Pete's Expert Summary
So, the humans have acquired another one of their colorful, flat squares for ritualized sitting. This one, by a company called USAOPOLY, appears to be a celebration of the "Great Outdoors," a concept I find fundamentally flawed as it generally lacks both climate control and readily available food bowls. It's a game about acquiring territories, which I can respect, but the territories are all outside. Still, the promise of six custom metal tokens—particularly the bison and the camera—is intriguing. These could be prime batting material. The paper money is likely flimsy but might provide a satisfying crinkle. Ultimately, its worth will be determined by whether the small, loose components are of a high enough quality to warrant my intervention, or if this is just another elaborate distraction from my scheduled evening petting.
Key Features
- Buy, sell and trade stunning landscapes like the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone and Yosemite
- Includes 6 custom tokens such as ranger hat, tent, canoe, bison, hiking boot and camera.
- Educational and fun for the whole family, plus a portion of proceeds goes to the National Park Foundation.
- Includes: 1 Game Board, 6 Collectible Tokens, 28 Title Deed Cards, 16 Chance Cards renamed Battlefield Parks Cards, 16 Community Chest Cards renamed Historic Site Cards, Custom Monopoly Money, 32 Houses, 12 Hotels, 2 Dice, Rules
- 2-6 Players | Ages 8+ | 60+ Min Play Time
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The conclave began just after the evening meal. The two humans, my primary staff, unfurled the board on the low table in the den, its glossy surface a map of places I had no desire to visit. They laid out the colored slips of paper and the tiny plastic structures with a reverence that was, frankly, a bit much. I observed from my post on the back of the sofa, a gray shadow judging their bizarre rites. My initial assessment: another bafflingly static human pastime, designed to keep their hands occupied when they should be scratching behind my ears. I descended silently to the rug, my approach a study in fluid dynamics. The table was a miniature landscape of opportunity and peril. My eyes scanned the artifacts. Six metal suspects were lined up near the start. A tiny canoe, a hiking boot that smelled of nothing, a little tent. Then I saw him: a bison, cast in pewter, gleaming under the lamplight. He had a certain heft to his look, a stubborn refusal to be ignored. He was the kingpin of this whole operation, I could feel it. The humans chattered, one of them chose a ranger hat, the other a camera. The bison remained, a challenge. The ritual began. Plastic cubes were thrown, their rattling an offense to the quiet dignity of the room. The ranger hat began its slow, plodding journey around the board. This was my moment. The humans were distracted by a "Battlefield Park" card, some nonsense about Gettysburg. With the focus of a predator that has never once had to hunt for a meal, I executed the heist. A single, perfectly calibrated strike from my white-gloved paw sent the bison skittering off the board. It made a glorious, metallic *zing* as it slid across the hardwood floor and vanished under the heavy credenza. The humans made their predictable noises of surprise and mild annoyance. I, of course, was already back on the sofa, washing a paw with meticulous nonchalance, the very picture of innocence. They would never find it. Let them have their Grand Canyons and their Yosemites. I had claimed the true prize. The game, I decided, was a resounding success. Not for its intended purpose, which is clearly absurd, but as a high-quality dispenser of exquisite, eminently huntable metal prey. This bison would be the prize of my collection.
