Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a flat, foldable box from a company called Pressman, an enterprise that apparently believes quantity trumps quality. Inside this container of mediocrity are the tools for three separate human diversions. The board itself is a flimsy, double-sided affair, suggesting it can't even commit to being one thing. The "checkers" are thin, interlocking plastic discs, whose primary appeal is likely how easily they can be slid into the dark voids beneath furniture. The "chess pieces," despite being described as "full size," feel disappointingly light in my expert opinion—hollow avatars for a hollow conflict. While the sheer number of small objects to bat about is noteworthy, the whole set screams "beginner," and I, sir, am a grandmaster of leisure. It might serve for a moment's chaotic distraction, but it lacks the soul of a truly worthy opponent.
Key Features
- Three classic games included in one set - ideal for both the novice and experienced player!
- A great addition to your game collection
- The perfect set for teaching the next generation of players
- Features durable double sided game board, 30 plastic interlocking checkers, full size Staunton chess pieces, dice and instructions
- For 2 players, ages 8 and up
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The humans unfolded the board on the low table in the den, its surface a stark checkerboard of black and red. They called the visiting human "Uncle Jerry," a large, slow-moving creature who smelled faintly of rain and pastrami. They began stacking the little red and black discs, which clicked together with a sound like insects chattering. I watched from the arm of the sofa, a gray and white specter of judgment, as they commenced their clumsy, linear shuffling. It was a bore. A true battle requires nuance, not this simple-minded hopping. My interest had waned to the point of a pre-nap stretch when the first disc was unceremoniously knocked from the board. It didn't just fall; it skittered. It spun on the hardwood floor with a whirring sound that vibrated right up my whiskers. My eyes, mere slits of green moments before, snapped into perfect circles. This was not the dull thud of a worthy, solid object. This was the frenetic, unpredictable flight of wounded prey. I launched myself from the sofa, a silent dive, and pinned the errant disc with a single, perfectly placed paw before it could escape under the bookshelf. It was light, almost pathetically so, but its smooth surface was pleasant against my pads. Uncle Jerry laughed, a booming sound that shook the room, and reached for the disc. I responded with a low growl, a promise of swift and severe retaliation learned from watching nature documentaries on the big flashy screen. This was my prize. My human sighed, "Oh, Pete," and retrieved another disc from the box to continue their pointless game. I, however, had discovered the true purpose of this "toy." It wasn't about the board or the rules; it was a delivery system for these delightful, high-velocity floor-skimmers. I spent the rest of the evening perched by the table, not as a spectator, but as a predator. Every time a piece was "kinged" and then captured, it would be cast aside. That was my cue. I would pounce, capture my quarry, and carry my plastic trophy away to my hoard behind the curtains. The humans thought I was being a nuisance. Fools. I was engaging with the product on a level their simple minds couldn't comprehend. The set is cheap, the games are dull, but as a reliable source of things to chase and conquer? It has earned a temporary, and very conditional, place in my kingdom.
