Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite and often misguided quest for my approval, has presented me with a box from a brand called "QOFIDA," a name that sounds like a mild respiratory illness. Inside are 700 slips of paper masquerading as currency. Their stated purpose is to teach the small, shrieking humans about "math," a concept I find utterly beneath me. For a cat of my discerning taste, the appeal lies not in the crude drawings of long-dead humans, but in the sheer volume. 700 individual, lightweight, crinkly rectangles. This presents a tantalizing opportunity for widespread chaos, tactical skittering across the floor, and perhaps creating the most magnificent nest of shredded debris the world has ever seen. While it lacks the thrill of a laser or the organic flutter of a real feather, its potential for mess-making alone warrants a cautious, preliminary investigation.
Key Features
- There are 700 prop money, which are ＄1*100, ＄2*100,＄5*100, ＄10*100, ＄20*100, ＄50*100, ＄100*100
- Use high-quality materials and printing, safe and environmentally friendly
- Prop Money can help children understand the value of banknotes and develop their calculation skills
- Widely used movies, magic, costumes, fancy dress parties, weddings, bachelor parties, stage performances, poker games.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The offering was, at first, an insult. My human, The Provider of Naps and Nourishment, unboxed the flimsy paper rectangles and stacked them neatly on the coffee table. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail giving a single, dismissive thump. Paper. How droll. I have shredded far more important documents in my time—utility bills, tax forms, the final chapter of a novel The Provider seemed quite invested in. This "prop money" felt like an amateurish attempt to placate me, a cheap imitation of true, high-value shreddables. I closed my eyes and feigned a deep, profound sleep, hoping my utter lack of interest would be a lesson in itself. Of course, my performance was too convincing. The Provider, believing me to be unconscious, decided to "play" with their new toy. They took the stacks and, with a flick of the wrist, tossed them into the air. The room filled with a sudden, fluttering blizzard of green and beige. Hundreds of slips of paper rained down, drifting and sliding to create a chaotic, rustling carpet on the hardwood floor. My eyes snapped open. The air, thick with the scent of fresh ink and paper, vibrated with a thousand tiny sounds. It was no longer a boring stack; it was a landscape. I descended from my perch with the coiled silence of a predator. My initial plan was to stalk a single bill, to hunt it down and deliver a killing bite as a demonstration of my superiority. But as my paws made contact with the sprawling field of paper, something shifted within me. The crisp, cool touch under my pads, the satisfying *crinkle-hiss* with every step… it was glorious. I was no longer walking on a floor, but wading through a sea of treasure. I flopped onto my side, wriggling with a pleasure I hadn't felt since I discovered The Provider’s cashmere sweater. This wasn't a toy. This was a dragon's hoard. I am Pete, the Gray Wyrm of the Sunbeam, and this is my domain. I now spend my afternoons sprawled atop my fortune, a mountain of rustling wealth. I will allow no bill to be removed. When The Provider attempts to tidy up, they are met with a swift, claw-extended rebuke. Let the small humans learn their numbers elsewhere. This QOFIDA corporation, through sheer, dumb luck, has manufactured the perfect throne for a king. It is messy, it is loud, it is utterly pointless by any human standard, and therefore, it is perfect. It is worthy.
