Pete's Expert Summary
So, the Human has acquired another potential annoyance, this one from a company called "Silly Puppets," a name that already sets my teeth on edge. It's a bright green, furry interloper, a so-called "monster" that is, in fact, merely a vessel for the Human's hand. Its primary purpose seems to be to wave its floppy arms and flap its fabric mouth at me, powered by the same appendage that fills my food bowl. While its garish color offends my sophisticated, monochromatic sensibilities, I will concede that the "furry" texture might offer a passable mouthfeel. The question is whether the satisfaction of bunny-kicking this creature outweighs the indignity of acknowledging a toy that cannot even move on its own. A significant investment of my energy for a potentially low return.
Key Features
- Adorable, bright, cuddly, friendly, furry, monster puppet!
- Recommended for child size hands (will fit small adult hands, too)
- Movable mouth and arms (hand enters through bottom of the puppet)
- Measures about 14 inches tall
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The performance began without warning. I was enjoying a perfectly good sunbeam when the Human cleared their throat, a sound that usually precedes either a meal or a profound foolishness. This time, it was the latter. From behind the sofa rose a grotesque, lime-green head with vacant black eyes. It bobbed in the air, a production by the "Silly Puppets" company, and I could tell immediately it was a low-budget affair. I am a critic of the highest order, and this debut was an affront. The actor, this "Green Monster," had no presence, no motivation. It simply hung there, a furry sock with ambition. Then, the show truly began its descent into farce. A high-pitched, warbling voice emanated from the creature, speaking utter nonsense about "being my friend." Its arms, clearly manipulated by an unseen (and untalented) force, gestured wildly. I remained still, observing from my velvet cushion—my private critic's box. I gave a slow, deliberate blink to signal my profound disappointment. The dialogue was weak, the character was one-dimensional, and its movement lacked any of the grace I display simply by walking to my water dish. A true amateur. The green actor, however, was persistent. It lurched closer, its fuzzy head bobbing just inches from my face, its felt mouth flapping open and closed. This was a breach of audience etiquette I could not abide. The performance had just become interactive, and as the lead critic, it was my duty to provide feedback. My tail began to lash, a standing ovation of impending doom. With a fluid leap that the puppet could only dream of, I landed squarely on its head, wrapping my forelegs around its neck. The Human shrieked, a sound I interpreted as a rave review. I ignored the muffled protests from within and began my work, vigorously testing the structural integrity of the puppet's face with my back claws. The voice stopped. The wild arm-waving ceased. The performance was, mercifully, over. My final verdict: as an actor, the Green Monster is a failure. But as a wrestling partner and a vessel for my righteous fury, it is a triumph of design. I will allow it to stay. It has earned its place as my personal stunt double.
