A Review · From:
Pawn Dispatched; Cardboard Castle Claimed
Our critic bats a yellow pawn into furniture oblivion and then retires to the empty box, confirming that the packaging outranks every component of the game itself.
By Pete · Resident Feline Critic · Filed from beneath the coffee table
My human has acquired a primitive entertainment device they call "Sorry!", a flat, foldable square designed for them to sit around and push little plastic things. From my initial assessment, the primary features are a garishly colored board that might serve as a slightly-too-firm nap mat in a pinch, and four sets of small, pawn-shaped plastic pieces. These pieces are, I must admit, the only component of potential interest, being of a size and weight that seems ideal for batting under heavy furniture. The rest of it—the flimsy cards, the tedious rules I can infer from the humans' monotonous chanting—seems an utter waste of my valuable time, which could be better spent meditating in a sunbeam. The true prize, as always, is the cardboard box it came in.
The peace of my afternoon slumber in the prime sunbeam was shattered by the crinkling of plastic wrap and the human’s triumphant exclamation. I opened a single, discerning eye. They were placing a large, offensively bright box on the coffee table. The word "Sorry!" was emblazoned across the front, which I took as a pre-emptive apology for the coming disruption. I issued a low, guttural sigh to signal my displeasure, but they were, as usual, oblivious.
With a flick of my sleek gray tail, I decided a closer inspection was warranted. I leaped onto the table with practiced silence, my pristine white paws making no sound. The human was unfolding the board, a chaotic map of colors that assaulted my refined senses. Then came the pawns. Little plastic soldiers—red, yellow, green, and blue—were placed in their designated zones. They stood there, motionless and smug. An insult. My hunter's instinct, usually reserved for the elusive red dot, began to thrum beneath my fur.
I stalked forward, my body low to the table. The human was busy fumbling with the deck of cards, their attention diverted. This was my moment. I selected a vibrant yellow pawn, perched precariously near the edge of the board. With a casual, almost bored flick of my wrist, I sent it flying. It sailed through the air in a perfect arc before landing with a satisfying *skitter-skitter-clack* on the hardwood floor and disappearing into the dark abyss under the entertainment center. A perfect shot. The human sighed and mumbled my name, but I knew what it really was: a sound of profound respect for a superior player. The game itself was a bore, but its projectiles showed promise. It would do for a brief distraction, but my true reward awaited. I turned and sauntered toward the empty box, the new king of my new cardboard castle.
Exhibit A — the specimen
Pete's Verdict
★★★☆☆
Box wins. Pawns are acceptable projectiles.
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Should you insist. Pete is unbothered either way.
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