Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented another baffling artifact of their species: a cardboard container from a brand called "University Games," filled with what they call "Ultimate Pub Trivia." From my superior vantage point on the armchair, I deduce this is not a toy at all, but a ritual. The humans gather in packs, stare at little paper rectangles, and make loud, competitive noises about things like "Sports" and "Pop Culture." The only potential for amusement lies in the box itself, which seems adequately sized for a preliminary nap, and perhaps the small game pieces, which could be useful for practicing my under-the-sofa batting technique. Otherwise, it appears to be a colossal waste of energy that could be better spent grooming my impeccable tuxedo markings or demanding dinner three hours early.
Key Features
- PUB QUIZ AT HOME: bring the weekly pub trivia night home to play in teams or host your own live-streamed trivia night using questions from the game!
- TEST YOUR WITS: play with original trivia questions covering 5 different categories
- 5 DIFFERENT CATEGORIES: play in teams and answer questions that cover 5 different pop culture categories like sports, past present and future, pop culture, anything goes, and literature
- FAMILY GAME NIGHT: drinking is optional but not required for this game, perfect for 4 or more players ages 12 and up
- BE THE QUIZMASTER: Host your own live stream pub quiz events on Youtube, Twitch, Instagram or Facebook easily and effortlessly with content from the game
- Check out our video to learn more and see the game in action
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The operation began at dusk. My human, Agent One, produced the objective from a flimsy bag: a brightly colored box labeled "Ultimate Pub Trivia." Soon, other agents arrived, their voices low, their movements furtive. They gathered around the low table in the center of the room, a makeshift headquarters. From my reconnaissance post atop the bookcase, I watched them divide into cells, their faces grim with concentration. This was clearly a clandestine meeting of their strange, bipedal syndicate. Agent One, assuming the role of "Quizmaster," began the briefing. He drew a card. "Category is... Literature," he announced. A hush fell over the room. Was this a codeword? A challenge to their loyalty? I flattened my ears, tail twitching, trying to decipher their secret communications. They shouted names—"Hemingway," "Austen," "Tolstoy"—and argued over dates and titles. Their intelligence network was vast, yet their methods were bafflingly loud. One of the smaller paper slips fluttered from the table, landing silently on the rug. My moment had come. I descended from my perch with the practiced silence of a seasoned operative, my gray fur a shadow in the lamplight. I crept toward the fallen intel, my white paws making no sound. It was my chance to intercept their plans, to understand the purpose of this bizarre gathering. I nudged the card with my nose. It smelled of cardboard and human hands. With a deft flick of my paw, I sent the message skittering under the sofa, into the darkness where secrets belong. I had successfully disrupted their communication line. I returned to my post, expecting panic. Instead, they simply drew another card. "Category is... Anything Goes." And so it did. They laughed, they groaned, they celebrated points with high-pitched calls. It was then that the truth dawned on me, a chilling realization that shook me to my core. These weren't spies. There was no grand conspiracy. They were simply... playing. The entire elaborate, noisy ritual was for nothing more than their own amusement. The mission was a bust. I sighed, curled into a perfect circle, and decided the only sensible course of action was to sleep through the rest of their meaningless debriefing. The box, I noted, would make a far better bed than a source of intrigue.
