Pete's Expert Summary
So, the human has presented me with what appears to be a two-foot-tall plastic effigy of another human, some sort of "Kylie Jenner." It's an enormous doll, nearly my size, which is frankly an invasion of my personal space. The primary points of interest from my perspective are the gown, which is adorned with what they call a "dramatic feathered train," and its long, silky hair. Feathers and string-like objects always warrant a thorough investigation. However, it seems to be entirely stationary, a "poseable" lump that the human must arrange. While the challenge of knocking over something so large is momentarily appealing, I suspect it will ultimately prove to be a colossal waste of my energy, better spent napping in a sunbeam. It is, at best, a very fancy, oddly-shaped scratching post in waiting.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The sheer size of the box was an insult. It arrived on a Tuesday, rudely interrupting my mid-morning nap on the heated floor vent. The human grunted as they hauled it inside, cooing about its "exclusivity" and some nonsense about a "collaboration." I watched from my perch on the back of the sofa, tail twitching in annoyance. The air filled with the sterile scent of cardboard and plastic, a far cry from the delightful aroma of tuna or chicken. I gave a low, rumbling growl of displeasure. This giant intruder was already disrupting the carefully calibrated atmosphere of my domain. Once freed from its trapezoidal prison, the thing was… looming. A silent, plastic giantess with a head far too large for its body and eyes that stared blankly over my head. It was propped up on a stand, dressed in a black gown that exploded into a mass of feathers near the floor. My initial skepticism hardened into pure disdain. It didn't move. It didn't squeak. It didn't smell like prey. It was simply *there*, an affront to good taste and a potential obstacle on my path to the food bowl. The human positioned it by the bookshelf, a monument to poor judgment. I waited until the human was distracted, then slunk off the sofa, my paws silent on the hardwood floor. I approached with caution, my gray tuxedo a stark contrast to the doll's gaudy glamour. A thorough sniff of its plastic ankles confirmed my suspicions: entirely uninteresting. My gaze, however, was drawn upward to the mass of black feathers. My hunter's instinct, though buried under layers of pampering and ennui, stirred. I extended a single, perfect paw, claws carefully sheathed, and gave a feather a delicate tap. It wiggled. Promising. Next, I investigated the "silky, waist-length" hair. It was, I admit, quite nice to bat at, and I briefly considered gnawing on the silver star-shaped ring on its hand. After a few minutes of rigorous testing, I reached my verdict. The doll itself was a bore. A silent, judging monolith. But its accessories held a certain… potential. The feathers could provide several minutes of entertainment before they were inevitably shredded, and the hair was a tangle-project worthy of a rainy afternoon. I would not deign to truly *play* with this oversized figurine, but I decided I would allow it to remain. For now. It could serve as a decorative repository for my fur and the occasional target for a well-aimed swat. I gave its feathered train one last, slightly more aggressive bat, then turned my back on it and leaped gracefully onto a sun-drenched cushion, the only object in the room truly worthy of my attention. The doll was beneath me, but its feathers had earned it a temporary reprieve.
