Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have acquired a box of what I can only describe as organized confetti. Apparently, it contains a thousand pieces of "sturdy blue chipboard" that, when painstakingly arranged, form images of paintings by long-expired humans. While the notion of "boosting motor skills" is utterly lost on a creature of my grace, the potential here is twofold. First, the sheer number of small, lightweight pieces promises a glorious opportunity for strategic batting and dispersal under various pieces of furniture. Second, the large, flat surface the humans will be hunched over for hours is an obvious, if somewhat lumpy, invitation for a nap. The art is irrelevant; the chaos potential and napping real estate are what truly matter.
Key Features
- Masterpieces: Botticelli, Renoir, Monet, Gaugin, and Klimt are among the great artists represented on this beautiful piece. Feel like a great artist yourself assembling the Great Paintings puzzle.
- 1000-piece puzzle: Thrill the entire family and provide hours of fun and entertainment piecing this incredible jigsaw puzzle together. An ideal pastime for everyone to enjoy!
- About the artist: Barbara Behr is known for providing concepts for paper products of all kinds, book illustration, and designs for textiles, ceramics, decorative accessories and digital applications.
- More to puzzle building: Art jigsaw puzzles are a fun, inexpensive way to enjoy works of art first hand. Use to boost valuable motor skills, hand-eye coordination, and problem solving skills.
- SPECIFICS: Includes 1,000 extra large puzzle pieces made of sturdy blue chipboard on recycled paper. Completed puzzle dimensions: 24 x 30 inches. 100% customer satisfaction guarantee. Made in USA.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The ritual began, as it often does, with the ceremonial cracking of a seal. My human, with an air of grave importance, upended the monolith from White Mountain, and a thousand silent whispers spilled across the dining table. It was not a sound of chaos, but of potential—a thousand slivers of color, like a thousand dried cicada wings. They sorted them by hue, a strange human custom of separating the elements. I observed from my perch atop the bookcase, a silent gray god judging this peculiar ceremony. They were building something, but its purpose was not yet clear to me. I descended from my vantage point when the "Forging of the Boundary" began. The straight-edged pieces were being clicked into place, forming a crude rectangle. It was slow, tedious work. I decided the ritual required a sacrifice. Strolling with deliberate nonchalance, I selected a single piece—a fragment of a garish gold cloak by some fellow named Klimt. It had a pleasingly sharp corner. With a single, precise flick of my paw, I offered it to the shadows beneath the credenza. My human sighed, a sound of profound suffering. The offering was accepted by the void. The ritual was proceeding as I willed it. Over the next few days, the tapestry of human folly grew. I would occasionally lend my assistance, testing the structural integrity of a section with my full body weight, or "improving" the composition by relocating a particularly crucial face piece. The human called this "being a menace." I called it quality control. The image taking shape was a garish collage of human faces and landscapes, but what truly interested me was its texture and its occupation of a prime patch of afternoon sun. The "extra large pieces" created a uniquely bumpy, yet surprisingly comfortable, topography. On the third evening, as my human slotted the final piece of Renoir's boat party into place, they leaned back with a triumphant exhale. The creation was complete. And in that moment, I understood its true purpose. It was not a picture. It was a throne, custom-built for a king. I leaped onto the table, my soft paws making no sound, and curled up directly over Botticelli's "Venus," my tuxedoed chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. The puzzle was a resounding success—not as a piece of art, but as a heated, textured, and perfectly sized bed. It was, I concluded, worthy of my magnificence.
