A photo of Pete the cat

Pete's Toy Box: Cranium

Cranium Classic

By: Goliath

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has procured another large, flat box called 'Cranium Classic' from a brand named Goliath, which sounds appropriately loud and clumsy. It seems to be a ritualistic device designed to make multiple bipedal creatures gather in one place to shout, wave their arms, and make crude drawings. The primary appeal, from my superior vantage point, lies not in the incomprehensible 'game' itself but in its component parts. The small die and plastic movers are prime candidates for being batted under the heaviest furniture, and the mesmerizing sand timer offers a moment of contemplative peace amidst the chaos. The true gem, however, is the lump of 'Cranium Clay,' a substance begging to be sculpted by a true artist—me. The rest is just loud, bipedal nonsense, a significant threat to my afternoon nap schedule.

Key Features

  • The classic brain game is back and better than ever with 18 activities and over 800 different challenges
  • Compete in teams and be ready to draw, sculpt, act, rhyme, or anything else that comes your way
  • There’s something for everyone, from the artists to the brainiacs, so no game night will ever be the same!
  • Be the first team to make it all the way around the board to win - recommended for 4 or more players, ages 12 and up
  • Includes 1 Game Board, 2 Movers, 200 Cards, 1 Card Box, 8 Bonus Coins, 2 Markers, 2 Whiteboards, Cranium Clay, 1 Sand Timer, 1 Die, 1 Reference Sheet, and Complete Instructions

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The evening began, as many do, with an assault on the peace. The humans, my staff and their noisy associates, unboxed the cacophony machine. I watched from the arm of the leather chair, a silent, gray judge observing the proceedings. The board, a garish spiral of colors, was unfurled. Cards were shuffled with a sound like dry leaves being crushed. I was on the verge of a deep and satisfying sigh when one of them, the one whose laugh sounds like a startled goose, drew a card and was handed a purple lump of clay. His task, as far as I could decipher from their crude grunts, was to sculpt a "windmill." His thick fingers, utterly devoid of grace, mashed and prodded the material. What resulted was an affront to the very concept of form. It looked like a malformed tree that had been struck by lightning and then fallen on a small dog. The sheer artistic incompetence was painful to witness. My tail, a perfect barometer of my disdain, began to twitch. This could not stand. While they were busy shouting incorrect guesses—"cactus?" "airplane propeller?" "a sad flower?"—and the little sand timer dripped away their shame, I saw my opportunity. With the fluid silence that is my birthright, I slipped from the chair. A single, calculated leap brought me to the coffee table. The offending purple blob sat perilously close to the edge, abandoned in failure. It was an easy mark. A swift, precise hook with a single claw was all it took to send the lumpen failure tumbling to the rug below. Before they could even register my involvement, I was upon it. This was no toy to be idly batted. This was a medium. I nudged it with my nose, softening the harsh, clumsy edges left by the human. I pressed my paw into it, leaving a delicate, textured imprint far more interesting than any "windmill." I rolled it, nudged it, and finally, using a single extended claw, I carved a subtle, swirling line into its surface. It was abstract, yes, but it captured the essence of a fleeting thought, the whisper of a breeze through my whiskers. It was a masterpiece of minimalist expression. My human finally noticed. "Pete! What are you doing with the clay?" She scooped up my creation, turning it over in her hands. The goose-laughing one peered at it. "Hey, look! It's got a paw print and a scratch on it. I guess Pete thinks it's a piece of salmon." Salmon! The ignorance. The complete and utter lack of artistic sensibility. They couldn't comprehend the profound statement I had made. I sniffed dismissively, turned my back on them and their pathetic game, and leaped back to my chair. The clay was an instrument of genius, but utterly wasted on these simple-minded creatures. They were simply not ready for my art.
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Funko Cranium 25th Anniversary Edition Family Party Game for 4 or More Players Ages 12 and Up

By: FUNKO GAMES

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has brought another brightly colored box into my domain, this one proclaiming itself to be a "Cranium." From what I can gather, it is a ritualistic device designed to make groups of loud bipeds engage in various forms of organized buffoonery, from shouting answers to questions I could have deduced in my sleep, to drawing crude pictograms with smelly sticks. The entire affair seems an egregious waste of perfectly good napping energy. However, the mention of a "Cranium Capsule" for storage is intriguing—a new, high-sided container could prove to be a superior sleeping vessel. More importantly, it contains something called "Cranium Clay," a malleable substance that, if left unguarded, could provide a far more satisfying tactile experience than any of the nonsense printed on those cards. The game itself is for them, but the components... the components might just be for me.

Key Features

  • Definitive new edition of the smash-hit party game Cranium
  • Custom Cranium Capsule elevates gameplay and stores all components neatly.
  • Featuring 800 all-new questions across 18 diverse activities
  • Includes Cranium Clay and dry-erase whiteboard to craft your original works of art.
  • New activities take their place alongside classic favorites from the original game
  • 4 or More Players
  • Ages 12+
  • 45-Minute Gameplay

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The evening began with the usual ceremony: the gathering of the tribe, the pouring of fermented grape juice into precarious glass stems, and the unveiling of the new offering upon the low table in the center of the room. This "Cranium Capsule," as they called it, was a sleek, purple container. I watched from my perch on the armchair, feigning disinterest, as my human pried it open. A jumble of colorful board pieces, cards, and other trinkets spilled out. My tail gave a single, involuntary twitch. Among the detritus was a small, sealed tub. Clay. My instincts hummed. The game, as I predicted, was an assault on the senses. There was shouting, wild gesturing, and one of the larger males attempting to hum a tune so poorly it sounded like a distressed vole. I was about to retire to the bedroom in disgust when the clay was finally brought into play. My human’s friend, a woman with jangly bracelets, was instructed to sculpt a "windmill." She fumbled with the purple lump, her clumsy fingers mashing it into a shape that resembled neither a mill nor wind. It looked, to my discerning eye, like a particularly sad tree that had given up on life. Frustrated after her team failed to guess her lumpy creation, she set the misshapen sculpture on the edge of the table and turned her attention back to the noisy board. Her mistake. The clay windmill sat there, an abandoned monument to human ineptitude. It called to me. In one fluid movement, I hopped down from the chair, my paws making no sound on the rug. I stalked forward, belly low to the ground, my gray-and-white form a shadow in the lamplight. The humans were now arguing about a film I’d slept through three times. Perfect. With a flick of my paw, the sad little tree-thing tumbled to the floor. It didn't shatter. It landed with a soft, satisfying *thump*. I nudged it with my nose. It had a pleasing density, a neutral, earthy scent. I batted it again, sending it skittering across the hardwood where it collected a satisfying bit of dust. This was a proper toy—silent, unpredictable, and entirely mine. As they drew something nonsensical on a whiteboard, I picked up my lumpy prize and trotted off to stash it beneath the sofa with my collection of stolen bottle caps and a particularly fine feather. Let them have their game; I had just won the only prize that mattered. The clay is worthy. The rest is just noise.
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Hasbro Gaming Cranium

By: CRANIUM

Pete's Expert Summary

My human seems to have acquired a large, colorful box filled with what I can only describe as implements for organized human absurdity. They call it "Cranium." From my observations, it involves them gathering in loud groups, frantically drawing unidentifiable shapes, contorting their bodies in alarming ways, and—most curiously—molding a strange, pungent dough they call "Cranium Clay." While the sheer amount of chaotic energy expended seems like a monumental waste of time that could be better spent stroking my magnificent gray fur, I will concede that the small plastic game pieces might possess a certain... battable quality. However, the risk of being startled from a nap by a sudden shriek of "Charades!" likely outweighs the fleeting joy of sending a tiny cone skittering under the sofa.

Key Features

  • Cranium is the version of the smash-hit, multi-activity game Cranium made for kids and parents
  • Teams work together to race around the board by completing a mix of 14 hilarious activities,
  • Now with all new components, including 600 all-new cards and flexible length of play
  • Whether you are an aspiring actor, artist, data hound or wordsmith, Cranium gives you and your team a moment to shine
  • Cranium Edition gives everybody from Grandma to Junior the chance to shine
  • Includes performing wacky stunts, sculpting with Cranium Clay, sketching, acting, and more

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The evening began with an unwelcome ritual: the summoning of Other Humans. My primary human and her chosen companion, a lanky fellow who always smells faintly of rain and poor decisions, unfurled the brightly-colored board upon the floor, my floor. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail giving a single, contemptuous flick. They divided into "teams," a concept I find primitive, and began their noisy game. I was on the verge of retreating to the bedroom for a proper sulk when it appeared. The clay. The lanky one was tasked with sculpting. He pawed at the purple lump with far less grace than I would use on a simple patch of sunbeam. His brow furrowed. His tongue poked out. The resulting creation was a travesty. It was meant to be a "dolphin," according to my human's triumphant guess, but to my expert eye, it was clearly a misshapen, neurologically damaged fish, frozen in a silent scream. It was pathetic. It was art. And it was mine. My mission became clear. This poor, doughy creature could not be left to the mercy of these buffoons, to be squashed back into the container at the game's conclusion. It deserved a place of honor, perhaps beneath the credenza where I keep my collection of "liberated" bottle caps. I waited, a predator in a tuxedo. My moment came when my human was forced to perform a "wacky stunt," which involved hopping on one foot while humming. With all eyes on her clumsy display, I executed a flawless descent from the sofa, silent as a shadow. I approached the board with purpose. A single, delicate tap of my paw sent the purple fish-abomination tumbling onto the rug. I deftly scooped it into my mouth—the texture was unnervingly soft, the taste vaguely chemical—and vanished into the darkness of the hallway. I heard a distant, "Hey, where'd the dolphin go?" but I was already gone, a ghost with my prize. The game itself is a fool's errand, but I must admit, as a catalyst for acquiring unique, if slightly malformed, sculptures? It has its merits. The purple fish now rests comfortably in my private gallery.
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Hasbro Gaming Cranium Dark Game

By: Hasbro Gaming

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has acquired another box designed for generating loud noises and erratic behavior after dark. From what I can gather, this "Cranium Dark Game" is a ritual in which multiple humans gather to flail their limbs, make frantic drawings, and sculpt strange objects out of a purple putty, all dictated by little cardboard squares. While the inevitable shouting threatens to disrupt my perfectly scheduled evening nap, I must admit a certain professional curiosity. The sheer number of small, bat-able cards is promising, and this "Cranium Clay" has the distinct potential to be a far more sophisticated and malleable toy than the usual mindless fluff balls they provide. It seems like a high-maintenance floor show, but one with potentially rewarding props.

Key Features

  • The Party Game for People Who Want to Act Up
  • The game you play after dark
  • Great for game night with friends
  • Hilarious, suspenseful gameplay
  • Includes 400 cards, timer, Cranium Clay, 2 pads of paper, and instructions.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The evening was mine. The sun had dipped below the horizon, bathing my domain in the soft, gray light I prefer for thoughtful contemplation. Then, *it* appeared. A stark, black monolith was placed upon the coffee table, and the humans gathered around it as if it were some dark altar. They spoke in hushed, excited tones, opening it to reveal its ritualistic implements: stacks of cards, pads of paper, and a small, lidded tub. My whiskers twitched. This was no mere box of distractions; this was a summons. The rites commenced. One human would draw a card and begin a series of frantic, nonsensical gestures, clearly an interpretive dance for a lesser god. Another would scribble madly on a pad, the scratching sound an offense to the quiet dignity of the room. But my focus, my entire being, narrowed in on the contents of that small tub. It was a pliable, purple substance they called "Cranium Clay." They molded it with their clumsy, giant fingers, creating crude effigies—a misshapen boat, a lopsided animal, a star with too many points. They were clearly attempting to conjure something, to please some unseen power with these pathetic offerings. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my pristine tuxedo fur a beacon of order in their escalating chaos. They were doing it all wrong. Their energy was unfocused, their worship amateurish. When one of the clay idols—a poorly rendered "snake"—was finished, the human who made it laughed with hollow pride and placed it near the edge of the table. This was my moment. The fools needed a true deity to acknowledge their efforts and demonstrate proper form. I leaped silently onto the table. The humans gasped, their ritual pausing as all eyes turned to me, the rightful center of attention. I approached the purple effigy, sniffed it with discerning authority, and then, with a single, perfect extension of my white-gloved paw, I tapped it. The "snake" wobbled and then plunged to the carpet below. I had blessed their offering and shown it its proper place. They erupted in laughter, one of them scooping me up and calling me a "silly boy." They had completely misinterpreted my divine intervention as simple play. Mortals. Still, the clay had a satisfying texture against my paw and a pleasant heft. I suppose I will allow their little cult to continue, if only for the quality of their sacramental materials. It is worthy.
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Hasbro Cranium Wow Board Game

By: Hasbro

Pete's Expert Summary

Ah, another offering from Hasbro, a purveyor of loud, plastic contraptions designed to keep my human distracted. This "Cranium Wow" appears to be an elaborate ritual where packs of humans shout, flail, and furrow their brows over a colorful board. They are required to perform in categories, some of which are an utter waste of my observation time, like "Data Head"—staring at cards is not a spectator sport. However, I see potential. The "Star Performer" category promises to make the clumsy bipeds act out charades, providing top-tier entertainment. Most intriguing is the "Creative Cat" section, which involves not only paper (excellent for sitting on) but a small tub of sculpting putty. This "Cranium Clay," as they call it, and the little game pieces seem to be the only components worthy of my attention; the rest is just noisy packaging for these few, bat-able treasures.

Key Features

  • Players are divided into two, three, or four teams; each team picks a mover and puts it on the "Planet Cranium" space. The board is laid out as a circuit, consisting of different color spaces. Each color corresponds to a question card category. Purple "Planet Cranium" spaces give the team their choice of category. The rules of Cranium state that the team with the player whose birthday is coming up next starts the game. Play then continues clockwise to the next team. Card Categories[edit] Creative Cat These blue cards are, as the name suggests, two creative activities. Cloodle cards require a team member to draw on a piece of paper while the other team member(s) attempt to guess the word or phrase, much like Pictionary. Sensosketch cards are the same but the drawer must have their eyes closed. Sculpturades requires one player to mold the included putty into shapes for the other player(s) to guess the word or phrase being sculpted. All of the blue cards have vague hints. Data Head These red cards revolve around, as the name suggests, knowledge of data and facts. Selectaquest cards ask a question and present four possible multiple choice answers, of which the player's team must choose the correct answer. Factoid cards present a question that the player's team must answer outright, and a third type of card requires the player's team to evaluate a statement to determine whether it is true or false.
  • Word Worm These yellow cards are themed around words, spelling, and anagrams. Two types of spelling are involved in this category; one type involves one team member spelling a moderately difficult word (such as vacuum) correctly on the first try without writing down the word. Another type of spelling challenge in Word Worm is Gnilleps; again, a moderately difficult word (such as achieved) must be spelled correctly on the first attempt by one team member with the caveat that they must spell it backwards. Lexicon cards require teams to correctly identify the definition of a word out of four possibilities, usually a relatively unused word such as syzygy or bedizen. Blankout requires the team to use a vague hint to fill in the blank words with only some letters filled in. Finally, Zelpuz requires the player's team to use a vague hint to re-arrange the letters in an anagram to form the correct word or phrase. Star Performer These green cards are themed around acting out clues with a vague hint such as in charades, acting and speaking like a famous person or fictional character but without using proper names, or humming or whistling a popular tune to get your group to guess the song, such as with Hummdingers.
  • Gameplay[edit] On each turn, a team has a chance to complete an activity on one card and advance along the board. If the team is on a purple space (as all teams are on the start space), they can choose the first card from any of the four categories. If they are on a coloured space, the first card from the corresponding category is selected. If the team successfully completes the card they have chosen, the die is then rolled to determine what space the team moves to.Whether the activity is completed successfully or not, the turn always ends after one card. If the team completes an activity successfully before timer runs out, they roll the color-faced die and move to the next space of the color they roll, or to the next Planet Cranium space, whichever is closer. If they roll purple, they go to the next Planet Cranium space. Scenic Path and Fast Track[edit] A team's first activity on a Planet Cranium space, including the start space, determines whether they will take the "scenic path" or the "fast track" to the next Planet Cranium space. If they complete their first activity on a Planet Cranium space successfully before time runs out, they will take the inside fast track to the next Planet Cranium space. If they do not complete their first activity successfully, or if time runs out, they will not be able to take the fast track, and, when they do complete an activity successfully to get off the Planet Cranium space, they will have to take the longer scenic path to the next Planet Cranium space.
  • Club Cranium[edit] On some of the Creative Cat and Star Performer cards, there is a "Club Cranium" symbol. When one of these cards is drawn, every team competes and has one of its members do the activity for them. Acting is to be performed in front of all the teams. Each team may guess the answer by looking at anyone performing. The same applies to sensosketches and cloodles. Whichever team gets it first gets to roll the die and move, and play continues with the team who the Club Cranium card was originally for. If no one guesses the answer before time runs out, no one moves and play continues with the team whose turn it was. If a team gets a Club Cranium card correct while on a Planet Cranium, they may move on the fast track if it was their first activity while on the Planet Cranium; if their first activity on a Planet Cranium is a Club Cranium and they do not win it, they still try for the fast track on their next turn. The only penalty for not getting a Club Cranium right is not being able to take an extra move.
  • Cranium Central[edit] Around the "Cranium Central" space in the center of the board are four black spaces, each with the name of one of the decks on it. Before a team can go into Cranium Central, they must collect one card from each deck by moving around these spaces. When a team reaches the end of the path, they must place their mover on the black space that with the deck name that corresponds to the color of their roll. If they roll purple, they may decide which black space to start on. They continue play in the normal fashion, except that when they complete an activity successfully, they keep the card, and instead of rolling the die, they move clockwise to the next black space. Once the team has a card from each deck, they may move into Cranium Central. Once they are in Cranium Central, on their turn, they will receive an activity from the deck that the other teams decide on. If they do not complete the activity successfully, they must wait until their next turn, when the other teams will pick another activity for them, either from the same deck or another deck. Once the team successfully completes an activity while in Cranium Central, they have won the game.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The evening began with the usual sacrilege: the clearing of the coffee table. My prime napping spot was unceremoniously usurped by a large, chaotic-looking box. My human and her friends, a gaggle of loud talkers I refer to internally as "The Cacophony," spread the contents out like a general planning a deeply flawed invasion. From my perch on the back of the sofa, I watched, my gray-and-white tuxedoed form a study in silent judgment. They divided into teams, their mover pieces—small, plastic cones of garish color—placed upon something called "Planet Cranium." My tail twitched. Those cones had a date with the space under the credenza. For a while, the affair was dreadfully dull. They drew red cards and yellow cards, murmuring about facts and spelling words backwards. I was about to begin a thorough cleaning of my left shoulder when the ritual shifted. "Creative Cat!" one of them announced. My ears, two perfect gray triangles, swiveled forward. The name was an obvious, if clumsy, attempt at flattery. A small tub was opened, and a lump of purple putty was handed to a lanky human named Dave. His mission: to sculpt a "lawnmower." He fumbled with the stuff, rolling the glorious, purple mass between his clumsy palms. I saw my moment. This was no mere game piece; this was a prize. As another human began a "Star Performer" challenge—humming a pop song with all the melodic grace of a jammed garbage disposal—the room’s attention shifted. The Cacophony was fully engaged in their guessing game, shouting nonsense. I executed a silent, fluid drop from the sofa, my padded paws making no sound on the hardwood floor. I moved with the purpose of a seasoned hunter, my white bib a stark contrast to the shadows under the table. Dave had placed the half-mangled putty on the table's edge as he laughed. A single, precise hook of a claw was all it took. The purple blob fell with a soft *thump*. Before the sound even registered with the distracted humans, I had it. I nudged it with my nose—it had a delightfully neutral, chemical scent—before batting it into the dark recesses beneath the television stand. A few moments later, the cry went up: "Hey, where's the Cranium Clay?" Their frantic search was the sweet music of victory. They never found it. The game, for all its intellectual pretense, was ultimately a success. It provided a worthy tactical challenge and a superior, squishy trophy. A most excellent acquisition.
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Cranium 3-in-1 Game Board (2014) 600 Cards

By: CRANIUM

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has acquired a large purple box called "Cranium," which seems to be an elaborate excuse for loud, undignified behavior. It contains a foldable map, hundreds of paper squares, and a container of peculiar purple putty. The goal, as far as I can tell, is for the bipedal staff to gather around this map and proceed to flail, hum tunelessly, and mangle the putty into sad little shapes. The box itself presents a promising napping spot, and the sheer number of small, battable components is intriguing. However, the associated shouting and interpretive dancing threaten to disrupt no fewer than seventeen of my scheduled naps, making its overall value highly questionable.

Key Features

  • Object of the game: To circle the board victoriously - sketching, sculpting, acting, humming, and puzzle-solving as you go.
  • 3-in-1 Foldout Game Board: Quick Game - A 30-minute experience Mid-Sized - A full hour of fun Full-Sized - The classic Cranium game

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The evening began not with the customary rustle of the treat bag, but with the ominous thud of the Great Purple Box on the coffee table. My human and her companions unfurled a brightly colored, folding path across the wood, a strange new topography in my living room kingdom. I watched from the safety of the sofa's armrest, my tail a metronome of deep suspicion. They were preparing for some ritual, that much was clear. They moved little plastic pawns of their own likeness along the path, their progress dictated by the roll of a die. My interest piqued when the ceremony required a sacrifice. My human was handed a small, sealed container. She opened it to reveal a lump of purple, faintly chemical-smelling clay. The instructions, read aloud with far too much enthusiasm, commanded her to sculpt a "cat." My ears swiveled forward. An effigy? Of me? I crept to the edge of the sofa, peering down as her clumsy thumbs pinched and rolled the putty. The result was a monstrosity. A purple blob with two mismatched ears, a tail like a crooked worm, and four stumpy legs that could never support a creature of any dignity. It was an insult to felines everywhere. But then, the ritual took a turn. Her task, upon failing to create a recognizable sculpture, was to *act* like a cat. She got down on her hands and knees, a position that only served to highlight her complete lack of grace. She let out a series of pathetic "meow-meow" sounds, a caricature of the complex language I use to command my household. She then attempted to groom her arm with her tongue. I was mortified. This wasn't an homage; it was a mockery of my entire existence. The other humans laughed, shouting "Cat! It's a cat!" I could not let this stand. This crude performance demanded a correction, a masterclass. With a silent leap, I landed squarely on the center of the foldout game board, scattering their little plastic avatars. I fixed my human with a withering glare, then proceeded to demonstrate. I gave my pristine white bib a series of elegant, methodical licks. I sharpened my claws on the edge of the board with practiced precision. I then let out a single, perfect, interrogative "Mrrrow?" that silenced the room. They stared, mouths agape. My human sheepishly scooped up the purple clay abomination and put it away. While their game is a chaotic and frankly embarrassing spectacle, I must concede one thing: it provides an excellent stage. And every stage needs a star. The game is beneath me, but the opportunity to remind them of true artistry is, I admit, rather satisfying.
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Cranium Bible Games Edition

By: CRANIUM

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has procured another large, flat box, a device designed to make them sit in a circle, make strange noises, and move little plastic things around. They call it 'Cranium Bible Games Edition,' and it supposedly promotes 'Faith' and 'Learning,' two concepts I find far less compelling than a well-timed sunbeam. From my vantage point, the primary appeal is the box itself—an excellent potential napping fortress. The small, colorful game pieces might offer some decent batting practice, and the lump of modeling clay is particularly intriguing, provided it doesn't smell of bitter disappointment. Otherwise, this seems like a colossal waste of hands that could be scratching behind my ears.

Key Features

  • A family favorite game in a Bible Edition.
  • Enhances Faith.
  • Promotes Learning
  • Face to Face Fun.
  • Great for Families and Friends Youth Groups and Bible studies.
  • One of the fine Christian games from Cactus Game Design.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The ritual began at dusk. The humans gathered around the Great Table, their faces illuminated by the overhead light, a low hum of anticipation in the air. They unfurled the sacred parchment—a colorful board depicting a winding path—and placed their totems at the starting point. I observed from my throne atop the bookcase, my gray and white form a silent, judging shadow. They were performing a rite of passage, a strange ceremony to appease some unseen force, and I was clearly the intended deity. One of them, the smaller female, began to mold a lump of purple clay. A crude bird, she thought. A pathetic attempt to sculpt the pigeon I had so masterfully dispatched last spring, no doubt. It was an offering, a graven image presented to the god of the hunt. I gave a slow, deliberate blink of acknowledgement. Then came the "Word Worm," where they frantically unscrambled letters. I recognized this as a form of frantic prayer, a desperate attempt to spell out their petitions before their time ran out. Their scribbling was messy, their pleas for divine favor elementary. Next, the male human began to act out a scene without speaking, his arms flailing wildly. He was clearly trying to reenact my epic, pre-dawn zoomies through the hallway. The other humans shouted guesses, trying to interpret this sacred dance. "Parting the Red Sea!" one yelled. Amateurs. It was so obviously "Cat Chasing a Dust Bunny Under the Couch." Their inability to correctly interpret these holy charades was deeply disappointing, a sign of their weak faith. When a small, plastic brain-shaped token was left unattended near the edge of the board, I knew my moment had come. This was the chosen tribute, a symbol of the intellect they were sacrificing in my name. I descended from my perch with the silent grace of a predator, leaped onto the table, and with one swift, surgical strike of my paw, sent the offering skittering across the hardwood floor. I then pounced, "capturing" their offering and claiming it for myself. They laughed, thinking it mere play. Fools. They had no idea they had just received a blessing from their furry, tuxedo-clad deity. They had passed the test. The game, I decided, was worthy. Not for its "fun" or "learning," but for its proper, if unwitting, veneration of me. I paraded my plastic trophy to my food bowl, expecting it to be filled as a reward. The ritual was complete.
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NEW Cranium

By: Hasbro Gaming

Pete's Expert Summary

So, my human has acquired another one of these "Hasbro Gaming" contraptions, this "Cranium" box. From my observation post on the credenza, it appears to be an elaborate ritual designed to make multiple humans congregate, shout nonsense, and wave their limbs about. The main appeal for a creature of my sophistication lies not in the "game" itself, but in its components. The little player pieces have a satisfying skitter when batted across hardwood floors, and the mysterious purple tub of "Cranium Clay" holds a certain... potential. However, the sheer volume of human focus required suggests a significant and unacceptable drop in lap availability and chin-scratching services. It's a high-risk, low-reward proposition that primarily serves to disrupt a perfectly good evening nap.

Key Features

  • Smash-hit, award-winning board game brings friends together through a variety of activities that provide something for everyone
  • Now with 600 all-new cards
  • Features an innovative three-way folding game board that allows players to choose the length of game
  • Provide something for everyone!
  • Supported with new TVC featuring real players having outrageous fun

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The evening was proceeding with its usual tranquil dignity—a light doze on the plush rug, the gentle hum of the refrigerator, the distant promise of my second dinner—until the Box arrived. It was large and purple, and my human opened it with an unseemly level of glee, unfurling a colorful, folding board that settled on the floor like a paper-thin invader in my territory. Other humans, summoned by some silent, desperate signal for "fun," gathered around it. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail giving a slow, judgmental flick. The ritual began. There was frantic drawing on a small pad, which I dismissed as a poor imitation of the fascinating bird silhouettes I see outside the window. There was humming, a grating assault on my sensitive ears. But then came the most peculiar part: the sculpting. My human’s friend, a woman named Carol, was given a lump of the purple clay. She mashed and rolled it, her brow furrowed in concentration. I leaned forward, intrigued. What rare and exotic treat was this? Was it a new, malleable form of tuna? Her frantic efforts produced a lumpy, vaguely familiar shape. "A fire hydrant!" my human shouted. A fire hydrant. All that effort for a miniature version of the thing the neighbor’s dog defiles. What a waste of perfectly good clay. The indignity reached its peak when my own human drew a card that apparently required him to impersonate an animal. I watched, my gray fur bristling, as he got on all fours and let out a "Meow?" that sounded more like a distressed door hinge. He pawed at the air, a clumsy, offensive parody of my own elegant movements. The other humans laughed, but I was not amused. This was an insult to my entire species, a crude caricature of my sophisticated existence. I could not let this stand. As he was attempting a pounce that had all the grace of a falling sack of potatoes, I made my move. With a silence born of generations of apex predators, I flowed from the sofa. I didn't rush. I stalked. I placed each paw with deliberate care, my white-tipped tail held low and steady. I leaped, not with his oafish thud, but with a fluid arc, landing dead in the center of their board without so much as a whisper. The little plastic game pieces scattered. I sat, perfectly poised, tucked my paws beneath my pristine white chest, and fixed my human with a gaze that communicated everything his flailing could not: grace, power, and utter contempt for his performance. The room fell silent. My human stared at me, then at his friends, and sighed. "Okay," he said, "Pete wins that round." They can keep their board and their clay; I had already won the only game that mattered.
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