Pete's Expert Summary
So, my human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has presented a new "offering." It appears to be a collection of brightly colored, plush fabric heads on sacks, courtesy of the Melissa & Doug brand. I will concede, this brand typically signals a higher quality of material than the usual plastic refuse, so the texture might not be entirely offensive. The stated purpose seems to be for some kind of theatrical performance, a "safari" no less, meant to entertain the smaller, louder human. I foresee a great deal of flailing and nonsensical squawking. The most appealing aspect is that they appear soft enough to serve as an emergency pillow should I be cornered by one. The most appalling aspect is the inclusion of a "tiger," a garish and frankly insulting caricature of a noble feline. This entire enterprise teeters precariously between being a mild diversion and a complete waste of my cognitive energy.
Key Features
- Set of 6 soft and cuddly hand puppets in a safari animal theme
- Includes elephant, tiger, parrot, giraffe, monkey, and zebra
- Great for story-telling, motor-skills development, practicing vocabulary, expressing emotions, and confidence-building
- Brightly patterned, washable fabrics; sized to fit children and adults
- Makes a great gift for 2- to 8-year-olds, for hands-on, screen-free play
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The air in the living room, usually thick with the scent of my own magnificence and quiet dignity, was suddenly charged. The human had unpacked a new goon squad, a sextet of felt-faced thugs they called the "Safari Buddies." I watched from my observation post atop the velvet armchair as they were laid out on the rug: a simpleton Zebra, a gawking Giraffe, a chattering Monkey, a loud-mouthed Parrot, an oafish Elephant, and, most offensively, a Tiger. A cheap imitation. I narrowed my eyes. This was my turf, and this new gang needed to understand the hierarchy. I descended with the silent grace of a shadow, my paws making no sound on the hardwood floor. I began my inspection, casing each new mug. The material, a product of this "Melissa & Doug" outfit, was soft, I'll give them that. But there was no life in them. The Monkey’s grin was stitched on, a permanent state of idiocy. The Parrot’s colors were an assault on the eyes, a Technicolor snitch if I ever saw one. I gave the Tiger a particularly thorough sniff. It smelled of the factory and the human's cloying optimism. There was no hint of the wild, no trace of a killer instinct in its vacant, embroidered eyes. These weren't operators; they were fluff-filled patsies. Then, the moment of truth. The human’s hand, that great and powerful bringer of food and chin scratches, slipped inside the Tiger puppet. It lurched to life, its hollow head wobbling grotesquely. "Roar!" it squeaked, in a voice that was a disgrace to predators everywhere. It bobbed toward me, a clumsy advance meant to be playful. I didn't flinch. I didn't even grant it the dignity of a hiss. I simply stared, channeling all the disdain of my ancestors into a single, unblinking look that communicated its utter insignificance in the grand cosmic scheme. The human-animated Tiger faltered, its faux-ferocity melting under my gaze. It drooped, defeated. My verdict was clear. This was not a threat; it was a farce. A sideshow. They were not worthy of my claws, but they might serve a purpose. The long, soft neck of the Giraffe looked like a rather excellent chin rest, and the Zebra's flat head could make a tolerable spot for a brief nap. They could stay, not as equals, but as living room furniture. And as a constant, amusing reminder of how utterly ridiculous my staff can be.