Pete's Expert Summary
So, the Human has acquired another small, plastic effigy, this one named 'Glinda' from that singing-witch movie she's been humming about. It's a Mattel creation, which means it’s a professional-grade dust collector. She comes with a sparkly pink dress that has some potentially crinkly foil bits—a minor point of interest—and several small, shiny accessories like a crown and a stick. While the stick, or 'scepter,' holds some fleeting promise for batting, the entire affair seems designed for the Human to pose and stare at. Honestly, it looks like a tremendous waste of a perfectly good sunbeam, unless, of course, the primary goal is to see how spectacularly I can knock it off its little plastic stand.
Key Features
- Inspired by Universal Pictures' Wicked, the deluxe Glinda doll captures her signature look from the musical film
- Embellished bold, statement earrings, Glinda wears her voluminous, ruffled pink ballgown with iridescent foil bubble details that complete her magical look
- The Good Witch doll accents her outfit with her wand and tiara
- With true-to-movie looks and long blonde hair perfectly styled in curls, Glinda doll charms with a true-to-movie look
- Clip Glinda doll onto the doll stand and create dramatic poses with 11 points of articulation
- Highlighting the beauty of sisterhood and friendship, Wicked dolls make an inspiring toy for kids to play out their biggest dreams
- Fans can collect their favorite Wicked characters to recreate scenes and make up their own storylines and adventures. Each sold separately, subject to availability
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The ceremony was, as always, nauseatingly reverent. The Human, with coos and nonsensical praise, freed the blonde totem from its transparent prison. She placed it, on its little plastic pedestal, on the mahogany credenza. This was not just any piece of furniture; this was *my* credenza. It is the perfect height for observing the kitchen, for judging the quality of her meal preparation, and for receiving chin scratches without having to move from a reclining position. And now, this interloper, with its vacant smile and explosive pink gown, stood there, a silent challenge to my sovereignty. I did not act immediately. A direct assault—a simple swat sending it plummeting to the hardwood—would be crude. Unbefitting of my station. Instead, I waited until the dead of night, when the moon cast long, accusatory shadows across the living room. I leaped silently onto the credenza, my paws making no sound. I circled the figure, my gray fur a stark contrast to her saccharine radiance. The doll was jointed, the Human had demonstrated, with eleven points of articulation. Eleven points of failure. Her scepter, a thin piece of plastic, was held loosely in her stiff hand. This would be the key. My approach was that of a surgeon, not a brute. I extended a single, perfect claw from my white mitten of a paw. I ignored the tempting glint of the tiara, the rustle of the iridescent foil on her dress. My target was the base of the scepter. With a flick so precise it was barely a movement, I tapped the plastic wand. It rotated in her grip, its new angle creating an imbalance. The doll, governed by the simple, cruel laws of physics, began a slow, majestic tilt. She teetered on her stand, a silent opera of impending doom, before toppling over with a soft, unsatisfying *thump* onto the plush rug below. I did not linger to admire my work. I simply settled into the now-vacant space, my space, and began a perfunctory bath. The Human found her in the morning, sighing as she placed her on a lower, less significant shelf. The verdict was clear. As a toy, this "Glinda" is a failure. It does not skitter, it does not chirp, it does not contain catnip. However, as an instrument for asserting my dominance and reminding the Human of the established household hierarchy, it has proven itself to be a surprisingly effective, if temporary, tool. I will allow it to remain. For now.
