Pete's Expert Summary
Ah, yes. My human presented me with this box of stiff, rectangular papers. It’s from a brand called DYCE, in partnership with something called The HISTORY Channel, which sounds dreadfully boring. The humans claim it contains over two thousand "questions" meant to test their laughably limited knowledge of their own short history. From my perspective, it is an object of minimal tactile interest. There are no feathers, no crinkles of note, and it is certainly not infused with catnip. The only potential value lies in the box itself, which appears to be a respectable size for a mid-afternoon nap, or in the sheer quantity of cards, which could be satisfying to bat off a high surface, one by one. Otherwise, it seems a colossal waste of energy that could be better spent staring intently at a wall.
Key Features
- OFFICIALLY LICENSED - Created in partnership with The HISTORY Channel, the world's premier destination for historical storytelling since 1995, this is a super fun game of trivia and knowledge!
- OVER 2,000 QUESTIONS - Spanning the entirety of human knowledge, from the big bang to today!
- FIVE DIVERSE CATEGORIES - Arts & Culture, Sports & Recreation, Science & Technology, Geography & Landmarks, People & Events - So many different topics, there's something for everyone. Whether basking in the glow of victory or shouting "'I should have known that!", this game is a blast!
- AWESOME GIFT - Perfect idea for Thanksgiving, Friendsgiving, Holiday Parties, White Elephant, Secret Santa gift exchange! Our games make great Stocking Stuffers and funny Christmas gifts for men, teens, adults and friends!
- 2+ Players | Ages 14+ | 30-45 Minute Play Time
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The evening began with an unwelcome disturbance to my slumber. The humans, with their usual lack of grace, retrieved a dark blue and gold box from a bag. It had an air of solemnity, as if it contained important state secrets or perhaps the deed to a particularly sunny patch of carpet. I observed from my command post atop the armchair, my tail giving a slow, judgmental thump-thump-thump against the velvet. They called it a "History Game," and the box boasted of knowledge from the "big bang to today." A bold claim, considering they still haven't grasped the simple historical fact that my food bowl is emptied precisely at 5:01 PM, not 5:03. They began their strange ritual, pulling out small, flat cards. One human would read from a card, and the others would make loud, stressed noises. "In what year did the Battle of Hastings occur?" one bellowed. I knew this one, of course. It occurred in the Year of the Great Napping, a legendary time when the sunbeam from the west window was at its absolute peak. To demonstrate, I performed the ceremonial Roll of Historical Significance on the rug, but my profound contribution went unnoticed. They were obsessed with the number "1066," a meaningless human cypher. Then came a question from "Science & Technology": "What is the most abundant element in the Earth's crust?" Another test, clearly. The answer was obvious: Softness. The very fabric of the universe, from the finest cashmere blanket to my own luxurious fur, is built upon this fundamental principle. I demonstrated by rubbing against my human's leg, generously sharing this elemental abundance. They foolishly shouted "Oxygen!" and ignored my masterclass. It became clear this wasn't a game of true knowledge, but one of rote memorization, a parlor trick for creatures without the intellectual depth to appreciate the tangible truths of the world. I watched for another ten minutes as they stumbled through their own shallow history, celebrating correct answers about long-dead kings and pointless inventions. Not once did they ask a truly important question, like "What is the optimal angle for a head scratch?" or "Who is the handsome gray cat who is the rightful ruler of this domain?" The game was a failure. It did not provoke a single pounce or chase. It was merely a vehicle for loud noises and distracted humans. I gave the box one last, disdainful look, hopped off the armchair, and went to sit by my empty food bowl, a silent, living monument to history they were actively ignoring. The box might make a decent bed, but its contents were unworthy of my notice.
