Pete's Expert Summary
My Human, in a fit of what they call "nostalgia," has excavated this dusty cardboard sarcophagus from the Milton Bradley dynasty, circa 1986. Inside is something called Stratego, a "Game of Battlefield Strategy." For me, it appears to be a collection of delightful, hard plastic rectangles in two appealing primary colors, perfect for batting under the heaviest furniture, and a large, flat, gridded board that would make a superb napping platform. The potential for sensory enrichment via the musty, ancient scent of the box is high. However, the tedious ritual of the Humans moving the pieces back and forth according to some imaginary "rules" seems like a colossal waste of time that could be better spent admiring me.
Key Features
- vintage 1986 original
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box didn't just smell old; it smelled of forgotten campaigns. When my Human lifted the lid, a sigh of dormant history escaped, a scent of brittle paper maps and the faint, metallic tang of phantom trumpets. The Human saw blue and red plastic tiles. I saw two proud armies, their ranks frozen in time, their silent stories trapped within the cheap polymer. The Marshals, stiff with pride; the Miners, weary from their unseen work; and the Spies, my kindred spirits, holding their secrets close. They were not toys; they were prisoners of a long-concluded peace. My Human began arranging the red army, his fingers fumbling with their formations, utterly ignorant of the silent pleas of the pieces. He placed a Bomb next to a Scout—an amateurish, insulting arrangement. I could not abide this desecration. Leaping onto the table with the grace he so clearly lacked, I surveyed the board. The Human chortled, expecting me to simply bat a piece to the floor. Instead, I walked with deliberate purpose along the back rank of his forces. Using my nose, I nudged the single Red Spy, pushing it forward one square. I looked the Human dead in the eye. This was not a game of chance or idle swatting. This was a message. I was choosing my agent, the one piece that understands observation, stealth, and the art of the silent takedown. I was now a participant, a silent commander directing my chosen operative from the shadows. The Human, bless his simple heart, just thought I was being "cute" and moved my Spy back into its little square. He did not understand. He never does. I let him play his clumsy game. I observed from the arm of the chair, a gray-furred general watching a child play with toy soldiers that were anything but. When he inevitably grew bored and packed the pieces away, I hopped back onto the board, now empty and quiet. I curled up precisely over the central territory, the contested lakes, and began a deep, rumbling purr. The battle was over, and the field now belonged to the victor. It is a worthy object, not for its playability, but as a testament to strategic conflicts I can appreciate on a far deeper level. The board, I have decided, is now my throne.
