Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has presented me with a relic from the ancient past. They call it a "Diva Starz Purse," a fossil unearthed from a 2001 "Happy Meal." From my vantage point, it appears to be a small, hollow plastic clamshell of a rather loud blue and purple coloration. Its primary appeal, I suspect, lies in its diminutive size and hard, smooth surface, which could prove satisfying to bat across the hardwood floor until it inevitably disappears under the heaviest piece of furniture. However, it lacks any inherent crinkle, scent of catnip, or feathery appendage. It is, in essence, an object that requires one to supply one hundred percent of the entertainment, a proposition I find dubious when a perfectly good sunbeam is available for napping.
Key Features
- Mcdonalds
- Happy Meal
- Diva Starz
- Purse Blue and Purple #8
- 2001
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The object landed on my antique Persian rug with a faint, hollow *clack*. It was an affront to the senses. The shades of purple and blue were colors no respectable creature in nature would ever wear, and it smelled of nothing more than old plastic and the inside of a dusty box. My human stared at me with that hopeful, expectant look I've come to associate with impending disappointment. I gave my tail a single, dismissive flick. A "purse," they had called it. A pointless container for other pointless things. I was prepared to ignore it for at least three days as a matter of principle. But then, as I settled into a loaf on the far side of the room, a strange thing happened. A draft from the air vent nudged the little plastic object, causing it to rock gently. As it moved, it caught the light, and for a moment, I didn't see a toy. I saw a vessel. A tiny, strange ship sailing on a sea of woven wool. This wasn't a purse; it was a coracle, a primitive boat for a solitary sailor journeying into the unknown. My interest, against my better judgment, was piqued. I un-loafed myself and slunk across the room, my paws silent on the rug. I nudged the vessel with my nose. It skittered away, its journey now more frantic. This was a chase! I was no longer Pete, the pampered lord of the manor; I was a great leviathan of the deep, and this strange, colorful craft was trespassing in my waters. I batted it again, harder this time, sending it spinning toward the treacherous straits between the legs of the coffee table. It navigated the passage beautifully. I pounced, trapping it beneath a soft but unyielding paw. The ship was captured. I leaned in close, sniffing my prize. There was a small latch. Using a single claw with the precision of a surgeon, I flipped it open. The coracle was empty. Of course it was. Its lone sailor had clearly abandoned ship long ago, leaving the ghost vessel to drift through time until it washed ashore in my living room. I closed the latch with a satisfying *snap*. The chase was over, the mystery solved. The little ship was not for carrying things, but for sailing. I nudged it again, sending it on a new, aimless voyage across the floor. It wasn't a toy to be destroyed or a puzzle to be solved. It was a partner in a silent, imaginary game of sea monsters and lost sailors. It would do. For now.
