Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with what appears to be a small, green amphibian effigy from a company named Aurora. They claim it has "cloud-like softness," a bold assertion I will need to verify against the universally acknowledged standard of my own impeccable tuxedo fur. It's clearly not authentic prey, but its diminutive size and floppy posture on its belly suggest it could serve as an adequate wrestling dummy or a stand-in for vanquished foes during my post-nap victory parades. The most promising aspect is the mention of "bean pellets" within its gut, which could provide a satisfying weight and texture when I inevitably practice my disemboweling techniques. It might be a passable distraction, or it might just be another piece of colorful clutter destined for the void under the sofa.
Key Features
- This plush is approx. 4" x 5.5" x 5" in size
- Made from deluxe materials for a cloud-like softness!
- This light and fluffy Frog plush makes for a great cuddling partner
- Mini Flopsies are designed to lay resting on its belly for easy, fun play
- To ensure stability and quality, this plush contains bean pellets suitable for all ages
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The incident began, as most do, with an unwelcome disruption to my afternoon slumber. The Human, with all the subtlety of a falling bookcase, placed the green object on the sunbeam I had painstakingly claimed. I opened one eye. It was a frog. Not a real frog, whose frantic squirms offer a brief but satisfying diversion, but a plush imposter, an insult to my predatory instincts. It lay there, splayed out in a posture of abject surrender, its stitched smile a mockery of true amphibian indifference. I dismissed it with a contemptuous flick of my tail and returned to my nap, dreaming of wrestling a particularly insolent shadow on the far wall. Hours later, under the cloak of twilight, I began my nightly patrol of the territory. There it was again, a lump of verdant stillness in the moonlit living room. This time, I decided to interrogate it. I approached with silent paws, my body low to the ground. A single, tentative tap with a claw-sheathed paw. The fabric was, I must admit, surprisingly supple. Not quite my level of softness, of course, but a respectable effort for a commercial product. I gave it a more forceful shove. Instead of tumbling away like a lesser toy, it slid and settled with a soft, gratifying *thump*. The bean pellets. Ah. This was not mere stuffing; this was ballast. This creature had substance. My investigation escalated. I circled the frog, which I had mentally designated "The Asset." It was a test dummy, I realized, for a new infiltration technique I had been developing. The target: the high kitchen counter where the forbidden gravy-laced morsels were sometimes left unattended. The Asset’s low profile was perfect for practicing the silent, drag-and-conceal maneuver. I gripped its soft head in my jaws—no resistance, excellent—and practiced hauling it behind the ottoman. The weight was perfect, mimicking a small but valuable prize. Its floppy limbs offered no snagging points. It was a ghost, a green whisper of a thing, ideal for clandestine operations. The Asset, now known as Fernando, has been officially conscripted into my service. He is not a toy for idle batting. He is my sparring partner, my tactical analogue, the silent accomplice in my grandest schemes. He endures my pounces from the top of the cat tree and suffers my "killing bites" with stoic, plushy resolve. The Human thinks I'm "playing" when they see me dragging Fernando into the shadows. Let them think that. They don't understand the complex machinations of espionage. Fernando is worthy. Not of affection, mind you, but of a key role in my ongoing mission to secure every last treat in this house. He can stay.
