Pete's Expert Summary
So, the human has procured yet another flat, rectangular object. This one, from a brand called "Innovative Designs," seems to be a repository for their strange scribbles, bound by a curious metal spring. It is adorned with cartoon figures, most notably a woman in a garish yellow dress and a rather hairy fellow who could frankly use a good grooming. From my perspective, its potential is limited. The vinyl cover might provide a smooth, cool surface for a brief lounge, and the spiral binding could offer a moment's amusement for a well-aimed paw. The little tabs sticking out of the top, featuring a clock and a teacup, are the most promising feature, as they practically beg to be chewed. Ultimately, however, it's a stationary object, and its primary purpose seems to be occupying the human's hands when they could be better used for petting me. A tertiary distraction, at best.
Key Features
- BEAUTY AND THE BEAST NOTEBOOK - Features lined pages with colored rose illustrations on the corners, 6 color illustrated section dividers, and tab dividers.
- VINYL COVER WITH 6 SEPARATORS - The protective vinyl cover is easy to wipe clean, and the Chip, Mrs. Potts, Belle, Beast, Lumiere, and Cogsworth separators stick up from the top for easy flipping. Each section divider is colorfully illustrated with images from the Disney movie.
- 144 LINED DIARY PAGES - Makes a great writing journal for girls who love Princess Belle and her friends. SPIRAL BOUND 8x7 JOURNAL - The spiral binding makes it easier to write since the pages lay flat. It’s perfect for desks, offices, travel, or school.
- MAKES A GREAT BEAUTY AND THE BEAST GIFT - Princesss Belle dances with the Beast on the front cover in her favorite movie scene!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The artifact appeared without warning, placed squarely in my favorite afternoon sunbeam. It was an effrontery of the highest order. I observed from the arm of the sofa, my tail giving a slow, metronomic twitch of displeasure. The thing was an intruder, its cover depicting a scene of such garish sentimentality—a waltzing couple frozen in time—that it offended my refined sensibilities. It smelled of processed wood pulp and some strange, clean plastic. An alien scent in my well-curated kingdom. I decided an interrogation was in order. I descended from my perch with the fluid grace only a creature of my stature can possess, my white paws silent on the hardwood floor. Circling the object, I noted its most peculiar feature: a series of colorful visages peering out from its pages. A clock with an absurdly fussy mustache, a candelabra gesticulating wildly, and a small, chipped teacup that seemed to stare into the void. Were these prisoners? Souls trapped in paper purgatory by a sorcerer known only as "Disney"? The spiral spine that held them captive gave a tempting *sproing* when I prodded it with a claw. A cage, indeed. My mission became clear. I was to be a liberator. I selected my target: the frantic-looking candelabra, Lumiere. He seemed the most desperate for freedom. I crouched, my body low, and prepared to pounce on the tab that was his only connection to this world. I would bite, I would pull, I would shred him free from his papery bonds. But just as I launched my heroic assault, the human swooped in with a cry of "No, Pete, that's my new journal!" and whisked the artifact away to the high prison of the desk. The rescue was thwarted. The prisoners remain captive. My final analysis: it is a well-designed, yet ultimately frustrating device. Its tabs are a tantalizing but forbidden fruit, making the entire object a monument to the human's casual cruelty. I shall nap on it later, out of spite.
