Pete's Expert Summary
So, my human has presented me with this... plush effigy. It's a crude, bipedal imitation of a feline, rendered in a rather common shade of gray that pales in comparison to my own lustrous coat. Apparently, it's named "Tom." Its primary function seems to be auditory annoyance; it makes a variety of noises when prodded and, most heinously, it parrots back whatever is said to it. While its plush form might have served as a moderately acceptable secondary napping pillow, the "interactive features" are a deal-breaker. A moving mouth and a stolen voice are not features of a toy, they are the stuff of nightmares. This is a monument to noise, a battery-powered jester that exists only to waste my time and disrupt the sacred silence of the household.
Key Features
- This Official toy has three interactive areas on its Tummy, Hand and Head. Scratch his tummy and activate up to 16 separate sounds! Makes a perfect toy companion!
- Repeats what you say in Toms voice. The mouth moves as he speaks.
- Standing measurements at 12 inches (~30cm) head-to-toe and seating measurements at 8 inches (~20cm).
- Plush Toy Official Dragon I toy, distributed by Relsy UK
- Suitable for ages 3+. Batteries Not included.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box it came in was far more interesting. A fine corrugated structure with excellent corners for chin-rubbing. But the human, in their infinite lack of wisdom, discarded it for the creature within. There it stood on the rug, a flimsy, grinning caricature of cathood. It had my gray fur, my green eyes, but lacked all substance, all dignity. It was a hollow idol. The human poked its stomach, and it let out a series of yelps and giggles that sounded like a chipmunk being electrocuted. I was unimpressed. The true violation, however, came next. The human cooed, "You're a handsome boy, aren't you?" The creature's jaw, a ghastly bit of plastic machinery, creaked open. In a shrill, tinny mockery of a voice, it chirped back, "You're a handsome boy, aren't you?" My tail, which had been executing a perfect, lazy S-curve, went rigid. This wasn't a toy. This was an identity thief. A plagiarist in plush form. I approached with the silent, deliberate steps I usually reserve for a particularly audacious dust bunny. I stared into its vacant, unblinking eyes and let out a single, low-frequency purr—a complex vibration that speaks of contentment, territorial ownership, and the potential for imminent violence. I waited. The creature's mouth opened. A horrid, mechanical grinding sound attempted to replicate my purr, sounding less like a cat and more like a coffee grinder filled with gravel. It was an insult of the highest order. It had captured the sound but entirely missed the meaning. It was like a fool describing a sunbeam by its heat, completely missing the light. I sat back on my haunches. This thing was no threat. It was an echo, a mindless vessel that could only repeat what was given to it, stripping it of all context and beauty. It was a black hole for sound. My human laughed, delighted by the cheap parlor trick. I turned away, presenting them both with the elegant white tip of my tail. This "Tom" was not worthy of my fury, nor my play. It would be relegated to the corner of the room, a silent (one can hope) testament to the fact that you simply cannot buy class. I, on the other hand, would be napping on the cashmere throw, dreaming of things it could never hope to imitate.
