Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented a new object for my inspection, a flat box from a company called Jax. Inside, they've unfurled a large, foldable square marked with a grid and pictures of... well, pictures of the thin, flimsy rectangles they're also holding. The main attraction, from my point of view, is the collection of 135 small, smooth, colorful discs. The humans seem to think the point is to place these discs on the grid in a line, a pointless endeavor. I, however, see it for what it is: a magnificently comfortable, large, flat napping surface temporarily cluttered with a generous supply of perfectly bat-able, under-the-sofa-skittering pucks. The "game" itself is a waste of my time, but the components show promise.
Key Features
- Play a card from your hand, and place a chip on a corresponding space on the game board - when you have five in a row, it’s a SEQUENCE
- Each player or team tries to score the required number of five-card SEQUENCES before their opponents
- Easy enough for children, challenging for adults!
- Exciting gameplay develops STEM skills like strategy
- Includes 1 Folding Game Board (19.75" x 15.25"), 2 Decks of SEQUENCE Playing Cards (2.25" x 3.5"), 135 Playing Chips (50 Green, 50 Blue, 35 Red), and Complete Instructions
- For 2-12 players, ages 7 and up
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It was a night of great import. The humans called it a "party," but I recognized the signs of a summit meeting. The Chieftain (my human) and her allies gathered around the low table in the den, unfurling a great, gridded map of a previously unknown territory. They spoke in hushed, strategic tones. I, as the wise and furry vizier of this domain, naturally assumed my position directly in the center of the map. My presence was essential for a balanced outcome. After a brief and failed attempt to "move" me, the Chieftain sighed and the summit began around my magnificent gray-and-white form. They began deploying their assets. The humans would consult thin, decorated tablets ("cards") and then place their colored markers—blue, green, and a curiously small contingent of red—onto the gridded map. It was a slow, deliberate affair, a cold war played out in plastic. My tail twitched. The blue faction was making a foolish advance near the eastern edge, leaving their flank exposed. The green faction was building a defensive line, but their supply chain seemed tenuous. I groomed a shoulder, feigning indifference, but my strategic mind was racing. Then, it happened. A blue marker was placed with careless bravado right near the edge of my tail. An offering? A challenge? I interpreted it as a tribute, a plea for my intervention. I accepted. With a flick of my paw so swift the human eye could barely register it, the blue marker was launched from the map. It sailed through the air in a graceful arc before executing a perfect skitter-slide under the heavy credenza. A gasp went through the assembly. The summit was paused. Frantic, ineffective searches were conducted. The humans, unable to retrieve the lost marker, eventually declared it a casualty of war and resumed their strange ritual. But the balance of power had shifted. The blue faction was now visibly shaken, their confidence shattered by the mysterious disappearance of one of their own. I closed my eyes, a serene smile on my face. They could have their little game of lines and colors. I understood the true nature of power and chaos. The game was, I decided, a most excellent addition to my household. Not for the game itself, but for the delightful opportunities it presented to remind these giants who truly ran the war room.
