Pete's Expert Summary
So, my human has acquired a large, blue, plastic creature with unnervingly large eyes and an aggressive number of spikes. They call it "Sonic." Apparently, its primary function is to assault the senses with over 30 different noises and flashing lights emanating from its eyes and quills. While the concept of a light-up object is mildly intriguing for batting purposes, the sheer volume of pre-recorded, high-pitched chatter suggests it will be a major disruptor of my napping schedule. It's clearly designed to be poked and prodded by the human, making it less of a toy for me and more of a loud, garish monument to their questionable taste. Its only true potential lies in how satisfying a thud it makes when pushed off the coffee table.
Key Features
- 12” scale movie-styled figure inspired by the Sonic the Hedgehog movies
- Features 30+ iconic and humorous phrases and sounds from the movies
- Light-up eyes and quills by pressing Sonic’s chest
- Press Sonic’s hands and sneakers to activate phrases and sounds!
- Suggested for kids ages 3 years and up
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The monolith arrived in a cardboard sarcophagus. My human, with the reverence of a high priest opening a sacred tomb, released the blue effigy. It stood a full foot tall, a silent, spiky god staring into the middle distance. For a long while, it did nothing, and I began to accept it as a strange, new piece of art. I am a patron of the arts, provided they are stationary and suitable for rubbing my face on. I approached it with a dignified, cautious tread, my tail giving a single, inquisitive flick. My human, the clumsy acolyte, then committed an act of sacrilege. They jabbed the idol in its chest. Its eyes flashed a terrifying, electric blue, and a voice, tinny and manic, shrieked from within its plastic shell: "Gotta go fast!" I recoiled, my fur on end. Was this a prophecy? A command? A threat? I am, of course, the master of the sudden and explosive dash from one room to another for no reason, but this felt different. This felt like a challenge from a mad deity. I retreated to the arm of the sofa to observe this new oracle and divine its purpose. Throughout the afternoon, the human would consult the blue idol. Each time, a new, baffling pronouncement. "Time to power up!" it would squawk, its back-spikes pulsing with light. Was it predicting the whir of the food dispenser? "I'm the master of faster!" it declared again, a clear falsehood. And then, the most cryptic message of all: "Chili dogs!" I have no reference for this. Is it a password? A mythical beast? A warning of some impending, inedible doom? The oracle was inconsistent, its wisdom scattered and useless. By evening, I had reached my conclusion. This was no god. This was no oracle. This was a fool, a court jester trapped in a cheap plastic prison, babbling nonsense for the amusement of my simple-minded human. Its flashing lights were not cosmic signals, but a desperate cry for attention. I rendered my final verdict by turning my back to it, leaping onto my human's lap, and beginning a purr so profound and resonant that it completely drowned out the idol's next pathetic squeak. Some things, like authentic quality, simply cannot be replicated by batteries.
