Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a flat, rectangular box containing what they describe as a "puzzle." From my analysis, it is a collection of one thousand small, pressboard rectangles, each a fragment of a larger, frankly unsettling image of tiny humans masquerading as sunflowers. The stated purpose is "hours of entertainment," which I can only assume is a human euphemism for "a tedious, self-inflicted chore." While the act of assembling this mess seems a colossal waste of energy that could be better spent napping in a sunbeam, I must concede its potential. The sheer number of pieces offers a delightful opportunity for batting, hiding, and strategic redistribution, and the final, sprawling result would create a new, albeit lumpy, landscape on the dining room table, which is prime napping territory. It is, therefore, a product of questionable intent but promising secondary applications.
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 box was opened with an air of reverence I typically reserve for the crinkle of a fresh bag of treats. My human emptied its contents onto the Great Forbidden Table, and a thousand colorful little casualties spilled out. A catastrophe. A beautiful, beautiful catastrophe. They began their bizarre ritual, turning pieces over, sorting them into piles of color and shape. I watched from my perch on a chair, a general overseeing a battlefield of their own making. The image on the box was absurd—wrinkled, bald creatures peeking from petals. Humans have such peculiar aesthetic sensibilities. My first move was one of reconnaissance. A silent leap brought me to the tabletop, my paws making no sound on the polished wood. The human murmured my name in a warning tone, but offered no real resistance. They were too absorbed. I threaded my way through the piles of blue sky and green stems, my tail a feathery instrument of chaos, gently nudging a key edge piece toward the precipice. It was a test of their awareness. They failed, not noticing the small clatter as it hit the floor. I made a mental note of its location beneath the radiator. This was no longer their game; it was mine. Over the next few days, the sunflower-babies began to take shape. My human would work, and I would "supervise." My supervision involved sleeping directly on the sorted corner pieces, batting a stray yellow bit into the fuzzy abyss of the area rug, and, my masterstroke, selecting one single, irreplaceable piece. It was a fragment of a baby's eye, a tiny, blue-and-white chip of cardboard that held the key to one of the unsettling faces. I carried it delicately in my mouth to my velvet cushion across the room and hid it beneath my flank. The game was afoot. The final evening arrived. One single, gaping hole remained in the floral monstrosity. My human searched, crawled on the floor, sighed with dramatic frustration. They were beaten. Only then, when their hope had dwindled, did I rise, stretch languidly, and saunter over to the table. With a theatrical nudge of my nose, I pushed the missing eye-piece from my cushion onto the floor at their feet. They gasped, praising my genius, my cleverness, my uncanny ability to "find" things. Let them believe it. The puzzle was a bore, but the sweet taste of orchestrating their joy and despair? Now *that* is quality entertainment. The toy is worthy, for it is an excellent tool for psychological warfare.
