Pete's Expert Summary
So, the Human has brought another plastic totem into my domain. This one, a garishly dressed monkey with a vacant grin, is apparently designed to hold the very glowing rectangle that so often steals my rightful attention. I must admit, its advertised sturdiness and heavy base are intriguing—a stable new object is always a potential head-scratching post or a vantage point for observing the household. However, it lacks any redeeming qualities of a true toy: no feathers, no crinkle, no erratic movement. It is a static monument to the Human's noisy digital obsessions. Its only potential for amusement lies in testing that "sturdy base" claim with a well-aimed shove, but I suspect it will ultimately just be another inanimate obstacle between me and a warm lap.
Key Features
- MONKEYBOMB: Be careful - and don’t throw him, as he just might vaporize before your eyes.
- 8.5" FIGURE: Heavy duty PVC statue and sturdy base that holds your stuff without tipping over.
- VERSATILE: Easily holds and displays most hand-held electronics, business cards, TV remotes, eBook readers, etc!
- GREAT GIFT IDEA: Calling all Call of Duty fans, this is a collectible figure must-have gift. An essential for any COD gamer.
- OFFICIALLY LICENSED: Your favorite pop culture characters - With A Purpose! Officially licensed by Activision - Call of Duty, styled on Monkey Bomb.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It arrived in a box, smelling of industry and disappointment. The Human freed it and placed it on his desk, a shrine already cluttered with clicking keyboards and flashing lights. The thing was an idol of poor taste: a monkey in a red vest and fez, poised to clash two brass cymbals that would never meet. It was an effigy of frozen, pointless action. The Human placed his phone into its outstretched arms, and my worst fears were confirmed. It was not a challenger or a plaything; it was a servant, a plastic butler for the device that was my chief rival. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail a slow, metronomic whip of disapproval. This would not stand. That night, under the quiet hum of the refrigerator, I made my move. A silent leap placed me on the desk. The monkey stared forward, its painted smile a mocking crescent in the moonlight filtering through the window. I circled it, a gray shadow assessing a strange monolith. I sniffed its base. Nothing. I nudged it with my nose. It was, as they claimed, heavy. It didn't budge. I gave it a more forceful shove with my head, putting the full weight of my well-fed frame into it. The statue merely rocked, its sturdy base refusing to yield its ground. This was infuriating. It was an immovable, useless lump. I was about to dismiss it entirely, to relegate it to the category of "furniture," when a low, deep vibration started. It wasn't the monkey itself, but the phone nestled in its grasp. A "notification." The vibration, however, wasn't just in the phone. The dense, heavy plastic of the monkey's body absorbed it, transmitting the hum through its base and into the surface of the desk. I felt it in my paws, a resonant thrum that was somehow… pleasant. It was like the deep, reassuring purr of a much larger, albeit artificial, creature. The phone screen lit up, illuminating the monkey's face. The light caught the brass cymbals, making them gleam. The vibration continued for a moment, a secret, silent rumble just for me. This changed the equation. The monkey was not a toy to be batted or an enemy to be vanquished. It was a sensory device. A personal massager. I settled into a loaf next to it, resting my chin against its sturdy platform. Now, whenever the Human’s phone buzzed with its meaningless alerts, the monkey would share that energy with me, transforming the Human's distraction into my own private, purr-inducing spa treatment. The grin no longer seemed mocking; it was an invitation. Very well, plastic primate. You may stay. You have found your purpose.
