Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in her infinite capacity for acquiring pointless clutter, has presented this "Super Electronic Banking" contrivance. It appears to be another one of those flat, foldable surfaces where they spend hours pushing tiny plastic effigies around, but this time they've replaced the delightfully crinkly paper money with a noisy plastic brick that beeps. While the absence of shreddable currency is a catastrophic design flaw, the small tokens—particularly the one that vaguely resembles a flying machine—hold some promise as items to be captured, interrogated, and ultimately lost under the refrigerator. The game seems to be a loud, flashy distraction from what should be their primary focus: me. It's likely a complete waste of an evening that could be better spent admiring my fur.
Key Features
- GET REWARDS BACK: Choose your rewards! Each token in the Monopoly Super Electronic Banking board game has a matching bank card that offers a unique reward by performing a certain action in the game
- BANKING UNIT: The Monopoly Super Electronic Banking board game features an all-in-one banking unit with tap technology that makes gameplay faster than the classic Monopoly game
- FLIGHT SPACES: Instead of purchasing railroads in this edition of the Monopoly game, players can choose to take a flight to any property on the gameboard
- GET INTO TRADING SPACES: Land on a Forced Trade space? Choose any property and immediately trade it for your choice of any other player's property
- GREAT FAMILY GAME: This Monopoly board game is fun for families and kids ages 8 and up. Get together for family game night and watch kids enjoy being in charge of their own banking card
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The humans unfurled the great, colorful square upon the dining table, a place normally reserved for sacrificial offerings of tuna. But instead of fish, they placed a glossy white brick at its center. A hush fell. My human tapped a small plastic card to it, and the brick chirped, a sound both sterile and offensive. They called it the "Banking Unit," but I knew what it was. It was a false idol, a soulless oracle dispensing invisible fortunes and demanding fealty through taps and beeps. They huddled around it, their faces illuminated by its cold, digital glow, utterly bewitched. The ritual began. They moved their tokens—a race car, a ship, even a loathsome dog—across the board. With each move, they consulted the idol. *Beep.* "You get a reward!" my human exclaimed, her delight misplaced. A reward? I, Pete, am the dispenser of rewards in this household. A slow blink from me is a blessing. A purr is a sign of divine favor. This plastic pretender offered nothing tangible, nothing that could be licked or sniffed. It was an insult to the entire economy of affection I had so carefully established. I could not stand for this blasphemy. While they were distracted by a "Forced Trade," an argument I understood as a dispute over shiny things, I made my move. With the grace and purpose of a true deity, I leaped onto the table. I ignored their pathetic tokens and strode directly to the heart of their new religion. I sniffed the banking unit, then gave it a definitive shove with my nose. It skittered sideways, its spell momentarily broken as the humans gasped. Then, I fixed my gaze on the human holding the card with the airplane on it. She was considering taking a "flight" to another property. An amusing fantasy. I walked to the edge of the board, looked down at the vast expanse of hardwood floor below, and then back at her, meowing once—a low, commanding rumble. The message was clear: you want to see flight? I am flight. I am the leap from the counter, the pounce on the unsuspecting sunbeam. This game, with its beeping box and imaginary journeys, was a pale imitation of the thrilling reality I live every day. The humans laughed, missing the theological gravity of the moment, but the idol had been challenged. The game itself is worthless, but as a platform from which to remind my subjects of their one true master? It serves a purpose.
