Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have mistaken a piece of shelf-clutter for an object worthy of my consideration. From what I can gather, this is a small, ceramic-like pot meant for storing... tiny, useless things. Its primary feature is a lid shaped like the head of a small, startled human disguised as a daisy, a truly unsettling combination. It is neither a ball, nor a feather wand, nor is it infused with the glorious scent of catnip. While the potential for batting it off a high surface holds a brief, flicker of interest, its primary function appears to be collecting dust and judging me with its blank, painted eyes. This is not a toy; it is an inanimate object of profound uselessness and questionable taste, a complete waste of my exquisitely soft fur and precious waking moments.
Key Features
- Anne Geddes
- Babies in Flower Pot Series
- Approx. 5" H
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The object arrived in a box of its own, a sure sign of a Human-centric delivery. My human, Brenda, placed it on the mantelpiece with a reverent hush, a space usually reserved for framed photos of her less-photogenic ancestors and that dreadful singing fish. I observed from my post on the velvet armchair, tail twitching in irritation. It was a terracotta-colored cylinder, a common enough shape, but what sat atop it was an abomination. A pale, cherubic head, its face frozen in a state of placid surprise, was being consumed by a monstrously large daisy. I had seen daisies in the garden. They did not do this. This was not nature; this was a warning. I waited until the dead of night, when the house was steeped in silence and the only light was the cold blue glow of the microwave clock. This was my time. I leaped silently onto the mantel, my paws making no sound on the polished wood. The air up here was different, thin and smelling of lemon polish and forgotten memories. I approached the Pot-Creature, circling it like a shark. It did not react. I lowered my head, my whiskers brushing against its hard, cold cheek. It smelled of paint and factory dust. There was no life here, no soul behind those wide, unblinking eyes. It was a husk. A decoy. My curiosity curdled into tactical assessment. I nudged the daisy-head with my nose. It shifted. *Aha!* A secret. Hooking a single, sharp claw under the petal-brim, I lifted. The head came away with a faint clink, revealing a hollow cavity within the pot. I peered inside, expecting a hidden cache of treats, a secret mouse, or at the very least, a spider to torment. There was nothing. It was an empty, barren space, a container for pure, unadulterated disappointment. The sheer audacity of its emptiness was an insult. I replaced the head, not with care, but with the dismissive shove of a professional who has just debunked a local ghost story. This thing was no monster, no alien spy, no vessel of secrets. It was a glorified teacup with a creepy lid. Its only purpose, I determined, was to eventually meet its demise via a "mysterious" fall from this very mantelpiece. I gave its stupid head one last, contemptuous sniff, then leaped back to the comfort of my armchair. The Pot-Creature could keep its empty secrets. I had naps to plan.
