Pete's Expert Summary
My human has brought home another plastic sphere of profound disappointment. From what I can gather through my superior powers of observation, it contains a miniature, non-functional-for-felines kitchen appliance. The entire purpose seems to be for the human to create a tiny, inedible replica of a beverage using a strange-smelling goo that hardens under a special light. While the crinkly packaging and the various minuscule parts—perfect for batting into the dark abyss beneath the sofa—hold a certain fleeting appeal, the final product is utterly useless. It’s a hard, plastic trinket that can neither be eaten nor satisfyingly destroyed. It is, in essence, a monument to wasted time that could have been spent stroking my magnificent gray fur.
Key Features
- MAKE IT MINI APPLIANCES : New ways to Make It Mini. All New Mini Appliances that actually work. Use these appliances to help you MAKE, SET, and DISPLAY your favorite Miniverse Make It Mini Food Beverages.
- UNBOX IT: Not only does each ball come with one real working mini appliance, they also come with all the accessories and ingredients to make your mini replica drinks. Each pack includes 1 appliance, 1 bottle of resin, 2 cups to dispense your resin into, and unique accessories for each pack.
- REALLY WORKS: Each machine has unique real working features that will take your Make It Mini experience to the next level. You'll be able to dispense your mini ice cubes from the Soda and Juice mini machines. You can even seal your mini Boba drinks just like the real thing. All the appliances dispense resin.
- SET IT: Once you've finished dispensing the resin and created your mini drinks, set the replica drinks under any UV light (like the sun) until the resin has hardened. Once it sets, you've got a collectible ready to play with or for display.
- DISPLAY IT: Each pack comes with a pair of cupholders (saucers for the Espresso balls) to display your mini drinks.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The artifact arrived in a gaudy, spherical prison, which the Keeper—my human—cracked open with the grace of a falling bookcase. I watched from my throne atop the velvet armchair, feigning a nap but with one eye tracking the proceedings. The Keeper extracted a tiny, garish red machine, a miniature soda fountain. A collection of other tiny bits were laid out like offerings to a lesser god: minuscule cups, a vial of viscous liquid, and a small baggie of what looked like frozen light. The Keeper called them "ice cubes." I knew better. They were soul-gems, clearly. My initial assessment was one of profound contempt. Another human folly, a contraption designed for nothing more than creating shelf-clutter. But then, the Keeper began the ritual. They filled a thimble-sized cup with the strange, clear nectar from the vial. They placed it under the tiny spigot of the ridiculous machine. With a focused frown, the Keeper pressed the lever, and from a separate chamber, the soul-gems tumbled forth, clicking musically into the cup. They were more beautiful than I had anticipated—clear, faceted, and catching the light in a way that stirred something primal within me. I waited. The Keeper, mesmerized by their own creation, placed the filled cup aside and prepared to perform the final rite with their "UV light" wand. Their attention was entirely on this miniature tableau. This was my moment. The hunt was on. I did not pounce or scramble; such actions are for lesser beasts. I flowed from the armchair, a silent, gray shadow gliding across the floor. A single, fluid leap placed me on the forbidden surface of the kitchen table. Before the Keeper could even register my presence, my paw, a tool of surgical precision, shot out. I ignored the sticky cup and the silly machine. My target was a single, rogue soul-gem that had escaped the baggie. A flick of the wrist, a whisper of claw on wood, and the gem was airborne. It sailed in a perfect arc before landing silently on the rug and skittering under the heaviest piece of furniture in the room. I was back on the floor, grooming a foreleg with detached nonchalance, before the Keeper even turned around. The toy is an absurdity, yes. But as a delivery system for exquisite, bat-able treasure? I'll allow it. For now.
