Pete's Expert Summary
My human has procured a "game" which appears to be a box of thin, stiff squares of processed tree and a small, shiny metal dome. Based on my observations from a comfortable distance, the intended purpose involves the Tall Ones gathering in a circle, generating an immense amount of disruptive noise, and frantically waving the paper squares at one another as if they were particularly unappetizing birds. The only redeeming feature is the metal dome, which emits a surprisingly crisp "ding" when struck, a sound that briefly cuts through the cacophony. The rest of it—the shouting, the focus on things like "Wheat" and "Barley"—seems a profound waste of energy that could be better spent admiring my glorious gray tuxedo coat or opening a can of tuna.
Key Features
- DING, DING, DING! Let the games begin! Players rush to corner the market on any 1 commodity and get to ring the closing bell!
- A TRUE AMERICAN CLASSIC: Originally created in 1904 by Parker Brothers, the game of Pit has been played by countless millions of people in its more than 100 year existence!
- JUST LIKE WALL STREET: Well - OK - not exactly - but once the action begins, it's a frenetic and loud game where everyone is shouting at the same time, holding up cards to trade. The energy is electric!
- SHHH - DON'T SAY A WORD: If you're not a fan of the wild and crazy shouting on a stock trading floor, we include rules for a SILENT game too. It's quite challenging.
- COMMODITY FEVER: Wheat, Sugar, Soybeans, Oranges, Oats, Corn, Coffee, Barley. Pick your favorite and go for it!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The evening began with a violation of domestic tranquility. The box was opened, and the noise began. Not a gradual crescendo, but an immediate, full-throated assault of "TRADE! TRADE! TWO! I NEED TWO!" It was utter chaos, an auditory nightmare that sent ripples through my water bowl. I retreated to the top of the bookshelf, a monarch surveying a revolution from a safe parapet, my tail twitching in profound disapproval. They were trading cards with crude drawings of plants. Plants! As if anyone would trade a perfectly good sunbeam for a picture of "Oats." Amateurs. Then I saw it. The bell. It sat in the center of the table, gleaming under the lamp light, a silent, potent arbiter of their madness. Each time a human completed their bizarre collection of farm-themed rectangles, they would greedily smack the bell, producing a sharp, clean *DING* that momentarily silenced the others. It was a sound of power. A sound of finality. A sound I understood. It was the sound the treat container makes when it is opened. I decided, with the quiet certainty of my kind, that the bell must be mine. My descent was a whisper of gray fur against mahogany. I moved like a shadow, weaving between legs and under the table, my plan crystallizing. The humans were too absorbed in their shouting to notice the predator in their midst. One of them—the one who smells faintly of desperation and too much coffee—shrieked "CORNER ON COFFEE!" and reached for the bell. That was my moment. As his hand descended, I launched myself onto the table with the grace of a striking viper. My paw, a soft but determined instrument, intercepted his. I did not strike him. I simply placed my paw firmly atop the bell. The shouting ceased. All eyes turned to me. I stared back, my gaze a silent, unblinking challenge. I was now the market maker. I held the power of the *DING*. I gave a low, rumbling meow, the feline equivalent of a hostile takeover bid. The human slowly retracted his hand. I had won. The game, in its intended form, is a ridiculous and noisy affair. But as a platform for asserting my dominance and acquiring a shiny new bauble to bat under the sofa later? In that, it is a resounding success. I approve, but only on my terms.
