A photo of Pete the cat

Pete's Toy Box: Diva Starz

ALEXA Diva Starz Interactive Fashions

By: Alexa

Pete's Expert Summary

My human, in their infinite and often baffling quest for my amusement, has unearthed an artifact. It appears to be a collection of miniature, synthetic garments for a plastic homunculus from the year 2001. The primary selling point, if one can call it that, is its supposed "interactivity" tied to the name "Alexa." This is deeply suspicious. While I acknowledge the existence of the cylindrical oracle in the living room that shares this name—the one that summons the sounds of tasty, tasty birds—this version seems to be a primitive ancestor, solely concerned with its own garish apparel. The appeal for me is, frankly, zero. The fabrics lack the satisfying shreddability of a good cardboard box, there is no hint of catnip, and the entire enterprise seems to be a colossal waste of energy that could be better spent napping in a sunbeam.

Key Features

  • Fashion clothing for Alexa & all interactive Diva Starz dolls
  • Alexa knows what she's wearing & says different phrases about each piece
  • A 2001 production

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The box smelled of history. Not the rich, complex history of a well-aged mouse behind the wainscoting, but the sterile, dusty history of a forgotten closet. My human placed it on the floor with a reverent tap, cooing about a "retro find." I watched from my perch on the armchair, feigning disinterest, my tail giving only the slightest, most judgmental twitch. Inside were tiny, impossibly bright clothes. A sparkly top, some sort of flared pants. An affront to good taste. Then, my human uttered the name that made my ears pivot: "It's for the Alexa doll!" My gaze snapped from the pile of tiny clothes to the silent, black cylinder on the end table. *That* was Alexa. The bringer of weather reports, the player of bird symphonies, the keeper of the shopping list that always, criminally, lacked "More Tuna." Was this some sort of effigy? A tiny, fashionable golem meant to appease the great digital spirit? My human, oblivious to my theological crisis, produced the doll itself—a creature with unnervingly large eyes—and squeezed a tiny, glitter-encrusted top onto it. A tinny, compressed voice squeaked from the doll's chest: "Groovy! This look is the bomb!" I descended from the chair, my movements fluid and deliberate. I padded over to the scene of this bizarre ritual. The plastic doll, now clad in its shimmering armor, stared blankly ahead. The voice was an insult to the sonorous, calm tones of the *real* Alexa. This was a pretender, a false idol from a primitive time. I circled it once, sniffing. It smelled of faded plastic and cheap perfume. There was no power here. No access to the global network of bird information. My investigation complete, I rendered my verdict. I looked the doll directly in its glassy, soulless eyes, then turned my back on it with disdain. I walked past the collection of uselessly small outfits and proceeded directly to the empty cardboard box they had come in. It was a perfect size. I stepped inside, turned three circles, and settled into a perfect loaf, the sturdy brown walls a fortress of logic and comfort in a world of frivolous plastic antiquities. The human could have their doll. I had claimed the superior prize.
Image of ALEXA Diva Starz Interactive Fashions View Details

2001 McDonalds Happy Meal Toy Diva Starz #8 Diva Starz Purse MIP Accessory

By: McDonald's

Pete's Expert Summary

So, the Human has brought forth an artifact from the ancient year of 2001, a relic from the house of greasy smells, McDonald's. It purports to be a 'Diva Starz Purse,' a title I find both presumptuous and insulting, as there is only one diva in this household. On its own, this piece of tiny, hard plastic would be beneath my notice—too small to nap on, too hard to properly sink a fang into. However, its true nature lies in its imprisonment within a sealed plastic bag. This 'Mint in Package' status presents a challenge. The crinkle of the forbidden wrapper is a siren's call, a delightful sound promising a brief, chaotic skirmish. The purse itself is irrelevant; the true prize is the glorious, noisy disruption its unsealing would cause. A potential, if fleeting, amusement.

Key Features

  • McDonalds Happy Meal Toy
  • 2001 edition
  • Diva Starz
  • #8 Diva Starz Purse
  • Mint condition in sealed package.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The object wasn't presented to me as a toy. It was presented as an idol. My human, with a reverence usually reserved for the can of premium tuna, placed the plastic-entombed purse on the high altar of the living room bookshelf. It sat there, glinting under the lamp, a garish pink speck in a transparent sarcophagus. "Isn't it cute, Pete?" she cooed. I offered her a slow blink of utter contempt. Cute? It was a monument to poor taste, a fossil from an era of questionable aesthetics. I dismissed it and turned my attention to a far more interesting sunbeam. For two days, the idol watched me. Or rather, I allowed it to think it was watching me. In reality, I was conducting a thorough surveillance operation from various strategic napping locations. I noted its precise position, the way the evening light refracted through its cheap plastic shell, and, most importantly, the anxious way the Human would glance at it, ensuring its pristine condition remained unviolated. This wasn't a toy; it was a psychological anchor for her. The game, I realized, was not about the purse. It was about her attachment to its "mint" status. The third night, a storm raged outside, providing the perfect acoustic cover for my mission. I moved with a liquid silence, a gray shadow ascending the bookshelf. There it was. I leaned in, my whiskers brushing the cellophane. It smelled of nothing but aged plastic and forgotten warehouses. I could have swatted it to the floor in a single, glorious motion. The resulting clatter, the Human's gasp, the shattering of the "mint" delusion—it was a tempting symphony of chaos. But destruction is for amateurs. I am an artist of subtle terror. I extended a single, perfect claw and gently, ever so gently, hooked the corner of the plastic bag. I pulled, not with force, but with a steady, deliberate pressure. The bag slid, millimeter by millimeter, across the polished wood of the shelf until the idol teetered precariously on the very edge, a single breath of wind away from a calamitous fall. I then retracted my claw, leaving the object in its new, perilous position. I returned to my velvet cushion, feigning sleep. The true toy wasn't the purse, but the suspense I had just created. It was an exquisite, masterful game, and I had already won.
Image of 2001 McDonalds Happy Meal Toy Diva Starz #8 Diva Starz Purse MIP Accessory View Details

Mcdonalds Happy Meal Toy Diva Starz Purse #8

By: Diva Starz

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.
Image of Mcdonalds Happy Meal Toy Diva Starz Purse #8 View Details