Pete's Expert Summary
My staff has presented me with what they seem to think is a "product." It is, in fact, an adhesive-backed effigy of a bizarrely round-headed human kit, meant to be plastered onto some unsuspecting surface. From my perspective, its features are a list of disappointments: it is flat, silent, and tragically immobile. The promise of being "weatherproof" and "UV fade resistant" only means its vacant, printed-on stare will haunt my favorite sunning window for an eternity. It offers no tactile satisfaction, no thrill of the chase, and possesses less play value than a stray dust bunny. This is not a toy; it is a permanent, non-interactive piece of visual clutter.
Key Features
- High Quality Vinyl Sticker Die-Cut Decal.
- Can be applied to any non-porous, smooth and clean surface.
- Peel & Stick application. Decals cannot be reused or repositioned once applied.
- Vinyl is weatherproof / UV Fade resistant - Indoor and Outdoor Use.
- Made and Designed in United States.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The ceremony was a strange and solemn one. My human, with the focused intensity usually reserved for opening a can of the good tuna, cleansed a small patch on the back of her silver rectangle—the Warm Thing she taps on all day. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail giving a slow, judgmental twitch. She then produced the object: a flat, glossy depiction of a dimpled creature with yarn for hair. With surgical precision, she peeled it from its paper backing, an act that produced a faint ripping sound, the only remotely interesting thing this "decal" would ever do. She pressed it firmly onto the Warm Thing. It was done. A squatter had taken up residence on my favorite napping spot. My initial plan was one of passive aggression. I would simply sit on the face, obscuring it with my superior, exquisitely soft fur. I leaped onto the desk and settled onto the laptop's lid, but the sensation was all wrong. Instead of the familiar brushed metal, a patch of smooth, cool vinyl met my haunches. I shifted, peering down at the face beneath me. It stared up with a painted-on, unblinking optimism that I found deeply unsettling. It did not protest. It did not challenge my authority. It was a void of personality, a permanent, silent insult. I decided I hated it. That night, however, something changed. The house was dark, the humans were deep in their noisy slumber, and I was on my customary patrol. A tiny blue light pulsed from the closed laptop, a beacon in the gloom. It illuminated the sticker from within. In the shifting, rhythmic glow, the die-cut edges of the creature’s head seemed to shimmer, making it look as though it were floating in a silver sea. The shadows played tricks across its vinyl face, and for a fleeting moment, its cheerful smile seemed to melt into a look of quiet, shared conspiracy. It knew the secrets of the dark house, just as I did. I sat before the laptop for a long time, watching the little blue light breathe life into the silent face. This was no squatter. This was a sentinel. A guardian of the Warm Thing. It wasn't a toy to be batted or a foe to be vanquished. It was an icon, a fixed point in the shifting landscape of my domain. I gave the glowing face a slow, deliberate blink—the highest sign of feline respect. The sticker was unworthy of being a toy, but it had, against all odds, proven itself to be a work of art. A strange, silent, and entirely welcome piece of the night.
