Pete's Expert Summary
My Human, in a fit of what I can only assume is literary nostalgia, has presented me with this... doll. It is not a bird, nor a mouse, nor even a crumpled-up piece of paper, all of which have clear and noble purposes. This is a "Madeline," a small, soft effigy of a book character, apparently designed by a company named "YOTTOY" for human infants to drool upon. While the "fine-wale corduroy" might offer a mildly interesting texture for a chin rub, and the "yarn hair" could be a target for a bored claw, its primary function seems to be sitting still and looking vacant. As an object, it's a potential wrestling partner of a decent size, but it lacks the fundamental thrill of the chase. Ultimately, it’s a piece of sentimental fluff, likely to end up as a decorative pillow on a bed I'm not supposed to be on, which, I suppose, gives it some minor strategic value.
Key Features
- Dressed in soft yellow, fine-wale corduroy dress to match the original Madeline book.
- Embroidered features including appendix scar, blushed cheeks, yarn hair and satin ribbon-trimmed shoes.
- Doll has soft textures that babies love.
- Sweet gift for any occasion, bound to be a loved friend and keepsake.
- Sized at 10” tall from top of hat to bottom of feet.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The object was placed on the ottoman, a space I have long considered a sovereign territory for my afternoon sunbathing. It was a silent, yellow-clad usurper. I watched from the shadows of the ficus tree as the Human cooed at it, pointing out its stitched-on smile and a peculiar scar on its belly. An appendix scar? How morbidly specific. Once the giant retreated, I began my reconnaissance mission. I crept forward, my gray form a low storm cloud against the cream-colored rug. It smelled of the factory, of cardboard, and faint, cloying sweetness. My first point of inspection was the hair. It was yarn, a coarse, bright orange thatch held in place by a hat. I gave it a tentative pat. It was disappointingly unresponsive. I moved on, circling the doll’s stiff, seated form. Its eyes, simple black threads, stared into the middle distance, utterly devoid of the life and terror I so enjoy seeing in my quarry. I leaned in and sniffed the corduroy dress. The texture was a fine, ridged velvet, not unpleasant, but certainly not as luxurious as the cashmere throw it was currently defiling with its presence. It was, in short, an inanimate lump of fabric with delusions of grandeur. I could have ended it right there. A swift series of bunny-kicks would have disemboweled it, leaving its polyester guts strewn across the ottoman as a warning to all other inanimate intruders. But where was the art in that? It was too easy, too crude for a feline of my caliber. Instead, I devised a more subtle, more psychological form of conquest. I leaped silently onto the ottoman, landing beside the doll with practiced grace. I did not touch it. I simply began my bath. I groomed my pristine white bib, licked my paws, and flicked my tail with deliberate nonchalance, all while keeping the yellow figure in my peripheral vision. Then, when I was gleaming and perfect, I curled up beside it, so close that my fur almost brushed its silly satin-trimmed shoe. I began to purr, a deep, rumbling engine of pure contentment and ownership. The message was clear: this space is mine. You, little yellow thing, are merely a temporary fixture, a court jester allowed to exist only because your utter lack of threat amuses me. You are not a friend, nor a foe. You are simply… décor. And frankly, your color scheme clashes with my fur.
