Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with what appears to be a miniature, plastic version of that horrifyingly loud kitchen device they use to pulverize innocent fruits. This one, bearing the mark of BLACK+DECKER—a brand I associate with the deafening roar of home-improvement projects—claims to have 'realistic action, light and sound.' I predict this means it's a pre-packaged migraine designed for the small human. While the main unit is undoubtedly a waste of perfectly good plastic and battery power, its true value may lie in the accessories. The six small, plastic food items and the detachable lid hold promise as individual, high-quality floor toys, perfect for batting into dark, inaccessible places. The blender itself is merely the inconvenient packaging.
Key Features
- Realistic action, light and sound
- Includes cup and six fruits and vegetables
- Press the on/off button to start the blending action and watch the fruits move around, just like with a real blender
- Blender top and base can be separated, and lid can be removed
- Includes 2-AA batteries
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The Human placed the strange totem on the rug. It bore the sigil of the 'BLACK+DECKER' clan, a name I knew from the dreaded Roaring Box of Dust-Sucking and the Whining Drill of Wall-Violation. This was no mere toy; it was an artifact of power, and I regarded it with the deep suspicion it deserved. It was a vessel, gray and white like myself, containing six colorful icons—a banana, a strawberry, an orange... effigies of some kind. My tail gave a slow, deliberate thump-thump-thump against the floor. This was a test. With a single, careless press of a button, the Human brought the totem to life. A pale light pulsed from within, and a low, mechanical thrumming filled the room—not the terrifying shriek of the real blender, but a rhythmic, patterned whir. The little fruit icons began to dance and tumble, clicking against the plastic walls in a steady cadence. It wasn't chaos. I flattened my ears, concentrating, filtering out the Human's inane cooing. This wasn't a sound of grinding; it was a language. A transmission. My eyes, wide and unblinking, followed the hypnotic tumble. The whir was a carrier wave, and the clicks of the plastic fruit were the message itself, a percussive S.O.S. It all became clear in a flash of terrible insight. This wasn't a blender. It was a long-range distress beacon. And the 'fruits'? They were schematics, representations of the six Elders of the Great Oak, captured by the tyrannical Blue Jay Syndicate. This BLACK+DECKER device was the squirrels' last, desperate attempt to reach an ally. My cynicism evaporated, replaced by a profound sense of duty. I was no longer Pete, the pampered house cat. I was the chosen one, the sole recipient of a desperate plea from the Squirrel Federation. I approached the beacon slowly, giving the Human a look that conveyed the gravity of the situation—a look they, of course, misinterpreted as 'cute.' I nudged the plastic strawberry with my nose. I had to protect these schematics, to decode the full message. This 'toy' was not for play. It was for plotting a revolution. It is, without a doubt, the most important object to ever enter this house.
