Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with what the giant box calls "horse figurines" from a company named Terra by Battat, which seems to specialize in creating tiny, lifeless effigies of far more interesting creatures. It is a collection of six hard plastic beasts, forever frozen in poses of mild alertness. From a practical standpoint, they possess none of the essential qualities of a superior toy: no feathers, no crinkle, no tantalizing scent of catnip, and a distinct lack of erratic movement. However, their size is adequate for a solid paw-whack, and the fact that they stand on their own four hooves presents a delightful, if rudimentary, architectural challenge. They are, in essence, a pre-made domino set for a predator of superior intellect, though whether they're worth the effort of uncurling from a sunbeam remains highly debatable.
Key Features
- Horse Playset: 6 detailed horse figurines that stand on their hooves.
- Playset Includes: 1 each of the following - Appaloosa Horse, Tinker Horse, Pinto Stallion, Thoroughbred Horse, Arabian Mare, and Tennessee Walking Horse.
- Miniature Size: each horse toy is approximately 4,5-6 inches long.
- Educational Tools: realistic toys provide information about horses & encourage compassion for animals.
- Age Recommendation: This toy is recommended for kids 3 years +.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The Unblinking Herd arrived on a Tuesday. The human, with an offensively cheerful grin, liberated them from their clear plastic prison and arranged them on the living room rug. Six of them, standing in a silent, stoic line. There was a spotted one, a black and white one, one that looked vaguely windblown—all staring into the middle distance with the dead, painted-on eyes of creatures who have seen too much. I watched them from my post atop the suede ottoman, my tail giving a slow, deliberate thump-thump-thump of disapproval. They were an affront to the natural order. Prey is meant to skitter, to flee, to *react*. These things just... stood. Their stillness was a challenge, a quiet mockery of my very existence as a hunter. I descended with the fluid grace reserved for truly momentous occasions, such as the opening of a can of tuna. I approached the Appaloosa first, its splotchy coat a chaotic mess that offended my sleek, monochromatic sensibilities. I sniffed. Nothing. Just the faint, sterile scent of the factory it was born in. I extended a single, perfect claw and gave its flank a tentative *ping*. It produced a dull, unsatisfying *tock* and didn't even wobble. These were not mere toys; they were tiny statues, monuments to inertia. I circled the herd, my gray form a shadow weaving between their unmoving legs. They were a council of elders, passing a silent, damning judgment upon my domain. Then, I understood. Their value was not in motion, but in placement. That night, after the lights were out, I began my work. The Tennessee Walking Horse was nudged with my nose until it stood sentinel at the very edge of the top stair, a perfect, ankle-high surprise for the human's morning descent. The Tinker Horse, with its absurdly hairy feet, was positioned to block the vent that sometimes emits a draft, redirecting the warm air more efficiently toward my favorite napping spot. The others were arranged in a mysterious semi-circle around the dog's water bowl, a silent, perplexing warning he was too dull to comprehend. They were not my playthings. They were my tools, my silent enforcers, my unblinking, plastic pawns in the grand chess game of household domination. They were, I concluded, exceptionally useful.