn't be bothered to read. There it stood, a silent sentinel in my living room. It was not for me, I understood that immediately. This was no common plaything. I approached with caution, extending my neck to sniff the air around it. It smelled of nothing but plastic and the human's hands. I circled its altar, examining the jauntily-angled antenna and the painted-on scuff marks that spoke of battles I could not imagine. I looked into its dark, glossy visor, and for a moment, I felt a strange sense of understanding. This wasn't a rival for affection; it was a comrade in vigilance. My final verdict was clear. As a toy, it is an abysmal failure. But as a stationary, silent guardian to stand watch over the domain while I am engaged in my more important napping duties? It is... acceptable. It will serve as a stark reminder to any dust bunnies or stray sunbeams that this territory is protected by beings of great power and sophistication. I gave it a slow, deliberate blink of approval. The helmet, of course, did not blink back. It simply stood its post. And for now, that was enough.
