Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a box full of colorful, pungent lumps and plastic molds. From what I can gather, this "Play-Doh" contraption is not a toy in the traditional sense, but rather a kit for the human to engage in some sort of ritualistic sculpting. They are meant to create small, garishly colored equine figures, apparently from a "magical friendship" series I have no time for. The potential for amusement here is minimal. While the finished, fragile statues might offer a moment's diversion before being batted under the sofa, the primary activity seems to be a slow, messy, and entirely human-centric affair. The only redeeming quality might be the distinct, salty scent of the dough, which is mildly intriguing, but ultimately not edible. A waste of perfectly good napping and/or staring-at-the-wall time.
Key Features
- Make the cast from My Little Pony Friendship is Magic series or customize your own
- 4 molds to create each type of pony: Earth, Pegasus, Unicorns, and Princesses
- A rainbow of 9 colors lets you get creative with your favorite ponies
- Make cutie marks, rainbow manes and tails, and more with the half-mold palette
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The smell arrived first, an olfactory herald of the strangeness to come. It was a salty, chemical scent, a perfume that spoke of artificiality and human hands. My human, with the focused intensity they usually reserve for opening a can of tuna, began mashing the colorful lumps. I watched from my perch on the back of the sofa, my tail giving a slow, judgmental twitch. They were performing some sort of alchemy, pressing the pliable substance into plastic prisons, only to birth a small, lumpy creature with a rainbow mane. It was a "Pegasus," they cooed, placing the static, doughy thing on the coffee table. I remained still, observing this new icon. It was an affront to nature. It did not chirp, scurry, or flutter. It simply sat there, a silent, multicolored idol in the center of our shared territory. The human continued their work, creating a small pantheon of these oddities—a unicorn, an earth pony, each adorned with misshapen "cutie marks." They were arranged in a neat line, a silent, doughy council passing judgment on my domain. Was this a challenge? A new religion being established in my living room, with me-as-deity being usurped by these lumpen pastel gods? My curiosity, a force far stronger than my dignity, compelled me to descend. I padded silently across the rug, my paws making no sound. I approached the Pegasus, the first of its kind. It stared back with nonexistent eyes. I extended a single, perfect claw, and gently tapped its wing. The structure yielded, indenting with a soft squish. The wing, once proud, now drooped pathetically. It was weak. A false god. A profound understanding washed over me. These were not idols for worship; they were offerings. My human was painstakingly creating these fragile effigies as a tribute *to me*. They were constructing them with the inherent knowledge that their existence was fleeting, that their ultimate purpose was to be presented to their furry overlord for inspection and, inevitably, destruction. I nudged the Pegasus with my nose, and it toppled over with a soft thud. I was not being replaced. I was being appeased. The toy was, in its own strange way, perfectly acceptable.
