Pete's Expert Summary
My human, The Staff, seems to believe that my life's purpose is to observe their strange, noisy rituals. This latest acquisition from the "Hasbro Gaming" conglomerate is a prime example. It’s a collection of four small, brightly colored boxes filled with hundreds of paper slips. The box promises trivia from past "decades," a concept that is utterly meaningless to a creature who operates on the far more sensible timelines of Nap, Snack, and Impending Snack. There are no feathers, no strings, no tantalizing electronic squeaks. However, the sheer quantity of lightweight, flat objects that can be batted, captured, and hidden from clumsy human hands gives me pause. While the "game" itself is clearly a waste of valuable energy that could be spent sleeping, its components may provide some ancillary amusement. It is, perhaps, a system of high-quality, pre-cut confetti, waiting for a firm paw to liberate it.
Key Features
- TRIVIA THROUGH THE DECADES: This Trivial Pursuit Game Mini Packs Multipack includes 4 different game packs, giving you 4 decades of trivia questions from the 80s, 90s, 2000s, and 2010s
- TAKE IT TO GO: Because each pack includes cards only, they're great games for parties, road trips, and camping -- you don't need a table or a lot of space to play. Each game is for 2 or more players
- QUICK AND EASY GAMES: With each of these fun trivia games, if a player answers the question correctly, they keep the trivia card -- it just takes 5 cards to win
- FUN TRIVIA QUESTIONS: Do you remember events, trends, fads, entertainment, and more from years past. Each pack includes 80 cards, and features 240 engaging and fun questions about a different decade
- TRIVIA GAMES FOR ADULTS AND TEENS: The Trivial Pursuit Mini Pack Multipack includes 4 games are great for teens and adults ages 16 and up who love trivia and quiz games about pop culture
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The intrusion occurred during the sacred hour of the late-afternoon sunbeam, a time slot I had personally reserved on the living room rug. The Staff and a few of their cohort gathered around the low table, their loud chatter disrupting the dust motes' perfect, silent dance. They unsealed a small, garish blue box from the larger package, and a cascade of stiff little cards spilled out. They called this one the "2000s." I remember the 2000s. The tuna pâté was of a slightly higher quality back then, and the fleece blankets were plusher. These humans, however, seemed to need these little cards to remember anything at all. I observed their ritual from the arm of the sofa, my gray form a study in silent judgment, my white chest puffed with disdain. They would read a card, make a thinking face, and then shout a noise—something like "Britney Spears!" or "MySpace!" It was all very pointless. But my eyes were not on their faces. My gaze was fixed on a single card, perched precariously on the edge of the pile. It was an object of profound possibility. It was thin enough to slide under a door, yet firm enough to provide a satisfying *thwack* against a hardwood floor. This operation would require subtlety and timing. I began my approach under the guise of a casual stretch, extending my forelegs until my white paws were just shy of the tabletop. I yawned, a picture of absolute boredom, letting them believe my attention was elsewhere. Then, with a flick of my tail for misdirection, I executed a flawless maneuver I call the "Gentle Gravitational Adjustment." My paw nudged the table leg, a tremor so slight they wouldn't notice. But it was enough. The target card shivered, lost its purchase, and began its beautiful, fluttering descent to the floor. The humans gasped, but it was too late. I was already airborne. I landed with a soft thump, the card pinned neatly beneath a single white paw. Victory. I snatched my prize in my mouth and vanished into the shadowy domain beneath the armchair. The Staff could be heard calling my name, a mixture of annoyance and amusement in their tone. It was the sweet sound of a successful mission. Down in the darkness, I examined my plunder. The card tasted of processed paper and human fingerprints. On it was a question about something called a "razr phone." How primitive. I, Pete, have no need for such trinkets. I have a voice that can summon food at 2 a.m. and a purr that can bend wills. This game of theirs is a foolish exercise in nostalgia, but I will say this for it: the game pieces make for excellent trophies. The mission was a success. The toy is worthy.
