Pete's Expert Summary
My human has brought another "Squishmallow" into my domain, this one a particularly bright specimen masquerading as that famous mouthless cartoon feline, Hello Kitty. Apparently, it's a "HugMee," a designation I find both presumptuous and vaguely threatening, with its arms perpetually outstretched in a desperate bid for affection. Its purported purpose is for hugging and collecting, two human pastimes I find utterly baffling. However, my interest is piqued by one crucial detail: "ultrasoft." While its vacant stare and garish overalls do little for the room's decor, its potential as a Grade-A, premium napping surface cannot be dismissed outright. If its plushness lives up to the brand's reputation, it may yet earn its keep; otherwise, it is merely a silent, squishy intruder on my sofa.
Key Features
- Grow your Squishmallows Squad with the super soft, medium-sized Hello Kitty HugMees plush.
- Squishmallows HugMees have extended arms and are always ready for a hug.
- Official Squishmallows product: look for the official seal and join the Squad.
- Look for other Squishmallows extensions–including FlipAMallows, FuzzAMallows, Mystery Squad, and Stackables–only by Original Squishmallows.
- This 10-inch plush is officially licensed by Sanrio.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The new arrival was placed on the velvet chaise, a deliberate provocation. I observed it from my perch on the mantelpiece, a gray shadow of judgment. The subject was round, unnervingly cheerful, and clad in what the humans call "overalls." Its face, a perfect white circle with three whiskers on each side and a garish bow, was its most disturbing feature: it had no mouth. A silent witness. The human called it "Hello Kitty," a name that dripped with a saccharine innocence I simply didn't buy. Its arms were splayed open, a permanent, pathetic gesture of surrender. I descended from the mantel with the silent grace of a striking viper and began my interrogation. A slow, deliberate circle was in order, my tail giving a single, contemptuous flick. It smelled of the factory and the box it came in—a cold trail. I extended a single, perfect paw, claws sheathed, and gave it a prod. The plush surface yielded with a profound softness that was almost... decadent. It was like pressing my paw into a cloud that had been fed cream and spun sugar. The texture was a distraction, a clever defense mechanism designed to lull the interrogator into a state of placid stupidity. I would not be so easily swayed. My next move was tactical. I leaped atop the subject, intending to pin it down, to assert my dominance through sheer gravitational pressure. But something unexpected happened. Instead of a firm adversary, I found myself sinking into a sea of compliant fluff. The plushness enveloped me, molding to the contours of my superior form. Those outstretched arms, which I had initially viewed with disdain, now cradled my flank, providing a sense of security that was both unwelcome and deeply pleasant. My resolve began to crumble like a dry biscuit. The interrogation had failed. Or perhaps, it had succeeded in a way I hadn't anticipated. The subject offered no information, no confession, no secrets of the outside world. It offered only a singular, perfect truth: it was an object of sublime comfort. My paws, acting on an instinct far older than cynicism, began to knead its soft, red-clad torso. A low purr, the engine of my contentment, rumbled to life in my chest. The case was closed. The silent witness had been found guilty—of being an exceptionally fine place for a nap.
