A Review · From:
One Hundred Cards, One Hundred Crevices to Fill
Our critic watches a single card glide across the hardwood, recognises over a hundred items destined for unreachable crevices, and claims the empty box as a temporary throne.
My human, bless their simple heart, has presented me with what appears to be a box full of flat, papery squares meant for their own baffling rituals. They call them "playing cards" in an "English Garden" style, which means nothing to me unless I can shred the roses. The potential here is twofold and entirely unintended by the manufacturer: the box itself, which looks sturdy enough for a quality sit-if-I-fits situation, and the cards, which are essentially a collection of lightweight, skittery things to be batted under the furniture. While the box has promise, the "toy" part requires far too much of my own kinetic energy to be truly first-rate, bordering on a flagrant waste of my valuable napping time.
The object was placed on the oriental rug, a sacred napping territory, with an offensively cheerful thud. My human cooed something about a "present for Pete," a phrase that usually precedes an item that is either insulting, inedible, or both. I opened one eye, observing the floral-patterned box from my position on the velvet armchair. It was an assault of pastel petals. Utterly gaudy. I gave my tail a single, dismissive flick and feigned a deep, profound sleep. The human, however, is persistent. She slid the lid off, revealing two tightly wrapped stacks of paper rectangles. My disinterest was beginning to waver.
My curiosity, the one weakness in my otherwise stoic character, got the better of me. I flowed down from the armchair like a silent, gray waterfall, landing without a sound. I circled the box, sniffing its corners. It smelled of cardboard and ink, a promising combination. The human, taking this as a sign of interest, unwrapped one of the decks and fanned the cards out on the polished hardwood floor. They were smooth, glossy, and covered in more of those ridiculous flowers. I stared at the human, then at the cards, delivering a slow blink to communicate my profound disappointment.
Then, she slid one. Just a single card, flicked with a finger. It glided across the floor, a silent, swift missile of paper. It moved with a grace I had to respect. It came to a stop near my paw. I considered it for a moment, then gave it a tentative pat with one white mitten. The card shot away, skittering under the edge of the sofa with a delightful *thwip-scraaaape*. My ears perked. I looked at the fan of cards, then back at the space under the sofa. Another card was offered. This time, I didn't hesitate. I gave it a full-force wallop, sending it spinning into the air before it disappeared under the china cabinet. I could see it now. This wasn't a toy. This was an inventory of chaos, over one hundred small items to be individually and meticulously hidden in every unreachable crevice of this house. The box would make an acceptable temporary throne from which to survey my work. Yes, this would do. This would do nicely.
Exhibit A — the specimen
Pete's Verdict
★★★★☆
Box is the prize; chaos, a bonus.
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