Pete's Expert Summary
My Human, in a fit of what I can only assume was profound boredom, has acquired a new dust-collector for the shelf. It’s a rather elaborate plastic sentinel, some sort of mechanical warrior with gaudy gold wings and an arsenal of pointy bits. The box it came in proclaimed it was from a brand known for making objects my Human dares not let me touch, which immediately raises its profile. Thankfully, it requires no batteries, so it will not disrupt my naps with pathetic electronic squeaks, nor does it require assembly, sparing me the agony of watching my Staff fumble with microscopic parts. Its primary feature seems to be its ‘portable’ nature, which is Human-speak for “easily placed within swatting distance.” While it offers little in terms of traditional prey-like movement, its potential as an instrument of minor gravitational chaos is... intriguing.
Key Features
- From "Mobile Suit Gundam SEED DESTINY" comes Kira Yamato's Strike Freedom Gundam!
- Batteries required : False
- Is assembly required : False
- Special feature : Portable
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The ceremony of its unboxing was a somber affair. The Human handled the plastic shell with a hushed reverence usually reserved for the opening of a particularly fine can of tuna. Once freed, the figure was posed dramatically—golden wings flared, two rifles held in a state of perpetual readiness—and placed on the highest perch of the bookshelf shrine, next to a similar, less flashy blue one. There it stood, a silent guardian over my domain. For days, I observed it from my favorite velvet cushion. It did not move. It did not blink. It simply held its pose, catching the afternoon sun on its sharp angles, its very presence a challenge. One evening, I decided a direct test of its mettle was in order. This was not a task for a simple bat of the paw; that was for common trinkets. This required finesse. I made the leap from the floor to the top of the bookshelf in a single, fluid motion, a whisper of gray fur and focused intent. I landed without a sound, a few inches from the silent automaton. I began my patrol, my gait slow and deliberate, my white-tipped tail held high. As I passed, I let my tail, that finely-tuned instrument of casual disdain, sweep across its legs. I was fully prepared for the satisfying clatter of its fall to the hardwood floor below. It did not budge. Not a millimeter. I paused, twitching an ear in surprise. The plastic was dense, the balance impeccable. It was anchored by its own surprising heft and expert design. I circled it, sniffing its feet. No scent of fear. No weakness. I looked up at its impassive faceplate and saw not a toy, but a peer. It was a silent warrior, crafted with a purpose and a weight that commanded a certain... professional courtesy. I gave a slow blink of acknowledgement, the highest compliment I can bestow. The Strike Freedom Gundam could stay. It was clearly not for playing *with*, but for guarding *alongside*. From that day forward, we have held a silent vigil over the living room. It with its stoic, unwavering watch, and I with my superior senses and the understanding that true quality, even in a stationary rival, is something to be respected.
