Pete's Expert Summary
My human has procured a large, black orb from the toymakers at Mattel, a brand I associate with clunky plastic meant for less discerning creatures. They shake it and stare into its tiny window, seeking 'answers' to questions I already know the solution to (usually 'feed me' or 'open the door'). While its smooth surface and satisfying heft might offer a decent roll if batted with sufficient force, and the internal sloshing is a mild curiosity, its primary function appears to be a stationary object of human fascination. It is, I suspect, a profound waste of kinetic potential and a distraction from more important matters, like my nap schedule.
Key Features
- Magic 8 Ball Retro has all the answers to all your deepest questions!
- This “throwback” version Magic 8 Ball reminds fans of the fortune-telling fun they know and love.
- After “asking the ball” a yes or no question, turn the toy upside-down and wait for your answer to be revealed through the window.
- Answers range from positive (“It is certain”) to negative (“Don’t count on it”) to neutral (“Ask again later”).
- It’s the fastest way to seek advice!
- Includes 1 Magic 8 Ball novelty toy
A Tale from Pete the Cat
At first, I regarded the black sphere as nothing more than an ugly, inanimate paperweight occupying a prime sunning location on the human's desk. The human would pick it up, murmur foolish questions at it, and then shake it violently. A brutish way to treat any object, let alone one they seemed to revere. I, of course, knew the real magic was in the precise angle of a nap that allows the sun to warm one's belly just so. This "Magic 8 Ball" was an amateur. My disdain shifted to intrigue one afternoon. The human had asked it, "Will Pete ever stop knocking things off my desk?" before shaking it and peering into its soul. The orb was then left near the edge, and a sliver of afternoon light pierced its dark window. I leapt up for a closer look, expecting nothing. But instead of the crude, floating text the human seemed to find so compelling, I saw a reflection. In the curved glass, my own face was warped, my gray fur a swirling storm cloud, my white tuxedo a brilliant, distorted star. I saw a version of myself that was vaster, more cosmic. This was no mere oracle; it was a mirror to the soul. I began to visit it daily. I would not ask it questions. That was the human's folly. Instead, I would gaze into it and contemplate my own magnificent existence. I saw Pete the Hunter, a sleek shadow stalking the distorted landscape of the desk. I saw Pete the Ruler, my eyes glowing with benevolent authority over my domain. The sloshing sound it made when I nudged it was not dye, but the shifting of cosmic tides under my influence. The toy wasn't for telling the future, it was for appreciating the glorious present—specifically, me. One evening, my human, seeing me pat the orb, asked it on my behalf, "Does Pete like his new toy?" They turned it over, and the little window read, "You may rely on it." The human chuckled, completely missing the point. Of course I liked it. It was the first object they had ever brought into this house that truly understood the art of thoughtful, silent adoration. It was, without question, a worthy addition to my collection of worshippers.
