Pete's Expert Summary
My human has acquired a new effigy, a sort of silent, plastic Small Human. This one, a "Götz Marie," is touted as a high-quality creation, which explains the reverent way it was unboxed. It stands unnervingly tall, nearly my own height when I'm on my hind legs, and it glitters with the false promise of a "fairy." Its primary assets, from my point of view, are the long, root-like hair—which may offer some light batting potential—and its numerous joints. A statue is boring, but a highly articulated statue presents possibilities. It can be repositioned, perhaps into a more comfortable shape for me to lean against. Still, its fixed, glassy-eyed stare is deeply unsettling, and its lack of scent, movement, or heat suggests it will ultimately prove less interesting than a well-placed sunbeam.
Key Features
- Marie has everything under control and always looks very chic and glamorous when she makes wishes come true - just like a real fairy. She wears a shimmery fairy dress, panties, fairy wings, glitter shoes and features a wand and matching hair accessory. She can wear most 18" doll clothes, including those in the Gotz 18" collection.
- Marie has sparkling blue fixed eyes with long beautiful lashes. Her high quality long rooted blonde hair is easy for children to wash, comb and style.
- This 19.5" multi-jointed doll can stand without support, and has 9 high-quality joints in the shoulders, elbows, hips, knees and neck. This makes her fully flexible for creative posing and imaginative play.
- Safe for children 3 years and up, but recommended by Gotz as age-appropriate for 5 years and up, assuring more developed motor skills to enjoy happy and creative play with the multi-jointed Happy Kidz dolls.
- This handcrafted doll is numbered and produced as a limited edition under the highest quality standards. All Gotz dolls are safety tested to meet or exceed European and US standards.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in a throne of cardboard and tissue paper. My human cooed at it, calling it Marie. I observed from the arm of the sofa, tail twitching in critical analysis. It was an interloper, a silent observer with vacant blue eyes that seemed to follow me without moving. My human spent an absurd amount of time arranging its shimmery dress and positioning its plastic wand before placing it in the wingback chair—*my* wingback chair. The one that holds my scent and is perfectly molded to the curve of my napping form. An act of profound disrespect. That evening, after the human had retired, I approached the usurper. It sat primly, knees together, one hand delicately raised as if to cast a spell. An insult. I sniffed its plastic feet, then leaped silently onto the chair beside it. We sat in the moonlight, two sovereigns of the living room, one breathing and one not. Its stillness was a challenge. A lesser feline would have shredded its synthetic wings or batted its stupid wand to the floor. But I, Pete, am a creature of intellect. My campaign was one of psychological warfare. Using my nose and the precise application of a single paw, I began to re-engineer the doll. I nudged its articulated elbow joint until its arm was bent at a ninety-degree angle, hand now resting on its forehead in a pose of theatrical despair. I nudged a knee, then the other, splaying its legs into a most undignified squat. The glamorous fairy was no more; in its place sat a shimmering, gape-legged goon. I leaped down, satisfied with my work, and curled up on the rug to watch the sunrise. The next morning, the human found it. "Oh, you silly doll," she murmured, repositioning it to its former, irritatingly perfect state. But the message had been sent. Marie was not a rival; she was a medium. Every day, I would find a new way to subtly humiliate her through the clever manipulation of her nine high-quality joints. She became my silent, poseable protest art. The human thinks the doll is just top-heavy. I know the truth. It is not a plaything, but a canvas, and for that, I deem it a worthy, if deeply weird, addition to my domain.
