Pete's Expert Summary
My human has procured a stack of flimsy, colorful rectangles from a company called Mattel, which I believe specializes in objects for noisy, smaller humans. Apparently, this is a 'game' where they stare at images of their oddly-proportioned female royalty—I see a fish-tailed one and another who talks to birds, a skill I respect but don't flaunt. They shout a nonsensical word when they have only one rectangle left. While the ritual itself is a baffling waste of perfectly good petting time, the individual cards possess a certain... potential. Their smooth glide across the hardwood floor could be amusing, and the box they came in is almost large enough to consider for a brief sit. Ultimately, it’s an elaborate human distraction, but with some salvageable, bat-able parts.
Key Features
- Beautiful images of Disney Princesses adorn each card of this special edition of the classic UNO matching card game everyone loves.
- This edition will delight kids and collectors; look for favorites like Snow White, Moana, Ariel and Pocahontas.
- Just like in classic UNO, players match cards by color or number in a race to empty their hand. When they're down to one card, they must yell, 'UNO!'
- Play the special 'Power of Friendship' wild card and 1 secret card, face down. The other players put 1 card down, trying to match the color of the secret card. On the count of 3, cards go face-up, and those who match the wild card get to discard
- UNO Disney Princesses makes a great gift for collectors and Disney fans, ages 7 years and older.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The evening began with the usual cacophony. The crinkle of the box, the shuffling of the thin placards, and the humans arranging themselves around the low table in the center of my domain. I watched from the arm of the sofa, unimpressed. They laid out the cards, their surfaces gleaming with the faces of strangely dressed women. It was all so dreadfully earnest. I decided the most dignified response was to ignore them, so I hopped down and curled up on a discarded velvet pillow, intending to nap through the whole affair. My sleep was not a void, but a stage. I found myself in a cavern of impossible size, lit by the glowing sea-foam green of a single, massive card that hovered in the center. It was the one with the mermaid, Ariel. She wasn't on the card, however; she was beside me, fins flopping uselessly on the dry cavern floor. "Oh, Sir Pete," she sighed, "I traded my voice for legs, but all I do is trip over things and the sand gets *everywhere*." Before I could offer my wisdom—namely, that water is for drinking, not living in—a woman with a raccoon on her shoulder, Pocahontas, appeared from the shadows. "The wind tells me stories," she whispered, "but it never tells me where the best sunbeams are for napping." One by one, they materialized, a council of the clueless, all looking at me with desperate, pleading eyes. It was exhausting. I was a consultant in a world of incompetence. I advised Moana that the ocean was a fickle provider and that a reliable human with a can opener was a far better bet. I told Snow White that if she was going to live with seven small men, she should have established herself as the alpha on day one and demanded tribute in the form of roasted chicken. My counsel was crisp, logical, and entirely ignored. They simply wrung their hands and chattered about feelings and dreams. Then, they presented me with their ultimate folly: the "Power of Friendship" card. It pulsed with a sickeningly sweet pink light. They claimed that by working together, they could solve their problems. I scoffed, a low rumble in my chest. Friendship is the silent acknowledgment between two beings that one of them is in charge. Power is the ability to summon food with a single, well-placed meow. This... this was just glitter and poor judgment. A sudden, piercing shout of "UNO!" from the waking world shattered my council chambers. My eyes snapped open. I was still on the velvet pillow. My human was celebrating a victory, holding a single card aloft. I looked at the scattered game, at the cartoon faces staring blankly at the ceiling. A pointless endeavor. Yet, as I stretched and my claws extended, I hooked the edge of the box and dragged it closer. It wasn't a portal to a world that needed my help, but it was sturdy, had high walls, and fit me perfectly. The game was a failure, but its container? The container was a throne.
