Pete's Expert Summary
So, the human has acquired what appears to be a floppy, fabric effigy of a small, offensively cheerful human child. It comes from a brand called "Silly Puppets," a name that insults my intelligence from the outset. The premise, as I understand it, is for my staff—the human—to insert their own appendage into its hollow core and animate it, creating a sort of mobile, talking hand-decoy. Its potential rests entirely on the operator. The moving mouth could deliver bafflingly bad ventriloquism and the flailing arms could become either a source of novel pats from an unexpected direction or, more likely, a babbling nuisance that interrupts a perfectly good sunbeam. The removable clothes are a tactical curiosity, but I suspect this "Tommy" will mostly be a waste of my finely-tuned predatory energies.
Key Features
- High quality moving mouth hand puppet made by Silly Puppets.
- Designed for children but will fit most adult size hands.
- Easy to move mouth and arms. Hand entry through the bottom of the puppet.
- Height is about 14 inches tall. Lightweight at only 8 ounces.
- Beautifully made and detailed clothes are removable.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The operation was compromised. I was deep undercover in a patch of afternoon sun, monitoring a dust mote’s slow descent, when the Handler entered the room. She carried a new asset. I knew from its vacant, stitched-on smile and unnervingly bright "peach" complexion that this was no ordinary acquisition. She called him "Tommy," but I saw him for what he was: The Grinning Golem, an empty vessel for the Handler's will. She slid her hand inside its base, and the creature lurched to life, its head swiveling with an unnatural smoothness. "Hello, Pete! Want to be my friend?" The voice that emanated from the golem was a high-pitched mockery of speech, a sound that grated on my very soul. Its little fabric arms waved, beckoning. I remained motionless, a statue of gray fur and judgment, my tail giving only the slightest, most contemptuous twitch. This was a test, a crude attempt at psychological warfare. I would not break. I narrowed my eyes, observing its construction. The clothes, I noted, were removable. A critical design flaw. The Golem was directed to approach my position on the rug. It trotted forward on the Handler's knuckles, its plastic eyes staring into nothingness. It extended a soft, limp hand for what I can only assume was meant to be a pat. I met this advance with a low growl that began deep in my chest, a clear signal to cease and desist. The Handler, bless her simple heart, interpreted this as a sign of play. The Golem's arm began to twitch and dance, a clumsy invitation to a game I had no intention of joining. I was above such foolishness. I am Pete, not some common alley ruffian. Then, it happened. In a moment of theatrical frustration, the Handler made the Golem throw its arms up in the air. For a split second, the sleeve of its little red shirt snagged on its own head, exposing the wrist joint where the Handler's fingers met the puppet's cuff. It was a fleeting, chaotic, and utterly unpredictable motion. Something ancient and powerful inside me clicked. The Golem itself was an absurdity, but that flash of frantic, uncontrolled movement… that was prey. In an instant, I uncoiled, a blur of tuxedo-furred grace. I did not attack the puppet; that would be beneath me. I simply placed a single, perfectly aimed paw directly on the offending wrist, pinning it to the floor with indisputable authority. The game was over before it began. I looked up at the Handler, blinked slowly, and declared my verdict. The puppet is an idiot, but its vulnerabilities are… mildly diverting. It may remain. For now.
