Pete's Expert Summary
So, the human has acquired another box of colorful, flat rectangles from a company audaciously named "PlayMonster"—as if there were any other in this household. It appears to be a game designed to keep their simple minds occupied, involving suits and wild cards and other such nonsense. For me, the appeal is not in the "gameplay," a concept I find tedious, but in the collateral benefits. The "collectible tin" might offer a cool, metallic surface for a nap, or a satisfying clatter when pushed from a height. The gathering of multiple humans for "Family Game Night" promises a buffet of available laps and a high probability of dropped snack morsels. The cards themselves are merely future under-the-sofa debris, but the distraction they provide is the real prize.
Key Features
- SPECIAL EDITION — Comes in a collectible tin and with a custom Five Crowns score card!
- FAMILY GAME NIGHT FUN — Suitable for 1 to 7 players ages 8 & up so the whole family can play!
- EASY TO LEARN — Gameplay is simple enough for quick learning and tons of fun for beginners and pros alike!
- FIVE SUITS — This rummy-style game has five suits, with an additional star suit.
- ROTATING WILD CARD — Each round, a different card is the wild card!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The evening began with a metallic *shing* as my human slid the lid off the tin. I observed from my post atop the bookcase, my tail giving a single, dismissive flick. Inside were two decks of those flimsy paper squares humans find so fascinating. They shuffled them with a satisfying, fluttering roar—a sound that momentarily piqued my interest before I remembered its mundane source. The game, "Five Crowns," commenced. I watched them, a cabal of conspirators leaning over the coffee table, murmuring about "books" and "runs" and which card was "wild." It was all dreadfully boring. My true objective, however, was not the game but the arena. The Prime Lap—the one belonging to the human who gives the best behind-the-ear scritches—was currently unavailable, occupied by a splay of cards held in a tense fan. A direct assault would be undignified. I needed a catalyst, an event that would shift the delicate balance of their attention. I needed to become the true wild card of the evening. My eyes fell upon the "custom Five Crowns score card." It sat precariously on the edge of the table, a single sheet of paper that seemed to hold all their focus between rounds. It was the linchpin of their little ritual. Waiting for a moment of peak concentration, just as someone declared they were "going out," I executed a flawless, silent leap from the bookcase to the back of the sofa. From there, it was a simple matter of extending a single, immaculate white paw and delivering a soft, almost accidental-looking tap to the corner of the scorecard. It fluttered to the floor like a wounded bird. The game halted. "Oh, Pete!" they cried, a chorus of mild exasperation. In that beautiful, fleeting moment of chaos, as two humans bent to retrieve the precious document, the Prime Lap was left unguarded. I didn't hesitate. A graceful arc through the air and I landed with a soft *thump*, curling into a perfect, purring circle before the cards were even back in hand. They could have their kings and queens; I had captured the throne. The game, I decided, was an excellent tool for engineering superior napping opportunities. It is worthy.
