Pete's Expert Summary
My human presented me with this... collection of miniature, plastic homunculi. Apparently, these are "dolls" for the smaller, less-coordinated humans to practice their fawning skills. They come in a variety of shades, which is mildly interesting from a design perspective, but their "chunky" vinyl bodies and vacant stares hold little appeal. They are, essentially, stationary lumps meant to be coddled. As the supreme recipient of all household coddling, I find their very existence redundant and frankly, a little insulting. The only potential use I can foresee is as strategically placed obstacles to trip my staff or as moderately comfortable, if oddly-shaped, pillows. A baffling expenditure, truly, when that money could have been converted into premium-grade salmon.
Key Features
- DIVERSE BABY DOLLS: Includes four multi-ethnic dolls with chunky bodies and included diapers so children can see themselves and friends represented
- NURTURING INSTINCTS: Littles can swaddle, change and put these baby dolls with included diapers to bed, encouraging their natural nurturing instincts and gentle behaviors
- SOCIAL-EMOTIONAL LEARNING: These multi-cultural baby dolls help promote social-emotional learning through play
- REPRESENTATION MATTERS: With a spread of diverse characters, this set of toys is perfect for a daycare, preschool or kindergarten classroom so kids can see themselves represented in toys
- CULTURAL BABY DOLL SIZES: Each vinyl ethnic baby doll measures 10" and is suitable for children of all ages
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived, and the scent was all wrong. Not the promising cardboard-and-fish-oil aroma of a proper delivery, but the sterile, plasticky scent of… disappointment. My human, with that hopeful glint in her eye she gets before introducing a new toy destined for the under-the-sofa graveyard, pulled them out. Four of them. Small, silent, and staring with unnervingly serene expressions. She called them her "new little helpers." I called them The Council. For days, The Council sat on the mantelpiece, their vinyl skin gleaming in the afternoon sun, their painted-on eyes following my every move. They judged my napping technique, my pouncing form, my very existence. The small human, a visiting creature known as "Niece," would occasionally take one down, wrap it in a scrap of cloth, and whisper nonsense to it. I watched from my perch on the armchair, unimpressed. This was not play. This was a tedious rehearsal for servitude, a skill my humans had already perfected in my name. One evening, during my customary 3 a.m. patrol of the silent house, I found one of them—the one with the darkest skin and kindest painted smile—had been left on the floor. It was a clear breach of protocol. I nudged it with my nose. It was solid, unyielding. I batted it with a soft paw, my claws carefully retracted. It simply rolled onto its side, its diaper crinkling faintly. Then, an idea, brilliant and devious, sparked in my mind. This was not a companion. This was an alibi. The next morning, the precariously balanced porcelain bird was shattered on the floor. My human gasped. I, however, was curled up asleep on the other side of the room, the picture of innocence. And who was lying next to the ceramic wreckage, looking utterly guilty with its blank, unblinking stare? A member of The Council. They were perfect. Not as toys, heavens no. But as silent scapegoats, as my own personal patsies. They could stay. They were, in their own useless way, quite constructive after all.
