Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in her infinite and baffling wisdom, has brought a box into my domain that claims to contain "Exploding Kittens." While the concept is preposterous—we are far too graceful and cunning to simply explode—I am morbidly curious. It appears to be a diversion for her and her loud friends, involving small, flat pieces of cardboard with crude drawings. The primary appeal for a being of my refinement seems minimal; it generates noise, occupies the prime napping spot on the coffee table, and involves no tuna. However, the sheer number of small, bat-able objects (120, they claim) presents a certain strategic opportunity for clutter and mayhem, which could, at least, make an afternoon more interesting than watching dust motes dance in a sunbeam.
Key Features
- HOW TO PLAY: Dive into the fun of Exploding Kittens: Party Pack Edition, a thrilling card game where players draw cards, dodge explosions, and outsmart friends using clever strategies. Ideal for family card games, kids games, and party games for adults!
- WHAT’S INCLUDED: The Party Pack Edition features 120 cards with hilarious illustrations by The Oatmeal, plus an easy-to-follow guide for quick setup. Packaging may vary, but the fun & excitement remain in this ultimate family card game!
- WHO’S IT FOR? Designed for 2-10 players, ages 7 and up, this card game is popular with diverse age groups! Whether you're looking for kids games, family games, or board games for adults, it’s ideal for any crowd or occasion.
- WHERE TO PLAY? This travel game is perfect for game nights, camping, or casual gatherings. Quick to learn and loaded with laughs, it’s your go-to choice for fun games anytime, anywhere, and a must-have for both home and travel.
- OUR STORY: Designed for game enthusiasts, this strategic card game from Exploding Kittens and The Oatmeal blends humor and strategy. It began as a Kickstarter project and continues to engage players worldwide with its unique gameplay.
- Important Note: The English version of this game is only compatible with other English-language versions of Exploding Kittens and Expansion Packs.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The intrusion began with a sound that was both an imitation and an insult. As the Human lifted the lid of the garish red box, a tinny, synthesized "meow" echoed in the living room. I lifted my head from the velvet cushion, one ear twitching in irritation. A machine, daring to mimic the symphony of my voice? The effrontery. I watched from my perch on the armchair as a horde of her fellow bipeds descended, their loud chatter filling my sanctuary. They spilled the contents of the box onto the table—a collection of cardboard rectangles bearing cartoonish caricatures of my kind in various states of indignity. There was a cat wielding a bazooka, a cat composed of rainbows, a cat in a "tac-kini." It was a gallery of slander. My initial plan was to ignore them, to project an aura of such profound disinterest that they would feel shame for their juvenile pastime. I began a meticulous grooming of my pristine white bib, a clear signal that their world and mine were not to intersect. But then, it happened. Amid a shriek of laughter, a card fluttered from the table and landed, face up, on the rug. It was the "Nope" card. A stern-faced feline, arms crossed, unilaterally rejecting some unseen proposal. I understood. This was not a caricature; this was a symbol of my own philosophy. I slid from the chair, a silent grey shadow against the dark wood of the floor. The humans were too engrossed in their strategic folly to notice. I padded over to the "Nope" card. It smelled of cheap ink and human hands, but its message was pure. With a delicate, calculated tap of my paw, I sent it skittering under the heavy oak bookshelf. A small victory. A statement. Then, another opportunity presented itself. One of the players, in a moment of despair, slapped a card on the table and declared himself "exploded." The offending "Exploding Kitten" card, depicting a feline mid-detonation, was discarded carelessly nearby. I stalked it, my tail giving a slow, deliberate flick. This one was personal. I nudged it with my nose, then hooked it with a claw, dragging it silently into the shadows of the hallway. The game, I decided, was a monument to human absurdity. But its pieces? They were excellent trophies. My collection under the sofa had just found its new centerpiece.
