Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in a baffling display of poor judgment, has presented a box of stiff paper rectangles. They call it a "21st Century Trivia Game," which apparently involves them making loud noises at each other about trivial human events from the last two decades. From my perspective, it is a collection of static objects with no discernable play value. There are no feathers, no crinkly sounds, no laser dots involved. While the compact box might, in a moment of sheer desperation, serve as a chin rest, its primary function seems to be distracting the Food-Giver from more important tasks, like filling my bowl or providing chin scratches. A profound waste of my valuable napping time, unless their distraction allows for a strategic countertop raid.
Key Features
- 21st CENTURY TRIVIA GAME: This game is for those looking for more recent times, testing everyone’s knowledge of people, sports, entertainment, headlines, and technology.
- 21ST CENTURY TRIVIA CONTENTS: For 2 or more players ages 12 years and up, 21st Century Trivia is a fun game that includes 1200 trivia questions and answers with 4 categories on each card.
- INCLUDE EVERYONE: Besides having the benefits of improving and expanding your knowledge, trivia games are also a fun way to get everyone involved at any game night or party.
- FAMILY FUN: The rules are easy to learn and the game is difficult to stop playing, it’s that much fun! It’s the perfect game for families that allows the kids, teens, and parents to all get involved.
- GREAT FOR TRAVEL: This compact, portable game can easily fit in a purse or backpack, making it perfect as an on the go activity for long road trips in the car and long waits at the restaurant.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The evening began with an unwelcome sound: the crinkle of plastic wrap being removed from a small, colorful box. I lifted my head from the plush sofa cushion, one eye cracked open. The humans placed it on the low table, a new and unwelcome monolith in my territory. They called it a "game." I’ve seen their games. They involve staring at a bright screen and yelling, or moving small, unchewable pieces around a flat board. This one seemed to be just cards. My interest waned immediately. I began a meticulous grooming of my white-socked paw, feigning utter indifference. Then the ritual began. One human would read from a card, a quizzical look on their face. "In technology, what company launched its popular video streaming service in 2007?" The other would shout a word. "Netflix!" they’d cry in triumph. They went on like this, their voices rising and falling with questions about pop stars I’d never heard of and gadgets I wouldn't even deign to knock off a counter. I observed them from my perch, a furry gray sphinx contemplating the baffling habits of a lesser species. They were so proud of these disconnected facts, these fleeting moments of their own noisy history. My human, sensing my regal silence, made a grave error. He picked me up. "What do you think, Pete? Who was Time's Person of the Year in 2010?" He held a card near my face. I gave it a cursory sniff. It smelled of ink and processed tree pulp. It did not smell of salmon, or mouse, or even a hint of catnip. The question was irrelevant. The only Person of the Year, every year, is the one who holds the power of the can opener. This was, and always will be, the fundamental truth of the household. In a single, fluid motion, I decided to provide my own answer. I twisted out of my human’s grasp, landed silently on the table, and with a deliberate flick of my paw, sent a single trivia card skittering across the polished wood and onto the floor. It slid beautifully, a perfect imitation of a panicked beetle. I pounced, trapping it beneath my paw. I had answered their silly game with one of my own. My verdict was clear: the cards, when liberated from the box and their nonsensical words, make for a moderately acceptable low-tech prey substitute. The game itself? An utter failure. I left the "captured" card under the sofa and retired to my cushion, the victor.
