Pete's Expert Summary
So, the Human has procured a small, plastic homunculus named "Emma." From my observations, it's a rudimentary training automaton for their own young, designed to mimic the less charming habits of their species—crying, leaking, and requiring constant attention without offering any of the benefits, such as opening cans of tuna. It is disconcertingly large, nearly the size of a new kitten but utterly devoid of life or warmth. Its primary appeal seems to be a "Soft Touch" body, which might, under extreme circumstances of sunbeam unavailability, serve as a lumpy but passable pillow. The collection of tiny plastic accoutrements are a minor curiosity, likely to be lost under the sofa within a day, but ultimately, this appears to be a significant investment of time for a non-responsive, non-purring entity.
Key Features
- Toys
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It arrived in a great cardboard throne, a silent monarch in a clear plastic prison. The Human called it "Emma" and presented it to the smaller, louder human with great ceremony. I watched from my post atop the bookcase, tail twitching in academic curiosity. This new creature was an affront. It was shaped like one of them, but it possessed an uncanny stillness, its painted-on smile a rictus of eternal, mindless placidity. Its eyes, wide and glassy, stared into the middle distance, seeing nothing, judging everything. It did not breathe. It did not blink. It was a watcher. Once the humans were distracted by some lesser domestic crisis, I descended for a closer inspection. I circled the effigy, which now lay abandoned on the rug. The air around it smelled of sterile plastic and a faint, sweetish odor I couldn't place. I extended a single, cautious claw and prodded its leg. It was soft. Unsettlingly so. It yielded like old prey, but with none of the satisfying resistance. I sniffed its face. Nothing. No soul behind those staring blue discs. This was not a rival; it was an idol, a strange, fleshy statue for their bizarre rituals. The next day, I witnessed one such ritual. The Human filled a tiny bottle with water and pressed it to the doll's lips. I watched, my cynicism piqued. Then, a small, pathetic squeaking sound was produced as the Human squeezed its arm. The doll began to weep. Actual water, trailing from its eyes. A moment later, a dark patch bloomed on the carpet beneath it. My ears flattened. I had seen enough. This was not a sophisticated entity. It was a leaky, poorly constructed water vessel, a fraud masquerading as a life form. Its supposed "lifelike functions" were merely a series of plumbing failures. Later that evening, I found it lying on the sofa, its strange mechanical eyes finally closed in a parody of sleep. The watcher was dormant. An idea, brilliant in its simplicity, formed in my mind. Asserting dominance required not destruction, but appropriation. I leaped silently onto the cushions, circled the plastic body three times, and settled directly upon its torso. The "Soft Touch" vinyl, warmed by a nearby lamp, was surprisingly pleasant. It was no threat. It was not a plaything. It was, I had decided, simply a pre-warmed, custom-molded bed. And it was mine.
