Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have acquired a box of organized chaos. It’s a 1000-piece “puzzle” from someone named Anne Geddes, featuring what appear to be underdeveloped humans dressed as garden pests. The primary function of this product is to occupy the large, flat surface of the dining table for an obscene amount of time, rendering it useless for its intended purpose: my afternoon sunbathing. While the humans seem to derive some sort of masochistic pleasure from staring at tiny cardboard cutouts, I see its true potential. The box is a top-tier napping vessel, and the individual pieces, when batted with the correct velocity, skitter across the hardwood floor in a most satisfying manner. The ultimate goal, a large, flat image of… babies… is frankly an aesthetic downgrade for the room, but it will make a superb, slightly lumpy, victory platform for me to sprawl upon once they complete their tedious task.
Key Features
- FUN CHALLENGE: Put your skills to the test with this beautiful and entertaining jigsaw puzzle featuring the beloved photography from Anne Geddes.
- 1000 PIECE PUZZLE: Hours of entertainment! Full-color puzzle image for solving.
- DIMENSIONS: Completed puzzle measures 27 x 19 inches.
- MAKES A GREAT GIFT: Puzzles are a fun activity to do alone or in a group, and make a great gift for all ages at birthdays and holidays!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The smell of fresh cardboard and disappointment filled the air as my human cracked the seal on the box. They spilled the contents onto the table with a sound like a thousand tiny sighs. I watched from the arm of the sofa, tail twitching in mild irritation. Another human-centric project. This one, however, was different. As they began to sort the edges, a grand strategy began to form in my mind. They were not simply connecting pieces; they were building a city. A flat, fragile, garishly colored metropolis populated by these strange, wing-ed larvae they called "Fairy Babies." For days, I observed their painstaking labor. I was no mere saboteur, batting pieces to the floor for a moment's amusement. No, my plan was far more elegant. I was a cartographer of their folly, a silent observer charting the weaknesses in their burgeoning civilization. I noted the central district, a particularly dense cluster of floral patterns and chubby limbs. I saw the outlying regions of unfocused greenery and blue sky. I saw their frustration, their little sighs when a piece wouldn't fit, their misplaced optimism. They were building a world, and I, Pete, would be its god. On the third night, under the cover of the dim kitchen nightlight, I made my move. I leaped silently onto the table, a gray shadow moving through their half-finished city. I ignored the easy targets, the simple edge pieces or the vast, boring swaths of single-color sky. My target was specific. It was a face. The smug, sleeping face of a particularly cherubic-looking fairy-baby. It was the linchpin, the keystone holding the entire central population together. I gently hooked it with a single, practiced claw, lifted it from its place, and carried it in my mouth like a captured mouse. I did not hide my prize. That would be too simple, too crude. Instead, I ascended to the top of the bookshelf, a place they rarely dusted, and placed the face-piece squarely in the center of a leather-bound volume of Shakespeare. There it would remain, a silent king overlooking his broken kingdom. The next morning, I watched, feigning sleep, as their search began. The whispers of "Where could it be?" were music to my ears. The puzzle was worthy, not as a toy, but as a medium. It had allowed me to create my own masterpiece of psychological torment. They could not finish their world without my consent, and I had no intention of granting it. Not until the wet food tribute was significantly increased.
