Pete's Expert Summary
So, the Human has presented me with this... object. It is a "Jellycat Bumbly Bear," a plush effigy of a lesser beast, clearly intended for a small, dim-witted human child. The Jellycat brand is not entirely unknown to me; their offerings are usually of a superior softness, a quality I can appreciate, though none can rival the silken splendor of my own gray tuxedo coat. This bear, with its polyester fur and plastic pellet-filled posterior, might offer some value as a secondary pillow, something to lean against when the primary sunbeam cushion is at the wrong angle. Its potential for vigorous play seems low—it has no feathers, no crinkle, no tantalizing scent of catnip. It is, in essence, a stationary lump of fluff, a potential distraction but hardly a worthy adversary or a fitting tribute to my greatness.
Key Features
- Size: 12 inches tall
- Suitable from birth
- Made of polyester, plastic pellets/eyes
- Spot clean only
- Designed by Jellycat in London, UK
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The ceremony was, as usual, undignified. The Human placed the tribute on the rug before me with a cooing sound that grated on my refined ears. It was a stout, brown creature, slumped in a posture of utter servility. "Bumbly Bear," she called it. A ridiculous name for a subject of my kingdom. I regarded it from across the room, allowing my tail a slow, contemptuous flick. Its face was a simple affair: two black plastic beads for eyes, vacant and without cunning, and a stitched nose that had sniffed nothing of importance. It smelled of the box it came in and the faintest hint of a London factory—a city I've heard has far too much rain. I advanced with the silent, deliberate tread of a monarch approaching a new vassal. A thorough inspection was in order. I circled the bear twice, my whiskers twitching as I gathered intelligence. The fur was, I concede, remarkably soft, a dense polyester pile that yielded pleasingly under a single, tentatively extended claw. I gave its flank a sharp pat. It wobbled, its pellet-filled base giving it a satisfyingly dense feel, but it did not topple. It simply sat there, staring into the middle distance, awaiting its fate. This was no warrior. This was no jester. This was... furniture. My initial disappointment curdled into a flash of inspiration. A creature of this size and softness, while useless for sport, could be repurposed. An enemy is to be vanquished, a toy is to be destroyed, but an object of pure comfort is to be conquered and claimed. There would be no glorious battle, no triumphant disembowelment of stuffing. Such a display would be beneath me with so passive a foe. Instead, I would enact a quieter, more permanent form of domination. With a soft grunt of effort, I leaped atop the Bumbly Bear's back. It was perfect. The plush form molded to my own, creating a perfect, slightly elevated platform from which to survey my domain. I began to knead its back, my paws rhythmically sinking into the soft material, a sign of ultimate approval and ownership. A deep, rumbling purr vibrated through my chest and into the very core of my new subject. The Bumbly Bear had failed as a toy, but it would excel as my new throne. From this day forward, it would serve as my royal divan in the sunlit patch of the living room, a silent, comfortable testament to my benevolent rule.
