Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with this... 'Squishmallow'... a plush effigy of the globally recognized, mouthless feline known as Hello Kitty. Its primary, and perhaps only, virtue is its purported "ultrasoft" nature and its strangely outstretched arms, a feature of its "HugMees" designation. It is clearly designed not for a vigorous hunt or a stimulating intellectual challenge, but as a glorified, character-adorned pillow. It produces no sound, it does not move unpredictably, and it almost certainly does not contain catnip. While it utterly fails the basic criteria of a 'toy,' its potential as a premium napping surface for a cat of my discerning taste makes it worthy of a cursory inspection before being relegated to the corner of the room.
Key Features
- Grow your Squishmallows Squad with the super soft, medium-sized Hello Kitty HugMees plush.
- Squishmallows HugMees have extended arms and are always ready for a hug.
- Official Squishmallows product: look for the official seal and join the Squad.
- Look for other Squishmallows extensions–including FlipAMallows, FuzzAMallows, Mystery Squad, and Stackables–only by Original Squishmallows.
- This 10-inch plush is officially licensed by Sanrio.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The new arrival sat in the center of the living room rug, a silent, round, and unnervingly cheerful entity. It was an idol of some kind, placed there by The Provider, no doubt as some sort of psychological test. Its vacant black eyes stared into the middle distance, its form clad in garish red overalls. Its most unnerving feature was its arms, held open in a perpetual, desperate-looking invitation. A trap, I presumed. A soft, squishy, brightly colored trap. I watched it from my vantage point on the back of the sofa for a full seventeen minutes, cataloging its absolute lack of movement. It didn't even have the decency to twitch. Eventually, curiosity outweighed my deep-seated suspicion. I descended with the calculated grace of a predator approaching a questionable water source. A low, tactical crawl brought me nose-to-nose—or rather, nose-to-stitched-yellow-nose—with the thing. I gave it a tentative sniff. It smelled of the factory and the box it came in, a sterile scent devoid of life or interest. I extended a single claw, the very tip, and pricked its plush cheek. It offered no resistance, simply absorbing the minor offense without comment. I delivered a firm pat with a retracted paw. The creature wobbled, its spherical head lolling slightly, before settling back into its insipidly welcoming pose. This was not an adversary. It was not a jester. It was, I realized, infrastructure. I circled it once, my tail giving a thoughtful flick. The open arms were not a trap for me, but a cradle. A bolster. I stepped into the gentle arc of its left arm and began to knead its flank. The material was perfect for it, a satisfying, memory-foam-like squish that accepted the rhythm of my paws without protest. It was, I had to admit, superior to the throw blanket on the armchair. With a final, weary sigh at the sheer simplicity of it all, I curled my body into the space between its arm and torso. The plush embraced my form, providing an unexpected sense of security. It was a throne, purpose-built for a king of leisure. The vacant stare was still unsettling, but I found that if I positioned my tail just so, I could cover its face. Problem solved. It could stay.
