Pete's Expert Summary
So, my human has presented me with this... effigy. It's a miniature, plastic hominid they call "Aurora," apparently a "princess" from some cinematic nonsense. It's a rigid, smiling thing with garish yellow hair and a sparkly top that threatens to shed glitter into my napping spots. Its primary features seem to be that its limbs can be moved into unnatural positions and that certain small, chokeable-looking items like shoes and a "tiara" can be removed. I suppose its long, synthetic hair could provide a moment's distraction for batting, and the tiny removable accessories are prime candidates for being hidden under the heaviest piece of furniture in the house. Ultimately, however, it is a static object, devoid of the thrill of the chase, the scent of catnip, or the satisfying crinkle of a well-made toy. A profound waste of my time, unless my small human leaves it unattended on a high shelf.
Key Features
- Inspired by the animated character in the classic Disney movie Sleeping Beauty, this Aurora doll is ready to make her dreams come true!
- The posable fashion doll wears her signature fashion from the movie, including removable shoes and tiara.
- Her outfit includes a glitter top and removable skirt with a storytelling pattern unique to Aurora.
- This Disney Princess doll features long hair for styling and brushing fun!
- Makes a perfect toy for kids to play out their favorite movie moments or make up their own adventures!
- Fans can collect all the Disney Princess fashion dolls for the ultimate adventure! Each sold separately, subject to availability.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The day the newcomer arrived, the air in the house shifted. My small human, normally a reliable source of dropped food and clumsy petting, was entirely consumed by a box. From it, she produced a spindly creature with an unnervingly fixed smile and eyes the color of faded lavender. She called it Aurora. I watched from my throne—a sunbeam on the Persian rug—as she cooed at it, brushing its stiff, yellow mane. An insult, clearly, to my own immaculately soft, gray fur. This "Aurora" was a pretender, a silent, plastic usurper in a glittery gown. Later, the silence of my afternoon nap was broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. The small human had abandoned her new idol on the coffee table, a tiny sovereign left to rule over a kingdom of magazines and remote controls. I leaped silently onto the table for a closer inspection. It smelled of nothing, of the void. Its painted-on smile didn't waver as I circled it, my tail twitching with contempt. Its posable arm was frozen mid-wave, a pathetic gesture of friendship I had no intention of reciprocating. This was not a toy; it was a challenge. With a flick of my paw, I tested its resolve. The doll toppled with a dissatisfying, light plastic clatter. Pathetic. But then, a glint of light. The tiny tiara, perched precariously on its head, was knocked loose. It skittered across the polished wood, a flash of silver and promise. Ah, now we were getting somewhere. I pounced, batted it, and with a final, decisive push, sent the cheap crown skidding into the dark abyss beneath the entertainment center, a place from which nothing returns. The doll remained on its side, still smiling its vacant, idiotic smile. When the small human returned, her wail of "Her crown! It's gone!" was music to my ears. I, of course, was curled in a perfect circle on my favorite velvet cushion, the very picture of innocence. The doll itself is a bore—a static, soulless thing. But its accessories? Its potential for creating minor, yet deeply satisfying, domestic chaos? Exquisite. It is not a plaything to be enjoyed, but an opponent to be dismantled piece by piece. Verdict: Approved, but only as a long-term project in entropy.
