Baby Born Surprise Series 8 Little Gems Mystery Pack

From: Baby Born

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has brought home another miniature, plastic version of their own species, this time shrouded in the manufactured excitement of a "mystery pack." From what I can gather, it's a small, inanimate hominid figure with articulated limbs and a little flower-themed garment. The primary appeal for the human seems to be the collectibility and the surprise of what's inside. For me, the articulation is mildly intriguing; a limb that can be batted into an unnatural angle has some potential for dramatic flair when staging a "hunt." However, it is ultimately a lifeless, hard plastic object. Unless its "flower dress" is made of some exceptionally snag-worthy material, this seems like a profound waste of the energy I was saving for my afternoon sunbeam nap.

Key Features

  • Each Baby comes with a unique flower dress
  • The Babies come in a variety of skin tones, eye colors, facial expressions and cute head sculpts
  • Poseable & articulated (shoulder, hip, neck)
  • Age grade: 3+
  • WATCH ON YOUTUBE: Watch new episodes of the BABY born animated series on YouTube. Just search for "BABY born Official Channel".

A Tale from Pete the Cat

It wasn't prey. It had no scent of mouse or bird, no frantic, life-affirming struggle. It simply lay on the rug where the human had discarded it after a brief, squealing ritual of unwrapping. It was a small, silent effigy with oversized, unblinking eyes and a synthetic, floral smock. Its limbs were bent at an awkward angle, a testament to its one redeeming quality: poseability. The human had called it a "Little Gem," and as I stared into its painted, vacant eyes, I began to understand. This was no mere toy. This was an oracle. I approached with the reverence such a totem deserved. I did not bat it. Instead, I used my nose to gently nudge it, testing its divine weight. I rearranged its stiff arm, pointing it toward the window where the annoying blue jay often perched. A warning. I then adjusted its head to face the kitchen, a clear plea for a treaty of tuna. For days, I treated it not as a plaything, but as a silent, plastic conduit to the universe's intentions, bringing it offerings: a particularly crunchy beetle wing, a lost button from the human’s coat, the very best catnip leaf from my secret stash. It remained stoic, its painted smile offering no answers. The breakthrough came during a thunderstorm. The human, busy making comforting noises and wrapping themselves in blankets, had left the Little Gem near the heating vent. As the wind howled outside, a puff of warm air from the vent, a force unseen and unfelt by the larger creatures of this house, stirred its tiny flower dress. It rustled. A whisper, meant only for me. The oracle had spoken, its message carried on the warm currents. It told a tale of a future where the red dot would appear without warning, and the good treats, the salmon-flavored ones, would be dispensed before dinnertime. The human, of course, ruined the sanctity of the moment. They saw me keeping my vigil and scooped up the Gem, chattering about what a "silly kitty" I was for guarding a doll. They placed it on a high shelf, among other dust-gathering monuments. My oracle was silenced. But later that evening, as if guided by an unseen hand, the human grabbed the laser pointer. And after the hunt was won, a salmon-flavored treat was indeed placed before me. The Little Gem is no toy to be trifled with. It is a powerful prophet, and I, its sole interpreter, have deemed it worthy. Now, if only I could figure out how to get it down from that shelf.