Pete's Expert Summary
My Human seems to have acquired another plastic effigy. This one, a collaboration between "Monster High" and some dreary television show, is a small, dark-clad humanoid with an unnervingly large head and a severe lack of color. It's loaded with tiny, lose-able bits: a backpack, spiderweb-patterned leg coverings, and most curiously, a disembodied hand they call "Thing." While the tiny hand presents a fleeting moment of intrigue, the inclusion of a "doll stand" is the ultimate insult. It confirms my suspicion that this object is not intended for vigorous, life-affirming play, but for static, silent judgment from a shelf. It is, in short, furniture. An ornament designed to gather dust and my contempt, a complete waste of perfectly good pouncing energy.
Key Features
- The Monster High x Wednesday collection pays tribute to the darkly witty and downright eerie television series with a screamium line of dolls.
- A striking vision in her trademark black, this Wednesday Addams doll reimagines the show’s titular character and her iconic gothic style through a Monster High lens.
- A tie, statement belt, and spiderweb tights complement Wednesday’s Nevermore Academy uniform. Chunky platform boots feature her cello on one heel and her beloved scorpion Nero on the other.
- She comes with her loyal confidante Thing sporting his signature stitches, as well as a glossy black backpack with skullette and spiderweb details.
- Check out the entire Monster High x Wednesday line for more delightfully dire dolls. They make memorable gifts for collectors and fans alike. Each sold separately, subject to availability.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It began as a territorial dispute. For cycles of the sun, the prime spot on the living room mantelpiece was mine. It offered an unparalleled view of the entire domain, a direct line of sight to the food-preparer in the kitchen, and was bisected by the most luxurious sunbeam from noon until three. Then, *she* arrived. The Human placed her there, on her little plastic throne, a silent, dark usurper in my sun-drenched kingdom. I observed her from the floor, a spindly creature of shadow and plastic, her vacant eyes staring into nothing. With her was a tiny, severed hand, an accomplice in this silent coup. I made my ascent. A soft leap, a click of claws on wood, and I was there, face to impassive face with the intruder. Her scent was sterile, a chemical newness that offended my sophisticated senses. I circled her, my magnificent tail held high in a question mark of disdain. I noted the absurd details on her platform boots—a cello and a scorpion. Utterly impractical. I nudged the tiny hand, Thing, with my nose. It was hard, unyielding, and offered no satisfying wobble. This was not a toy. This was a statement. A challenge. The Human’s voice drifted from the sofa. “Oh, Pete, do you like your new sister?” Sister? The sheer audacity. This unblinking totem was no sister of mine. I could not, of course, resort to base violence and send her plummeting to the floorboards below; such an act is beneath me and results in unseemly shrieking from the Human. Instead, I opted for a display of subtle, undeniable superiority. With the grace of a falling shadow, I turned my back to the doll. I situated myself directly in front of her, my soft, gray form a perfect eclipse, and began a meticulous grooming session, ensuring my fluffy tuxedo completely obscured her from the world. Let her stare into the glorious abyss of my fur. I then curled into a perfect circle, claiming the entirety of the sunbeam for myself. The mantel was mine again. The doll was not worthy of my attention as a plaything, but she had briefly served a purpose: to remind the Human where the true art in this house resides. And it purrs.
