Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with what appears to be a common writing utensil and a piece of crinkly paper money, which, I'll admit, has a superior mouthfeel to most receipts. This "Magic Makers" contraption is, apparently, a tool for human deception. They claim it can pierce the paper without leaving a mark. While I appreciate the physics-defying premise—something I practice daily when fitting into impossibly small boxes—I suspect this is merely a cheap illusion designed to distract feeble minds. The pen itself has a certain long, thin, bat-able quality that might hold my interest for a few moments, but the "magic" is a waste of my valuable energy. If it cannot conjure a sunbeam or a fresh tin of tuna, its "powers" are utterly irrelevant to me.
Key Features
- Force the pen through a bill and remove to show the bill with no holes
- Easy to learn and simple to perform
- Comes with step-by-step illustrated instructions
- For magicians of all ages and skill levels
- Magic tricks by Magic Makers
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The Warden—my primary human—approached me not with a peace offering of Churu, but with a smug look and two items held between their clumsy fingers. One was a simple black pen. The other, a piece of crisp, green paper that crinkled with a sound that vibrated deep in my soul. I gave a slow, deliberate blink, a clear signal that I was willing to observe this ritual but would not be offering any unearned enthusiasm. The Warden began their presentation, waving the pen about and folding the paper with all the grace of a falling bookshelf. "Watch, Pete," they cooed, "I'm going to do *magic*." With a dramatic flourish, the Warden stabbed the pen directly through the center of the folded paper. A lesser creature might have gasped. I merely flicked an ear. I have seen moths phase through reality and have personally witnessed the red dot achieve speeds that defy known laws of motion. A pen through paper was amateur hour. They pulled the pen out, shook the paper open, and presented it to me, hole-free, as if revealing the secrets of the universe. I stared, unimpressed, at the paper, then shifted my gaze to the pen, which now lay tantalizingly on the coffee table. The trick wasn't the hole that wasn't there; the mystery was the pen itself. Once the Warden was sufficiently distracted by their own perceived cleverness, I leaped silently onto the table for a closer inspection. My nose, a far more sophisticated instrument than any human eye, detected the faint scent of plastic duplicity and a strange, metallic tang near the pen's middle. A subtle seam, almost invisible, ran along its side. I gave the pen a delicate pat with one soft, gray paw. It wobbled. A second, more assertive tap sent it skittering across the wood, its true purpose revealed. It wasn't a wand of wonder; it was a projectile. I pursued it to the edge of the table, my hunter's focus absolute. With a final, decisive shove, I dispatched the fraudulent artifact into the abyss between the table and the wall. The clatter it made was far more satisfying than any "magic" show. The Warden sighed, the familiar sound of a being forced to confront the higher truths of gravity and my supreme authority. The verdict was in: as a tool of illusion, it was a failure. But as an object to be knocked into inconvenient places, forcing my staff to bend to my will? It was a masterpiece.
