Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in her infinite and often misplaced wisdom, has procured an object from the Melissa & Doug conglomerate, a brand I associate with sturdy, wooden things that are entirely unsuitable for sharpening my magnificent claws. This "Jenna" doll is clearly intended for the smaller, less predictable human, not for a connoisseur of fine napping surfaces like myself. It presents a paradox: a plush, soft-looking torso that practically begs for a vigorous bunny-kicking, yet it is attached to unsettlingly smooth plastic limbs that offer no satisfying purchase. The removable clothing is a point of mild interest, offering potential for strategic theft and stashing under the sofa. However, the mechanical eyes that open and close are deeply suspect. Overall, it seems like a mediocre wrestling partner whose primary function is to be stared at suspiciously from a distance.
Key Features
- Sweet baby cheeks and soft, cuddly body inspire kids for hours of pretend play
- Wipe-clean arms and legs
- Removable smocked romper and matching cap
- Eyes open and close, and able to suck thumb or pacifier; this product ships in its own special e-commerce packaging intended to be easier to open and reduce waste (curbside recyclable)
- Makes a great gift for toddlers and preschoolers, ages 18 months to 5, for hands-on, screen-free play
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The new arrival, which The Provider called "Jenna," was presented not to me, but to the Small Human, an act of betrayal I noted for future reference. It lay on the rug, a limp form in a pale pink romper, its painted smile a mockery of true feline contentment. I observed from my perch on the armchair, feigning disinterest. The Small Human shrieked with what I can only assume was delight, picking the thing up and shaking it. As its head flopped forward, its eyes snapped open with a faint, plastic click. I narrowed my own. An automaton. A spy. Later, when the house fell into the quiet hum of twilight, I descended to investigate the operative. It had been discarded near the hearth, lying on its back, its creepy blue eyes sealed shut in a false slumber. I circled it, my tuxedo-furred chest puffed with suspicion. A gentle prod with my paw confirmed the softness of its torso—a tactical weakness. But the face... that was the command center. I hooked a claw under its chin and slowly, deliberately, tilted its head upright. *Click.* The eyes sprang open, two vacant pools of plastic staring into my very soul. They saw everything. My mission became clear. I would not destroy the spy—that would be too obvious. I would test its surveillance capabilities. I grabbed the hem of its ridiculous little hat and dragged it into the darkest corner of the room, behind a heavy velvet curtain. In the near-total blackness, I peered at it. I could not see if its eyes were open or closed. It was a perfect agent, its mechanisms designed for passive observation, its silence its greatest weapon. I could not rattle it. I could not intimidate it. It simply *was*. I left it there, a silent sentinel in the shadows. I returned to the armchair, not in victory, but with a newfound understanding. This wasn't a toy. It was a new piece on the board, a silent, unblinking observer in my kingdom. It was unworthy of my play, yes, but it had earned a different kind of respect: the kind one affords a worthy, and potentially treacherous, rival. I would have to be more careful now. Jenna was watching.
