Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have acquired a set of small plastic effigies from a company called "The Loyal Subjects." Based on the garish yellow packaging and the overwhelmingly artificial "sweet scent" emanating from it, this is a collection of static figures. There's a human child-thing with a large hat, and more importantly, a depiction of a fellow feline named Custard. While the small size (2.5 inches, they say) presents a tantalizing opportunity for batting them off a high shelf, their primary function appears to be sitting still and smelling vaguely of a chemical plant's idea of a strawberry. This is likely another piece of human décor destined to gather dust, a potential projectile at best, and an olfactory offense at worst. The presence of a cat figure, however, requires my personal and professional evaluation.
Key Features
- Join Strawberry Shortcake & Custard for a springtime celebration in this limited-edition 3-Pack Set by TLS Toy!
- Overflowing Sweetness! Strawberry Shortcake is adorable with her basket and tulips and Custard with his flowers & strawberry add to the charm of springtime.
- Each sweet scented figure stands 2.5-inches tall and is packaged in the iconic yellow window style gift box.
- This limited-edition Spring Season 3-Pack is perfect for collecting, trading, party favors, basket gifts, display and play.
- Collect all TLS Toy limited-edition Spring & Winter Seasons 2.5-inch Collectible Cheebee Figures! Sold Separately.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived on a Tuesday, an unwelcome splash of yellow in the muted tones of my well-appointed living room. My human presented it with a cooing sound I have learned to associate with imminent disappointment. A scent preceded the object itself—a cloying, aggressive sweetness that was an insult to the subtle aromas of sun-warmed wood and my own magnificent fur. She unboxed them. There was the girl in the absurdly large bonnet, and there, next to her, was the source of my professional outrage: a pink cat. Not a shade of cream or ginger, but a vibrant, unapologetic pink. He was holding flowers. I felt a deep, ancestral shame. I approached with the dignified caution of an inspector. The pink cat, this "Custard," stood frozen in a state of vapid cheerfulness. I lowered my nose, my whiskers twitching in protest as I drew near the source of the synthetic strawberry miasma. The smell wasn't just on the figure; it *was* the figure. As I took a deep, critical sniff, the world shifted. The familiar grain of the hardwood floor dissolved into a swirling vortex of pastel colors. The air thickened, tasting of spun sugar and chemicals. The faint hum of the refrigerator became a distant, tinkling melody played on a xylophone made of candy. In this strange, scented dimension, I was no longer in my home. I stood on a field of unnaturally green grass under a sky the color of lemonade. The pink cat, Custard, stood before me, now life-sized. He didn't speak, but a thought bloomed in my mind, a thought that felt both alien and his own: *Isn't it wonderful? No mice to chase, no territories to defend. Just sweetness. Eternal, unchanging sweetness.* For a terrifying second, I felt the appeal—a world without effort, a life of perpetual, mindless bliss. It was the antithesis of every satisfying hunt, every victorious nap after a hard day of being admired. I recoiled, shaking my head so hard my ears flapped. The saccharine vision shattered, and I was back on my floor, the plastic figurine staring blankly up at me. This wasn't a toy. It was propaganda. It was a tiny, sweet-smelling idol for a cult of complacency. I raised a paw, my claws thankfully sheathed, and delivered a firm thwack. The pink cat skittered across the floor and disappeared under the credenza, his offensive scent trailing behind him. Let him preach his gospel of sweetness to the dust bunnies. He is not worthy. I shall cleanse my palate by napping in a sunbeam, the preferred state of bliss for a cat of substance.
