Pete's Expert Summary
My human has procured what can only be described as a dense, shrink-wrapped brick of paper rectangles. The packaging was briefly more interesting than the contents, but once unleashed, the sheer volume became apparent. There are 500 of these things, each depicting a different landscape: sunny fields, watery expanses, gloomy bogs, angry rocks, and places with entirely too many trees. The humans seem to think these are for some sort of strategic tabletop ritual, but their true purpose is far more practical. Their smooth finish is ideal for skittering across hardwood floors, their corners are perfect for testing the durability of my teeth, and their vast number ensures that even if a few hundred end up under the sofa, the entertainment supply will not be depleted. This isn't a single toy; it's a logistical challenge and a source of magnificent, widespread clutter. It has potential.
Key Features
- 500 Magic: The Gathering Basic Lands
- 100 of each basic land type
- 100 Plains, Island, Swamp, Mountain, Forest
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The human freed them from their plastic prison with a triumphant snip, and they cascaded onto the coffee table with a soft *shush*. It was an avalanche of miniature worlds, an affront to the minimalist order I strive to maintain. My human began sorting them into neat little piles, muttering things about "mana curve" and "deck building." I, however, saw not a game, but a test. A trial of fate. I leapt onto the table, my soft gray paws landing silently amidst the clutter, and fixed my gaze upon the stacks. This would not be a game of chance, but a reading of the omens. My paw extended, deliberately pushing a single card from the red pile. It depicted a fiery mountain, spewing lava. An omen of righteous fury, clearly indicating that the food bowl would soon require a swift and decisive refill. I nudged it toward the human’s foot. Next, my attention was drawn to the black cards, the Swamps. I selected one showing a gnarled, dead tree in murky water. This one felt... personal. It represented the deep, existential dread of a nap interrupted by the vacuum cleaner. I carefully slid it under the edge of the rug, a symbolic burial of a future anxiety. The blue Island cards spoke of mystery, of the vast, uncharted territory behind the refrigerator. I batted one of these so it spun gracefully off the table and disappeared into that very abyss. The white Plains, with their open, sunny fields, were a clear sign of a prime sunbeam forming by the window, a prophecy I intended to fulfill immediately. I left the card right where the sunbeam would be. As for the green Forests, they were numerous, chaotic, and represented the overwhelming, untamable wilderness of the human's sock drawer. I began systematically pushing them, one by one, in that general direction. The human eventually returned, looking at the scattered "lands" with a puzzled expression. The Mountain near his foot, the Swamp under the rug, the Island gone, the Plains in the sun. He saw a mess; I saw a perfectly articulated forecast of the day's events and emotional landscape. He thought he had bought game pieces. What he had actually acquired was a set of potent, highly accurate tarot cards, and I, Pete, was their sole, divinely appointed interpreter. A worthy purchase, indeed, for it finally gave me the tools to properly communicate my complex inner world.
