Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has procured a collection of small, plastic totems. These "Sesame Street Neighborhood Friends," as the packaging loudly proclaims, are a garish assortment of characters apparently designed to appeal to underdeveloped intellects. There are seven of them, each about the size of a decent mouse, and they are allegedly "poseable," which I suspect is human-speak for "easily knocked off a shelf." While the sheer cheerfulness of the red one and the baffling height of the yellow one are an affront to my sophisticated sensibilities, I must admit a grudging respect for the green fellow residing in a silver can. He seems to possess a certain world-weariness I can appreciate. The rest are likely destined to gather dust or become casualties of a midnight "accident" involving gravity and the hardwood floor.
Key Features
- Includes: 7 figures.
- Amazon Exclusive for Playtime Fun: The Sesame Street Neighborhood Friends set includes 7 poseable figures for imaginative play. Elmo, Cookie Monster, Big Bird, Oscar, Bert, Ernie, and the Count are ready to brighten any kid’s day.
- Spark Creative Play: Kids’ imaginations will soar as they imagine their own Sesame Street Neighborhood adventures, made more fun with these colorful, poseable figures.
- Fun-Sized Friends: These adorable 3-inch figures are easy for preschoolers to grasp and pose. They’re the perfect size to tuck into pockets or a backpack for on-the-go play.
- Versatile Fun: The Sesame Street Neighborhood Friends set is ideal for play and display fun. Use figures as adorable cake toppers and party favors for any Sesame Street-themed event.
- Ages 2 years and up.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The invasion began on a Tuesday. I was orchestrating a rather complex nap in a patch of sun when the human returned, bearing a rectangular vessel that crackled with the sound of cheap promise. From within this prison, they liberated seven brightly colored figures, arranging them in a disturbingly cheerful tribunal on the living room rug. I observed from my perch on the sofa's arm, my tail giving a slow, judgmental thump-thump-thump against the upholstery. They were an assault on the eyes: a manic red creature, a lanky yellow fowl, and a blue one whose wide eyes screamed of a desperate, unending hunger. My curiosity, a traitorous beast at the best of times, got the better of me. I descended from my throne with the calculated grace of a miniature panther and padded over to the scene. My initial probe was directed at the two who stood unnervingly close, a tall, yellow oaf and his round-headed orange companion. A single, well-aimed swat sent them clattering into each other like bowling pins. The sound was mildly satisfying, but the effort was hardly worth it. They were light, hollow, and possessed no spirit for the fight. This was not sport; it was tidying. I was about to dismiss the entire cohort as another failed human attempt at entertainment when I noticed him. Tucked away at the end of the line was a small, bristly green being, hunkered down inside a metallic-looking can. He was not smiling. He did not seem eager to join in any "neighborhood fun." He simply existed, contained and unimpressed. I circled him, sniffing. The plastic had the same bland scent as the others, but his posture… it spoke volumes. It spoke of a profound desire to be left alone, of finding solace in the confines of one's own space. Here, I thought, was a philosopher. Ignoring the fallen simpletons scattered across the rug, I lay down, tucking my paws beneath my white chest, and simply watched the green one. The others were toys, objects to be batted under the furniture and forgotten. But this one, this "Oscar," was a kindred spirit. He understood the sublime joy of a comfortable container and a perpetually unimpressed glare. I closed my eyes, content. The human could keep their chattering rainbow of fools. I had found the only one in the set worthy of my silent, mutual respect. He could stay. For now.