Pete's Expert Summary
My human has procured what appears to be a box of finely sliced, colored cardboard rectangles. They call it "Bible Trivia," a name that means nothing to a creature of my own divine stature, whose daily resurrections from various naps are miracles in their own right. The alleged "fun" involves the larger, clumsier members of my staff sitting around a table and reading tiny words off these little squares to each other. From my vantage point, the primary appeal for a feline of distinction is, of course, the box itself—a potential fortress of solitude. The game board also presents a promising new, flat, and importantly, *central* napping location. As for the 700 "questions," I see them as 700 potential items to be batted into the dusty abyss beneath the sofa. The "knowledge" is irrelevant; the true playability is purely physical.
Key Features
- The Bible comes to life in this fun family trivia game
- Contains over 700 trivia questions
- Includes questions for all ages
- All editorial was developed by Diane Leggewie who has a degree in Theology and over 12 years of involvement with children's ministry
- For 2-4 players, ages 7 and up
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The evening had settled into a comfortable rhythm of silence, punctuated only by the gentle hum of the refrigerator and my own sonorous purr. I was draped elegantly over the arm of the sofa, a study in gray and white perfection, when my human committed a cardinal sin: she disturbed the peace. She returned from the hall closet bearing a colorful box, rattling it with an enthusiasm I typically reserve for the shaking of the treat bag. This, however, was no treat. This was a "game." They unfolded the board on the coffee table, a garish map of abstract squares that offended my minimalist sensibilities. Then came the cards, hundreds of them, stacked in neat, tempting little towers. The humans gathered, their faces alight with a strange piety I found deeply suspicious. They began their ritual, reading questions aloud. "Who was swallowed by a great fish?" one asked. An absurd question. The proper query is, "Where is *my* great fish, and why is it not in my bowl?" I watched from my perch, my tail a metronome of cynical judgment. This was all so dreadfully… human. My moment came when the youngest human, in a fit of excitement, knocked a single card from the "New Testament" pile onto the floor. It landed face up near my paws. I descended from the sofa with the silent grace of a phantom. This was not play; this was an inspection. I sniffed the card. It smelled of processed paper and human hands. The question on it read, "What is the Golden Rule?" I knew the answer, of course. It is "He who possesses the softest fur makes the rules." I looked from the card to the assembled humans, who were now watching me, utterly captivated. I did not bat the card. That would be vulgar. Instead, I placed a single, pristine white paw directly upon the text, claiming it as my own scripture. I held their gaze for a long, silent moment, letting the weight of my judgment settle upon them. Then, with a flick of my tail, I turned my back on the game and sauntered toward my food bowl. Let them have their trivialities. The game was a bore, a pointless exercise in organized noise. But the card? The card was a fine coaster for a stray kibble, and a necessary reminder to my staff that all wisdom, divine or otherwise, begins and ends with me. The toy is unworthy, but its component parts have... potential.
