Pete's Expert Summary
My human has brought home yet another miniature, plastic effigy of her own species, this one named "Cloe." From what I can gather, this "Bratz" doll is an idol dedicated to the sacred art of slumber, a concept I wholeheartedly endorse. It comes with various tiny implements—slippers, masks, potions—that seem utterly superfluous when one has a perfectly good tongue for grooming. The primary appeal, if any exists for a creature of my refined sensibilities, lies in the small, plush companion it's packaged with and the potential for batting the smaller accessories into the dark abyss under the furniture. The doll itself, with its giant, unblinking eyes and unnervingly large head, is likely a complete waste of my valuable napping time.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The rustle of cardboard being torn asunder was the first sign of a disruption. I lifted my head from the velvet cushion, my nap disturbed but my curiosity piqued. The Human was cooing over a box, from which she extracted a plastic creature with impossibly large feet and a vacant stare. "Look, Pete! It's Cloe! For her slumber party!" she chirped, placing the doll and its accompanying pile of tiny plastic debris on the rug in my territory. I gave a slow, unimpressed blink. The doll just stood there, propped up on its ridiculous platform shoes. Utterly useless. I scented the air—no hint of tuna or catnip. I was about to dismiss the entire affair and return to my cushion when the Human left the room. My duty, as master of this domain, is to inspect all new acquisitions. I padded silently across the rug, my soft gray paws making no sound. The doll, Cloe, stared ahead, her painted-on smile doing nothing to hide the emptiness within. I gave her plastic leg a tentative pat. It was hard, unyielding, and profoundly boring. My gaze then fell upon the scattered accessories. A tiny bottle of what the packaging called "nail polish" proved to be a magnificent skittering object when batted with sufficient force, disappearing under the sofa with a satisfying *clack*. A small victory. One of the tiny slippers followed soon after. This was mildly amusing, but hardly a challenge for an apex predator such as myself. Just as my interest began to wane, my eyes locked on the prize. Tucked beside the doll was a small, plush pig. It was pink, soft-looking, and blessedly free of the hard, glossy plastic that comprised the rest of this offering. I nudged it with my nose. The texture was acceptable. It was lightweight, with no suspicious crinkles or, regrettably, any internal squeakers. It was, however, perfectly sized for carrying. I nudged it again, then hooked it with a claw and flicked it into the air. The little pig landed with a soft *thump*. I crouched low, wiggling my hindquarters before launching myself upon the toy. I seized it in my jaws, gave it a triumphant shake, and then released it to perform a series of rapid-fire bunny kicks. The doll stared on, a silent, glassy-eyed witness to the slaughter of her companion. I cared not. I had sifted through the plastic refuse and extracted the only item of value. With the plush pig firmly in my mouth, I trotted back to my velvet cushion, leaving the Human to wonder where all the "slumber party accessories" had gone. This Cloe thing was a failure, but her little pig was a worthy trophy.
