Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in a baffling lapse of judgment that calls their entire understanding of my needs into question, has presented me with what appears to be a small, stationary, and frankly, unnerving version of their own species. This "Generic" porcelain doll, a disturbingly large effigy named "My Lee," is an exercise in futility. It is made of a hard, cold material completely unsuitable for batting, biting, or kneading. Its primary features are unblinking glass eyes and a tiny, useless book, neither of which squeaks, crinkles, or dispenses treats. It seems designed solely to occupy a valuable patch of furniture and gather dust, a role I have already perfected and for which I require no competition. This is not a toy; it is a silent, judgmental ornament, and a complete waste of my valuable energy.
Key Features
- Doll by Lloyd & Lee Middleton 23" Porcelain Doll "My Lee" w Bible
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box sat on the living room rug, an ominous cardboard monolith. My human made cooing noises, which usually precede either a trip to the Vet or a disappointing toy. This time, it was the latter. From the tissue paper emerged a figure—a small human child, frozen in time. She was placed in the good armchair, the one with the afternoon sunbeam I had so carefully claimed. Her hair was a startling shade of red, her dress a pristine white, and her skin had the cold, lifeless sheen of a forgotten milk saucer. This was the intruder. "My Lee," the human called her. I called her trouble. I approached with the practiced stealth of a seasoned hunter. My gray tuxedo fur was immaculate, a stark contrast to her garish, static perfection. I circled the armchair, my tail twitching a Morse code of displeasure. She didn't flinch. Her glassy eyes stared forward, fixed on a point somewhere beyond the wall, beyond this house, beyond existence itself. I leaped silently onto the armrest, my equal in height. I sniffed her. Nothing. Not the scent of prey, nor friend, nor foe. She smelled of dust and paint. I extended a single, soft, white-gloved paw and gently tapped her porcelain cheek. The contact was jarringly cold, hard, and hollow. She didn't even blink. This was no simple adversary. A laser dot taunts, a feather wand teases, even a balled-up piece of paper skitters with a life of its own. This thing... this *Lee*... it simply *was*. It offered no chase, no struggle, no satisfaction. It held a tiny book in its hands as if it contained some profound secret, but I knew better. It was a prop, as hollow as the doll herself. My initial skepticism curdled into a profound sense of anticlimax. I had prepared for a territorial dispute, a battle of wits and wills. Instead, I was faced with an opponent whose greatest weapon was utter, absolute indifference. My final verdict came swiftly. I could knock her over, I supposed. Watch her shatter on the hardwood floor. But what would be the point? The resulting human shriek would disrupt my nap schedule for hours. There was no victory to be had here. She was less a toy and more a piece of bad art. With a sigh that conveyed the full weight of my disappointment, I hopped down from the armchair. She could have the sunbeam. The cold emanating from her porcelain form would ruin it anyway. I would find a more worthy spot, perhaps on the human's discarded sweater, which was at least warm and smelled reassuringly of them. The doll was not worthy of my attention. Case closed.
