A photo of Pete the cat

Pete's Toy Box: Bratz

Bratz Alwayz Cloe Fashion Doll with 10 Accessories and Poster

Pete's Expert Summary

My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has presented me with this... thing. It appears to be a small, plastic effigy of their species, notable for its disproportionately large head and feet. They call it a "Bratz" doll. The main attraction, from what I can glean, is not the stiff, staring figure itself, but the treasure trove of tiny, plastic doodads that accompany it. These "accessories"—a phone, a brush, various shiny bits—are of an ideal size and weight for batting across the hardwood floors and, ultimately, losing under the heaviest piece of furniture. There is also a large, crinkly paper sheet that whispers promises of glorious, noisy shredding. While the doll itself seems a monumental waste of my time, its associated trinkets and wrapping might provide a few minutes of sport before my afternoon nap.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The box arrived with the usual fanfare from the human—high-pitched noises and a complete disregard for my current occupation, which was supervising a sunbeam. I flicked an ear in their direction but refused to grant them the satisfaction of my full attention. The box was an odd trapezoid shape, which at least offered some novel angles for a good cheek rub later. From this strange container, the human extracted the creature: a blonde hominid with vacant eyes and feet clad in what appeared to be blue plastic bricks. She stood there, lifeless, while the human arranged an arsenal of tiny plastic objects around her. "Isn't she great, Pete?" the human chirped. I responded with a slow, deliberate blink. The jury was still out. I padded over on silent paws, my magnificent gray tuxedo a stark contrast to the toy's garish plaid ensemble. My initial inspection was, of course, thorough. A sniff of the synthetic hair confirmed my suspicions: no interesting smells. A gentle nudge with my nose determined the doll had all the engaging liveliness of a garden gnome. I extended a single, perfect claw and poked one of the chunky platform boots. It didn't move. It didn't squeak. It didn't scurry away. Utterly useless. My cynicism was proving, as it so often does, to be entirely justified. I was about to turn away in disgust and find a more suitable object to judge—like a dust bunny—when my eye caught a glimmer. It was the accessories. Scattered like offerings at the feet of a plastic goddess were the real treasures. I ignored the doll and focused on a tiny silver object shaped like one of the human's noisy rectangles. The "phone." With a deft flick of my paw, I sent it skittering across the floor. The sound was exquisite. It disappeared under the credenza with a satisfying clatter. Next, I targeted a small purse. A quick pat sent it tumbling, a far more dynamic and rewarding interaction than the doll had offered. This was the true purpose of the toy! The doll was merely a decorative, oversized container for these superior, battable items. My final verdict was swift and unwavering. The Cloe doll, as a standalone object, is an insult to the very concept of "play." It is a stationary, soulless piece of plastic. However, its collection of small, easily lost accessories is first-rate. I have already claimed the tiny phone and one of the hair clips, secreting them away for future skirmishes in the dead of night. The large paper poster also provided a few moments of satisfying ripping. The doll has been left abandoned by the bookshelf, a monument to my superior taste. The accessories are worthy, but the main attraction is nothing more than a glorified accessory rack.
Image of Bratz Alwayz Cloe Fashion Doll with 10 Accessories and Poster View on Amazon

Bratz Alwayz Yasmin Fashion Doll with 10 Accessories and Poster

Pete's Expert Summary

My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has presented me with what appears to be a small, plastic effigy of their species. They call it a "Bratz Alwayz Yasmin Fashion Doll." It's a creature with an unsettlingly large head, long synthetic hair, and a vacant stare, accompanied by an arsenal of tiny plastic objects they refer to as "accessories." Frankly, the doll itself seems entirely pointless—it doesn't move, it doesn't crinkle, and it certainly doesn't dispense treats. However, the tiny purse, hairbrush, and other assorted bits and bobs have a certain appeal; they look perfectly sized for batting under the heaviest piece of furniture in the house. The large paper "poster" also shows promise for a 3 a.m. shredding session. The doll is a likely waste of my napping time, but its detachable parts might just save it from total obscurity.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The box arrived with the usual fanfare from my Staff—a high-pitched cooing that typically precedes either a trip to the vet or a profoundly disappointing toy. My initial inspection of the clear plastic prison revealed its occupant: a frozen humanoid with garish pink clothes and enormous feet. I gave the box a perfunctory sniff, concluded it was inferior to the cardboard vessel it arrived in, and began grooming my pristine white chest fur, utterly unimpressed. The Staff, however, persisted, tearing open the packaging with a sound like a dying animal and setting the plastic figure on the floor in front of me. It just stood there, propped up by its comical platform shoes, staring into the middle distance. I stared back, my tail giving a slow, contemptuous thump-thump-thump against the rug. My human wiggled the doll, making its long brown hair sway. "Look, Pete! It's Yasmin! Don't you want to play?" An insult to my intelligence. I am a predator, an engine of perfect, silent grace. I do not "play" with inert statuettes. I was about to turn my back on the whole sad affair and retire to a sunbeam when my eye caught a glint of light. Beside the doll, the Staff had laid out its hoard of treasures: a tiny silver purse, a minuscule hairbrush, some shiny things that might have been jewelry. My ears, which had been flattened in annoyance, swiveled forward, locking on to the target. With a flick of my wrist that was pure, economical elegance, I sent the tiny hairbrush skittering across the hardwood floor. The sound was exquisite. The way it caught the light as it tumbled was mesmerizing. I crouched low, my hindquarters wiggling, and pounced, pinning it with a soft paw before sending it flying again, this time directly under the credenza. The doll, "Yasmin," remained motionless, a silent, forgotten totem. Her purpose was now clear: she was not the toy, but merely the delivery system for these far superior, eminently losable trinkets. My human sighed, likely misinterpreting my genius for simple distraction. I ignored them, my focus now entirely on the tiny silver purse. I hooked it with a claw and trotted off, my prize dangling from my mouth. The doll can keep her vacant expression and her absurd denim skirt; I have claimed my tribute. It will make a fine addition to my collection under the guest room bed. A flawed offering, but its component parts have earned it a passing grade. For now.
Image of Bratz Alwayz Yasmin Fashion Doll with 10 Accessories and Poster View on Amazon

Bratz Alwayz Jade Fashion Doll with 14 Accessories and Poster

Pete's Expert Summary

So, my human, in their infinite and often baffling wisdom, has presented me with this... object. It appears to be a plastic effigy of a small human female with a disproportionately large head and an alarming amount of synthetic hair. It comes laden with an absurd quantity of tiny, losable trinkets they call "accessories," plus a flimsy sheet of paper with its picture on it. While the large, glassy-eyed figure itself is far too rigid for a satisfying pounce and offers no textural appeal, some of its smaller attachments—perhaps a miniature purse or a cellular device—show promise for being batted into the dark voids beneath the furniture. Frankly, it seems like a distraction from more important matters, such as my dinner schedule, but I suppose the crinkly packaging it arrived in might be worthy of a brief investigation.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The box was placed on the floor with an air of ceremony I usually reserve for the opening of a fresh can of tuna. I observed from my perch on the arm of the sofa, twitching the tip of my tail in mild annoyance. Another offering. This one, a rectangular prison containing a creature with unnervingly vacant eyes staring out through a plastic window. The human made excited cooing sounds, which I ignored. My interest was purely academic; one must keep tabs on all new household inventory, especially that which might encroach upon prime napping territory. With a series of rips and crinkles that momentarily piqued my hunter's instincts, the human liberated the contents. The doll itself was stiff and smelled faintly of a factory. I gave its leg a cursory sniff and immediately dismissed it. Useless. But then, a shower of tiny objects cascaded onto the rug. A miniature hairbrush. A tiny, shiny handbag. A pair of sunglasses no bigger than my ear. And a silvery rectangle meant to be a phone. My skepticism began to melt away, replaced by a focused, predatory calm. These were not accessories. These were *prey*. While the human was busy attempting to style the doll's garish hair, I made my move. I crept forward, my gray tuxedo-patterned form low to the ground. My target: the silvery phone. I extended a soft paw, claws carefully retracted, and gave it a gentle pat. It skittered across the hardwood floor with a delightful, whispery sound! My pupils dilated. This was a game of quality. I pounced, batting it again, this time sending it careening under the coffee table. The chase was on. The large, silent doll just stood there, a glorified, inanimate spectator to the real entertainment. My final verdict is this: the "Jade" doll is an inert piece of plastic clutter, unworthy of the attention of a feline of my stature. It will inevitably be knocked off a shelf during a midnight romp and forgotten. Its accessories, however, are a different story. They are lightweight, they slide beautifully, and they are the perfect size to be captured, "killed," and then deposited into my human's shoe as a trophy. The toy is a failure, but its component parts show promise. I shall graciously accept these tiny offerings.
Image of Bratz Alwayz Jade Fashion Doll with 14 Accessories and Poster View on Amazon

Bratz x Kylie Jenner 24-Inch Large-Scale Fashion Doll with Gown, 2 Feet Tall, Amazon Exclusive

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.
Image of Bratz x Kylie Jenner 24-Inch Large-Scale Fashion Doll with Gown, 2 Feet Tall, Amazon Exclusive View on Amazon

Bratz Babyz Jade Collectible Fashion Doll with Real Fashions and Pet

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.
Image of Bratz Babyz Jade Collectible Fashion Doll with Real Fashions and Pet View on Amazon

Monster High Scary Sweet Birthday Doll, Draculaura in Pink Party Dress with Themed Accessories Like Invite, Balloon, Gift, Fan and More

Pete's Expert Summary

My human, in their infinite and baffling misunderstanding of my sophisticated needs, has presented what appears to be a plastic effigy of a small, pink-and-black-haired human. They call it a "doll." While the main figure itself is far too large and rigid for a proper pounce, and its synthetic hair likely unsatisfying to chew, I must admit a flicker of interest. The true value, as is often the case with these clumsy offerings, lies not in the main object but in the delightful constellation of smaller, loose components. A tiny gift box for batting, a paper-like "invite" for shredding, and most promisingly, a miniature plastic bat figurine—a delightful smaller prey item. The doll is a waste of good napping space, but its accoutrements might just be worth waking up for.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The crinkle of the clear plastic prison being torn open was the first sign. It’s a sound that promises newness, a sound that usually precedes either a truly magnificent toy or a profound disappointment. My human placed the offering on the rug, a garish figure of pink and black with wide, unblinking eyes. A doll. I gave my pristine white bib a fastidious lick and turned my back to it, a gesture of supreme indifference. Did they truly think I, Pete, would deign to play with such a static, lifeless thing? The insult was palpable. I began to groom my shoulder, feigning an interest in a single, perfect strand of gray fur. My human sighed and walked away, leaving the plastic monstrosity and its scattered belongings in the middle of my territory. For a full five minutes, I held my ground, a silent, furry statue of protest. But curiosity, that most treacherous of feline instincts, began to gnaw at me. I stretched, a long, luxurious arch of my back, and sauntered over with an air of merely passing by. The doll smelled sterile. Its dress was a slick, unappealing fabric. A failure. But then, my gaze fell upon the floor. A tiny, black bat, no bigger than my paw. My ears swiveled forward, my tail gave a sharp, interested flick. This was no doll. This was a hunt. I crouched low, my belly brushing the carpet, and crept toward the miniature bat. A wiggle of the hindquarters, a moment of intense focus, and—pounce! I trapped it neatly beneath my paw. It was perfect. Hard, light, and utterly throwable. I picked it up in my mouth and paraded it around the room before spotting the next prize: a small, hollow gift box. A single tap sent it skittering across the hardwood floors, a far more worthy adversary than the staring doll. Then I saw the balloon on a stick, which I immediately recognized as a proper dueling wand. After a vigorous session of chasing the box, mauling the bat, and attacking the wand, I came to my conclusion. The Draculaura creature itself is an eyesore, a useless piece of decor I shall endeavor to ignore. Its collection of tiny, battable, chewable, and losable accessories, however, is a triumph. I will permit their existence. For now. I dragged the little bat to my favorite napping spot by the window, a worthy trophy from an unworthy source. The human, it seems, occasionally gets things right by accident.
Image of Monster High Scary Sweet Birthday Doll, Draculaura in Pink Party Dress with Themed Accessories Like Invite, Balloon, Gift, Fan and More View on Amazon

Bratz Babyz Runwayz Jade Collectible Fashion Doll with Real Fashions

Pete's Expert Summary

Honestly, the Human has brought home yet another object that seems designed entirely to be ignored by any creature of sophisticated taste. This appears to be a small, plastic homunculus with a disproportionately large head, named "Jade," which comes with various tiny fabric scraps they call "fashions" and some plastic trinkets like sunglasses and a bottle. While the miniature accessories have a certain appeal—I can already envision batting the sunglasses under the refrigerator, never to be seen again—the doll itself is entirely static and useless. The only feature of genuine interest is the packaging, a trapezoidal box that supposedly converts into a "runway." This suggests the potential for a new, structurally interesting napping location, which might just save this whole endeavor from being a complete waste of my time.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The Human placed the garish, angular box on the floor with a triumphant flourish, as if presenting a freshly caught salmon. I, of course, was mid-stretch and could not be bothered to grant it more than a dismissive, sidelong glance. Another plastic effigy, I presumed. This one smelled faintly of a factory in a land I have no desire to visit. It had a picture of a small being with enormous eyes staring out, and I felt a pang of pity for the tree that was sacrificed to create such an uninspiring container. I gave it a courtesy sniff, flicked my tail in profound disappointment, and turned to find a more suitable sunbeam for my afternoon nap. My departure was, however, rudely interrupted by the sound of tearing cardboard and crinkling plastic. The Human was *unpacking* the thing. Against my better judgment, my curiosity—a primal, undignified instinct I try to suppress—drew one eye open. The contents were as underwhelming as I'd predicted: the plastic doll, its head wobbling precariously on its tiny body, and a mess of small, colorful bits. I saw a flash of tiny sunglasses and felt a brief flicker of interest. A new toy to lose. But then, the Human began folding and manipulating the box itself. What was once a simple container was unfolding. Panels flipped, tabs inserted into slots, and a new structure rose from the floor. It was a ramp, a platform, a miniature stage with private wings. A runway. They called it a runway. I call it a bespoke throne. My cynicism began to melt away, replaced by a sudden, intense interest in architectural integrity. The Human placed the vapid doll in the center of the stage, arranging its little clothes around it. A fool's errand. They clearly didn't understand the structure's true purpose. I waited until the Human was distracted by their glowing rectangle, then I made my move. With the calculated grace of a seasoned hunter, I padded over to the new construction. I tested the ramp with a single, soft paw. Sturdy. In one fluid motion, I leaped onto the platform, sending the plastic "Jade" flying into the dark abyss beneath the armchair. It was a satisfying *thump*. I circled once, twice, and then curled into a perfect, plush loaf right in the center of my new dais. The doll was utter trash, a bauble for a simpler mind. But the box? The box was a triumph. A throne worthy of a king.
Image of Bratz Babyz Runwayz Jade Collectible Fashion Doll with Real Fashions View on Amazon

Bratz Goin’ Out! Sasha Fashion Doll with Accessories

Pete's Expert Summary

My human, in a moment of questionable judgment, has procured what appears to be a small, plastic tribute to their own species, a "Bratz" doll named Sasha. From a cursory glance, the doll itself is mostly useless—too large to be proper prey, too stiff for a satisfying tussle. However, I must admit a certain professional interest in its features. The absurdly long hair presents a tantalizing opportunity for entanglement, and the accompanying collection of tiny accessories—a purse, some shiny baubles—could prove delightfully skitter-able across the hardwood floor. It is a precarious balance: the doll is an affront to my dignity, but its detachable parts might just salvage it from being a complete waste of my valuable napping time.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The box was set upon my rug, an offering presented with an expectant look from the human. I regarded it from my perch on the armchair, my tail giving a slow, deliberate twitch. Through the clear plastic window, a figure with an unnervingly large head stared back, its expression a kind of vacant confidence. It was an idol, a strange effigy of the bipedal creatures I commanded. I descended with practiced grace and circled the box, sniffing its sharp, cardboard corners. The scent was sterile, uninteresting. This did not bode well. With a series of clumsy tears and pulls, my human liberated the plastic prisoner. The doll, now free, was stood on the floor before me. I approached with the caution befitting a potential adversary. Its fashion was, I admit, intriguing—some sort of shimmering fabric and tall, impractical shoes. I gave a tentative sniff to a pleather-clad foot. Nothing. My attention drifted upwards to the cascade of dark, synthetic hair. I extended a single, perfect claw and gave a light tug. The hair swung with a satisfying weight. My skepticism began to thaw, ever so slightly. Then, the human began detaching the smaller pieces, laying them out like a feast. And there, amidst the clutter, I saw it: a tiny, silver handbag on a delicate chain. My hunter's instinct, long dormant from a morning of dedicated napping, flared to life. While the human cooed at the doll, I gave the minuscule purse a soft pat with my paw. It slid beautifully, skittering across the wood floor and disappearing under the edge of the sofa. A challenge! I crouched low, my eyes fixed on the shadows. The game was afoot. I have decided the doll itself is beneath my notice. It now lies abandoned on the rug, a silent, glassy-eyed monument to my human's poor taste. Let it watch. My true prize, the handbag, has been successfully hunted and relocated to my secret stash behind the curtains. I have also made a mental note about the sparkly earrings and a small object that looks like a phone; they will be mine before the next sunrise. The verdict is in: the doll is a failure, but its component parts show exceptional promise. It is, therefore, a qualified success. I shall permit them to remain. For now.
Image of Bratz Goin’ Out! Sasha Fashion Doll with Accessories View on Amazon

Bratz Slumber Party Cloe Fashion Doll with 2 Sets of Pajamas, Plush, and Accessories

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.
Image of Bratz Slumber Party Cloe Fashion Doll with 2 Sets of Pajamas, Plush, and Accessories View on Amazon