Pete's Expert Summary
So, the Human has procured a miniature plastic hominid from the Fisher-Price tribe, a clan known for creating remarkably durable chew-things. This one, a 'Sister,' is ostensibly for a tiny human's miniature dwelling. From my perspective, its primary value lies in its size—perfect for a targeted paw-swat from a high perch—and its tantalizingly small accessories. The tethered book presents a fascinating challenge in applied physics and dental deconstruction. However, its complete lack of self-animation is a significant drawback. It won’t scurry, it won’t jingle, it just... lies there, waiting for me to do all the work. It might be a worthy five-minute distraction before a nap, but it's hardly a main event.
Key Features
- Newly designed and sized figure, ready to make herself at home in the Loving Family Dollhouse
- Grasping and posing the figure in different positions help enhance fine motor skills
- Includes backpack and a tethered book
- Collect the whole family and bring them to the Loving Family dollhouse! (Figures, room sets and dollhouse sold separately and subject to availability.)
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The monolith arrived on a Tuesday. The Human, in a fit of what I can only assume was domestic whimsy, placed the small, smiling effigy on the edge of the forbidden bookshelf—my bookshelf. It stood there, a sentinel of cheerfulness, its plastic eyes gazing into a future I was not a part of. It was an intruder, a silent colonist in my kingdom of dust motes and sunbeams. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail twitching a slow, deliberate rhythm against the velvet. This 'Sister,' as the Human called her, was an unknown quantity. Her stillness was more unnerving than any frantic laser dot. I began my reconnaissance under the cover of the Human's distraction with their glowing rectangle. A silent leap brought me to the shelf. Up close, the intruder was even more perplexing. It smelled of nothing, of the void. A sterile, factory scent. I extended a single, perfect claw and gently prodded its head. It wobbled, its oversized cranium threatening to betray its balance, but it held firm. A cursory inspection revealed a small blue growth on its back—a 'backpack'—and, more interestingly, a tiny book forever bound to its hand by a plastic leash. An eternally tethered story. The audacity. What secrets did it hold that it must be so jealously guarded? The test would be one of physics. A simple bat of the paw would be too crude, too common. This required finesse. I positioned myself, lowered my center of gravity, and administered a firm, calculated shove with my nose. The Sister tipped backward without a sound, a perfect arc of silent surprise. She tumbled from the shelf, turning once in the air, her tethered book flailing like a desperate limb. The impact on the hardwood floor was a sharp, clinical *clack*. A beautiful sound. It was the sound of order being restored. I peered over the edge at the result. She lay on her back, one arm flung over her head, her painted smile now directed at the ceiling. She had failed to resist, failed to flee, failed to do anything at all. And yet, the trajectory of her fall had been… satisfying. I leaped down, gave her a final, dismissive sniff, and nudged her with a paw until she was safely stashed under the radiator. She wasn't a plaything; she was a prop. A tool for demonstrating the immutable laws of gravity. On that basis, and that basis alone, she was deemed worthy. For now.
