Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in her infinite and baffling wisdom, has presented me with what appears to be a plastic homunculus in a box. They call it a "Bratz Babyz Jade" doll, a creature with a head far too large for its body and vacant, glassy eyes that stare into the void. It comes with some flimsy fabric bits and, most curiously, a tiny, fuzzy effigy of a feline. This miniature imposter, an insult to my magnificent form, is apparently "flocked," a detail that piques my tactical interest. While the doll itself seems a profound waste of the premium sunbeam space it currently occupies, the small, fuzzy projectile and the crinkly box it came in might—*might*—offer a brief, fleeting moment of entertainment before I relegate them to the abyss under the sofa.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
I was in the midst of a particularly sublime nap, my luxurious gray fur soaking up the precise geometric patch of sunlight on the living room rug, when the peace was shattered. The sound was a vulgar combination of tearing cardboard and the high-pitched cooing my human reserves for things she finds "cute." I opened one eye, a sliver of gold in a sea of gray, to behold the offering. It was the doll, a tiny humanoid with an unnerving, unblinking stare. I gave a dismissive ear-flick and began to tuck my nose back under my tail. It was of no consequence. Then, she placed something else on the floor. It was a mockery. A miniature cat, smaller than my paw, covered in a strange, uniform fuzz that was nothing like my own glorious coat. She called it "Kool-Kat," a name so profoundly undignified I felt a deep, ancestral shame on its behalf. I rose, stretching with a deliberate slowness meant to convey my utter lack of urgency. I circled the fuzzy statue, my tail giving a slow, contemptuous lash. It smelled of plastic and the distant, sterile land from which it came. An imposter. A pretender to the throne of Feline Perfection. With the careful precision of a surgeon, I extended a single, needle-sharp claw from its sheath of soft fur. I gave the tiny creature a delicate tap. It didn't react with the satisfying hiss or scramble of a worthy adversary; instead, it skittered silently across the hardwood floor, its flocked surface offering just the right amount of friction for a perfect slide. My ears perked up. My hunter's brain, which had been blissfully dormant, flickered to life. I tapped it again, harder this time. It shot under the coffee table. Well, well. Perhaps this offering wasn't a total failure. The giant-headed baby doll is still an eyesore, destined to gather dust on a shelf. But this silent, fuzzy little puck… this "Kool-Kat"… it has potential. It is not a companion, nor a rival. It is prey. The nap could wait. The hunt for the imposter had begun.
