A photo of Pete the cat

Pete's Toy Box: Mattel

Mattel Games UNO Family Card Game, with 112 Cards in a Sturdy Storage Tin, Travel-Friendly, Makes a Great Toy for 7 Year Olds and Up

By: Mattel Games

Pete's Expert Summary

My human seems to think that these thin, colorful rectangles are a source of high entertainment. From my observation post on the back of the sofa, it appears to be a primitive ritual where the Tall Ones sit around a flat surface, slapping down these cards and making loud, sudden noises. The objective is some nonsense about matching colors and numbers, a task I could perform in my sleep, if I cared to. The cards themselves are flimsy, likely to be destroyed in a single satisfying pounce-and-shred maneuver. Their only potential lies in their ability to slide across the hardwood floor. The true prize here, however, is the sturdy metal tin. That is a vessel of true quality—a potential biscuit-hiding spot, a resonant surface for tail-thwacking, or, with the lid off, a perfectly acceptable nap container. The cards are a distraction; the box is the main event.

Key Features

  • UNO is the classic family card game that's easy to learn and so much fun to play!
  • In a race to deplete your hand, match one of your cards with the current card shown on top of the deck by either color or number.
  • Strategize to defeat your competition with special action cards like Skips, Reverses, Draw Twos and color-changing Wild cards.
  • When you're down to one card, don't forget to shout 'UNO!'
  • This fun family card game is perfect for adults, teens and kids 7 years old and up.
  • UNO Tin comes with 112 cards and instructions in a sturdy tin that's great for storage and travel.
  • Colorblind accessible! Special graphic symbols have been added to each card to help identify the color(s) on that card. This will allow players with ANY form of color blindness to easily play!

A Tale from Pete the Cat

I was enjoying a perfectly structured afternoon nap when the clatter began. My human and her chosen companions gathered around the Great Wooden Slab in the food-room, bringing forth a shiny metal coffer. The lid was lifted, revealing not treats, as one would hope, but a stack of brightly colored tablets. They began their strange ceremony, laying the tablets down one by one, their voices rising and falling with the placement of certain symbols. I dismissed it as typical human absurdity and began grooming my pristine white ascot. Then, a hush fell. My human held up a single tablet, this one a chaotic swirl of all colors, and declared a new law: the world was now 'Green'. A palpable shift occurred in the room's energy. The next human sighed in defeat, picking up more tablets. I sat up, intrigued. This wasn't a game. This was a session of planetary engineering. They were altering the very fabric of their reality with these cards. A 'Skip' card was played, and a human was literally ignored for a turn—banished from the flow of time. A 'Reverse' card sent the entire sequence of events spiraling backward. My initial disdain curdled into a new, profound understanding. These weren't toys. They were instruments of immense power, capable of manipulating time, color, and social order. The final, earsplitting shriek of "UNO!" was not a cry of victory, but the final incantation to seal the reality-altering spell. When they finally packed the powerful tablets back into their metal vault, I knew I could no longer be a passive observer. I had to get closer. I had to understand the rules of this strange magic they wielded. The toy itself is a bore, but the power it holds over my staff… well, that requires my direct and ongoing supervision.

Hot Wheels Toy Car Track Set, City T-Rex Blaze Battle Playset & 1:64 Scale Die-Cast Vehicle, 18” Tall, Multiple Race Outcomes, Spinning Dinosaur Eyes

By: Hot Wheels

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has presented me with a large, garish plastic contraption from a brand called Hot Wheels, which seems to specialize in noisy trinkets for small, loud humans. It’s an enormous dinosaur attacking a building, a scenario I can only assume is meant to be dramatic. The main function involves a human launching a tiny metal car around a track to bother the dinosaur, causing its eyes to spin or to get temporarily swallowed. Frankly, the loud launcher and the convoluted path seem like a great deal of effort for very little reward. The only part of this entire spectacle that holds any potential is the small, die-cast vehicle itself. It appears to be the perfect size and weight for a proper game of "bat-it-under-the-sofa," assuming I can liberate it from the clutches of this plastic monstrosity. The rest is merely a waste of vertical space that could be better occupied by a sunbeam.

Key Features

  • Take on a hungry T-Rex that has attacked the Hot Wheels City fire station with a 1:64 scale toy car
  • The playset features a large-scale dinosaur nemesis that has eyes that spin every time cars whizz past until it gets knocked out
  • Launch cars hard enough to spin the eyes and knock out the dino's teeth only to get eaten and then pooped out
  • Reload and relaunch, but this time get detoured through the fuel station. Might as well fill up for the next run
  • Don't quit now With refueling complete, launch again and get the K.O., saving friends and Hot Wheels City
  • As they battle the nemesis, kids learn the importance of persistence and determination
  • Kids 4 years old and up will love the challenge of defeating the dinosaur with their Hot Wheels vehicles

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The thing arrived in a box that smelled of lies and industrial adhesives. My human, with the clumsy enthusiasm of a toddler discovering their own feet, assembled it into a towering orange beast locked in eternal combat with a blue building. They called it the “T-Rex Blaze Battle,” a name far too grand for a piece of hollow plastic. They placed a small, gleaming object—a tiny, four-wheeled carriage of a handsome metallic blue—at the base of the structure, preparing it for some unknown ritual. I observed from the safety of the armchair, my tail giving a slow, judgmental sweep. The human performed the first rite. With a loud *CLICK* and a far louder *THWACK*, the blue carriage was violently flung up a ramp. It shot past the beast’s head, and its painted eyes, two garish spirals, spun in a dizzying circle. For a brief, shameful moment, my own eyes locked onto the movement, my hunter’s instinct betrayed by such a cheap trick. The carriage then clattered down the other side, landing unceremoniously on the rug. The human seemed pleased. I was insulted on the carriage's behalf. Such a fine, skittering-sized object deserved a more dignified purpose. For the second rite, the human’s aim was less true. The carriage ascended the ramp, but instead of completing its journey, it was diverted into the beast’s gaping maw with a hollow *clunk*. A moment of silence, then a rumbling, and the carriage was unceremoniously expelled from the beast’s posterior. My human cackled, finding this crude digestive theater amusing. I, however, saw it for what it was: a prison break. The carriage was free, if only for a moment. This was my opening. While the human was distracted, resetting their pointless machine, I descended from my perch. I moved with a liquid grace they could never hope to replicate, my white paws silent on the floor. I ignored the plastic titan, the true fool of this whole affair. My target was the small, blue refugee. A single, perfectly extended claw was all it took to hook the carriage and draw it away from the chaos. It felt cool and solid under my paw. I gave it a test bat. It slid across the hardwood with a magnificent, whispering *zzzziiiing*, a sound far more beautiful than any of the clicks or thwacks from the tower. The human could keep their blaze battle; I had claimed the only part of it with any real value. The carriage now resides in my trophy vault, also known as “under the entertainment center.” It is, I must admit, a treasure of the highest quality.

Mattel Minecraft Dennis The Wolf Plush Toy with Feeding Action & Sound, Food Mode Stuffed Animal Inspired by A Minecraft Movie

By: Mattel

Pete's Expert Summary

My human, in a fit of what I can only assume is misplaced affection inspired by one of those glowing-rectangle worlds they stare at, has presented me with this... blocky canine effigy. It's a Mattel creation, a so-called "Dennis the Wolf," and its primary gimmick appears to be that it makes noise. You are supposed to shove a plastic bone into its mouth, which triggers a series of growls and barks. While the very concept of a barking toy is an insult to the refined silence I cultivate, I must admit a certain scientific curiosity. The promise of "fuzzy and soft" fur is a potential redeeming quality, possibly making it a passable headrest, but if the sound-making mechanism is not immediately responsive to my whims, this tribute to a lesser species will be nothing more than a lumpy obstacle on the way to my food bowl.

Key Features

  • From A Minecraft Movie, the Food Mode Dennis interactive plush wolf is fuzzy and soft to the touch!
  • The plush toy comes with a bone accessory for the hungry adventurer…
  • …kids can feed the bone to Dennis the wolf by placing it in his mouth activating growling and barking sounds!
  • Fearsome but lovable, Dennis is a breakout overworld star -- recreate movie scenes for play and display!
  • Add to a collection or gift to a fan and bring the Minecraft fun to life for Minecraft lovers and collectors of all ages!

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The thing arrived with an air of cubic arrogance, placed unceremoniously on the Persian rug that serves as my primary afternoon sunning spot. It was an insult to geometry and a caricature of a proper predator, all sharp angles and pixelated fur patterns. It stared ahead with vacant, stitched-on eyes, a silent, blocky mockery of the lupine form. The Human, with their usual lack of subtlety, picked up a small, equally blocky plastic bone and thrust it into the creature’s mouth. A sudden, vulgar electronic bark erupted, shattering the peace. My ears flattened. An abomination. The Human chuckled, set the bone down beside the plush monstrosity, and left me to contemplate this new horror. For a long while, I simply observed from a distance, tail twitching in disapproval. The plush wolf, "Dennis," did not move. It did not breathe. It was a Trojan Wolf, hiding a cacophony within its synthetic fleece. My contempt, however, was soon warring with my insatiable curiosity. What were the parameters of this sound? Could it be controlled? I approached with the fluid grace of a hunter, sniffing the air. The bone lay there, a separate entity. I gave it a tentative pat with my paw. It skittered beautifully across the hardwood, a surprisingly satisfying, if secondary, feature. Prey-like. Promising. But the main event awaited. After chasing the bone into a corner and expertly hooking it back out from under the credenza, I returned to the silent wolf. This was not play; this was an interrogation. I nudged the bone with my nose towards its gaping, felt-lined maw. Nothing. It required intent. It required force. Taking the plastic in my teeth—a mild indignity, but necessary for science—I carefully pushed it into the designated slot. The electronic growl-bark sequence fired again, loud and obnoxious in the quiet room. I immediately dropped the bone and retreated. Then, a slow smile spread across my feline face. I had done that. It did not bark on its own. It barked for *me*. I picked up the bone and did it again. *BARK!* A jolt of pure, unadulterated power surged through me. This was not a toy. This was an instrument. A megaphone for my desires. Is the food bowl empty at 3 a.m.? A trip to Dennis will solve that. Is the Human paying too much attention to the noisy picture-box? A strategic bark from the corner will remind them of their true master. The wolf itself is a lumpy, aesthetically bankrupt pillow at best. But as a tool for commanding attention and sowing mild, intermittent chaos? Oh, it is magnificent. Dennis is not a friend; he is my new, gloriously annoying court herald. He is most certainly worthy.

Mattel Games UNO Show ‘em No Mercy Card Game in Storage & Travel Tin for Kids, Adults & Family Night with Extra Cards, Special Rules & Tougher Penalties (Amazon Exclusive)

By: Mattel Games

Pete's Expert Summary

My human seems to have acquired yet another method for making loud noises while sitting in a circle. This one is called 'UNO Show ‘em No Mercy' and comes in a shiny tin, which is its single most promising feature. From my observations, it's a game involving colorful, flimsy rectangles that cause my staff to shout, groan, and occasionally accuse each other of "brutal" and "merciless" behavior. The game apparently has "tougher" rules, which translates to more dramatic human reactions—a source of mild amusement while I'm waiting for a lap to become available. While the cards themselves are far too thin for a satisfying shred, the sheer quantity of them and the chaos they generate might provide a decent backdrop for an evening nap, and the tin has excellent potential for being knocked off a table.

Key Features

  • UNO Show 'em No Mercy game adds 56 more cards, special rules and super-tough action cards for the most brutal edition of UNO ever!
  • Tougher action cards, such as Skip Everyone, Wild Draw 6 and even Wild Draw 10 make game play merciless!
  • The Stacking Rule lets players pass the penalty (Draw +2, +4, +6, +10) to the next player until whoever can't play has to take all the cards combined!
  • Whenever a '7' or a '0' card is played, players must swap hands with another player!
  • The Mercy Rule means that if any player gets 25+ cards in their hand, they are out of the game!
  • Comes in a collectible, portable travel tin.
  • Great to amp up the action on friends and family game nights, travels and parties!

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The evening began with a disturbance in the Force. My human, the one I permit to fill my food bowl, produced a metallic red box with a sinister *clink*. The other humans gathered around the low table, their faces alight with a feral glee I usually only see when they open a can of premium tuna. They called this ritual ‘Game Night,’ but I knew it for what it was: a controlled simulation of their pack-dominance struggles. This time, the simulation promised to be, in their words, "No Mercy." I settled onto the back of the sofa, a gray and white emperor observing the gladiatorial preliminaries. The flimsy totems of fate were dealt. I watched as the colors flew, my tail giving a slow, judgmental twitch with each card played. The sounds were different tonight. There were no gentle requests to 'Draw Two.' Instead, I heard a shriek as a card they called 'Wild Draw 10' was unleashed. The smaller human, 'Jessica,' looked utterly betrayed as she was forced to absorb a massive pile of cards into her hand. This was not the simple game of the past. This was a culling. Moments later, a card with a '7' on it was played, and suddenly the humans were swapping their entire destinies with one another, a frantic, confusing exchange of fortunes. I’ve seen less panic in a flock of pigeons when I stroll through the yard. Then came the moment of truth. The human they call ‘Uncle Dave,’ whose lap is admittedly subpar, had been accumulating cards with a look of growing despair. He played a card, only to have it countered by a cascade of penalties from the others. His hand swelled, a grotesque rainbow of failure. My primary human pointed a finger and declared, with solemn finality, "Mercy Rule! You have over 25 cards. You're out!" Uncle Dave was ritually shamed and cast out of the circle. He slumped onto the very sofa cushion I had been considering, a defeated alpha. This, I understood. The pride has no room for the weak. As the game concluded and the victor gloated, the humans packed the colorful tokens of strife back into their crimson prison. The tin was left on the table, a silent monument to the evening's conflict. I leaped down and nudged it with my nose. The game itself was a meaningless human abstraction. But the raw, unvarnished display of social hierarchy, the ruthless efficiency of the 'Mercy Rule,' and the sheer emotional drama? It was a spectacle of the highest order. It was worthy. And later, the tin would make a most satisfying crash when batted onto the hardwood floor, a fitting encore to the night's performance.

Mattel Disney and Pixar Cars Toys, Radiator Springs 3-Pack of Die-cast Toy Cars & Trucks with Lightning McQueen, Mater & Sheriff

By: Mattel

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has presented me with a box containing three small, heavy, painted metal lumps. Apparently, these are "cars" from some cinematic masterpiece I've had to endure from the couch. They are from a brand called Mattel, which I understand specializes in creating plastic and metal effigies for small humans. For a cat of my refined sensibilities, these "Radiator Springs" vehicles are initially underwhelming. They don't chirp, they aren't filled with catnip, and they possess zero feathers. However, their die-cast weight gives them a certain heft, and the fact that their wheels roll suggests they might be coaxed into a satisfying skitter across the hardwood floors, provided I can be bothered to expend the energy. It's a toss-up whether they're a clever new floor-puck or just shiny paperweights destined to gather dust bunnies under the credenza.

Key Features

  • Favorite Radiator Springs vehicles Lightning McQueen, Sheriff and Mater in 1:55 die-cast scale.​
  • ​ True to movie decos, unique personality details and signature expressions.
  • ​ Wheels roll for push around play.
  • ​Unique giftset for fans of all ages!​​​
  • ​Collect all the 1:55 scale themed 3-pack vehicles for an exciting Cars display! Each sold separately, subject to availability.

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The ceremony of the offering was, as usual, absurd. The human placed the three metal objects on the living room rug with a reverence typically reserved for my dinner bowl. I observed them from a distance, tail giving a slow, judgmental flick. There was a smug red one, a derelict brown one, and a stern-looking black-and-white one. They sat there, inert and silent, a miniature traffic jam on the Persian landscape. My human made a "vroom" sound, an auditory insult of the highest order. I closed my eyes, feigning sleep to protest the sheer foolishness of it all. When the human finally left the room, silence returned, and I opened one eye. The red car, in particular, seemed to mock me with its glossy finish. I rose, stretched with deliberate slowness, and padded over. A tentative tap with a single, unsheathed claw. Cold. Hard. Unyielding. I gave it a more forceful shove with my nose. To my surprise, it didn't just tumble; it glided. It rolled, silent and smooth, for a good three feet before coming to a stop near the leg of the coffee table. This was not the clumsy topple of a bottle cap. This was movement with a purpose. A new thought, a more sophisticated strategy, began to form in my magnificent brain. This wasn't a hunt; it was a herding exercise. I was no longer a predator; I was a shepherd of steel. I stalked the brown, rusty vehicle—Mater, the human had called him—and nudged him gently, guiding his path until he was parallel with the red one. Then came the Sheriff. I hooked a claw into the small space behind his front wheel and pulled, positioning him to block their forward path. I had created a corral. A pen. My flock of cars was contained. I surveyed my work from atop the sofa arm, a low, rumbling purr vibrating in my chest. This was a game of intellect, not instinct. It required planning, spatial reasoning, and a delicate touch. It was a silent ballet of physics that I alone could conduct. While they would never replace the visceral thrill of a laser dot, these little metal contraptions had proven themselves to be worthy instruments for a mind like mine. They were not toys; they were pieces in a grand, silent game of my own invention. They may stay. For now.

Mattel Jurassic World Rebirth Bite N Blast Mosasaurus Action Figure & Mini Dilophosaurus, Wide Jaw Dinosaur Toy, Movie-Accurate Posable, Digital Play

By: Mattel

Pete's Expert Summary

My human, in a fit of what I can only describe as prehistoric nostalgia, has acquired a gargantuan plastic sea beast from Mattel. This "Mosasaurus" is a ridiculously oversized effigy, apparently meant to swallow and then violently expel a much smaller, unfortunate-looking green dinosaur. Its primary appeal, from my vantage point, is its sheer scale; at over two feet, it's less a toy and more a piece of impassable geography on the living room rug. The articulated tail has some potential for being batted, but the whole button-operated "Bite 'N Blast" feature seems designed for clumsy human hands. The associated "digital play" is an obvious and pathetic attempt to distract from the elegant simplicity of a well-thrown crinkle ball, and is thus beneath my contempt.

Key Features

  • Jurassic World lives Bring the excitement and thrills of Jurassic World Rebirth home with this distinctive Mosasaurus with exciting Bite 'N Blast moves, articulated fins and tail and 25.7-inch long size
  • Total attack Kids can easily hold the tail and press the button, or manually open the prey-seeking jaw. The jaw opens wide, ready to 'Bite' and swallow the Dilophosaurus mini figure
  • Spitting image Hold the tail and press the button again and the Mosasaurus 'Blasts' the Dilophosaurus prey back out of its mouth
  • Great toy This Mosasaurus makes an exciting toy for any dinosaur lover 4 years or older, especially Jurassic World fans
  • Scan and collect Scan the code under the fin in the free Jurassic World Play App with a compatible smart device (not included) for AR activities and to create a digital dinosaur collection
  • Ride 'N Rampage: Colossal Chase In this updated app game, race various vehicles on land, air and sea and play an exciting shooting game that extracts DNA from the dinosaurs

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The thing arrived in a cardboard cage, which was briefly more interesting than its contents. Once liberated, the cerulean behemoth lay upon my sunning rug, a silent, plastic usurper. My human, whom I shall refer to as The Curator for the purposes of this incident, presented it with a flourish. "Look, Pete! A Mosasaurus!" I observed it from a safe distance, tail twitching in critical assessment. It was an art installation, clearly. A piece of post-modern absurdity titled "Futility in Blue." Its vast, unblinking eye stared into the middle distance, its hollow form promising a satisfyingly deep *thump* if pushed from a great height. The Curator then demonstrated its primary function. With a press of a button on its tail, the creature's jaw unhinged with an unnerving *clack*. He then took the accompanying piece—a small, lurid green figure—and placed it within the gaping maw. Another press, and the jaw snapped shut. I must admit, a flicker of professional interest sparked within me. Hiding a small object inside a larger one is a classic trope, one I have perfected with my own toys under the sofa. But this was so… unsubtle. So terribly brutish. The Curator's final act was to press the button again, causing the blue beast to unceremoniously spit the green figurine across the floor. A crude, regurgitative spectacle. I gave a dismissive flick of my ear and began grooming a perfectly clean patch of fur on my shoulder. For a day, the installation remained untouched, a monument to poor taste. The Curator seemed disappointed. But on the second evening, as the low light of the television flickered across the room, I saw the true potential. The art was not in the object itself, but in the performance. I approached the small green figure, which The Curator had carelessly left near the blue monster's head. With a deft, calculated flick of my paw, I sent the figurine skittering directly into the open mouth of the Mosasaurus. The Curator, delighted, retrieved it and set up the scene again. We had found our rhythm. He was no longer The Curator, but my assistant. His role was to reset the stage, to prepare the canvas. My role was to provide the dramatic action, the precise and elegant strike that delivered the small, green sacrifice to its plastic doom. The Mosasaurus is a vulgar, noisy contraption. Its "Bite 'N Blast" is for the simple-minded. But as a stage for my own theatrical talents, a grand amphitheater for the tragic drama of "The Little Green One"? For that purpose, and that purpose alone, it is a masterpiece. It can stay.

Mattel Universal Wicked Deluxe Glinda Fashion Doll & Accessories Including Crown & Scepter, Movie-Inspired Look with Posability

By: Mattel

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.

Mattel Minecraft Large-Scale Action Figure, 12-inch Posable Creeper Toy Collectible Inspired by A Minecraft Movie

By: Mattel

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has presented me with what appears to be a large, silent, green totem pole. They call it a "Creeper," apparently from some digital world of blocks that holds their attention for far too long. According to the packaging, it is an "action figure," though its primary action seems to be standing perfectly still and gathering dust. At twelve inches, it towers over me, a silent, plastic monolith of questionable taste. Its only potential saving grace is its "posable" nature, which suggests that its defeat could be engineered in various satisfying ways. It offers no enticing scent, no fluttery bits, and no crinkle, so as an object of instinctual play, it is a failure. However, as a large, inanimate object to be strategically knocked from a great height, it might just provide a moment's amusement before I return to my nap.

Key Features

  • Take home the epic adventures of A Minecraft Movie with these authentically detailed large action figures.
  • Designed in 12-inch scale, the figures are great for recreating favorite scenes or inventing new ones.
  • Fans can find favorite Minecraft characters like Steve and Creeper (each sold separately, subject to availability)!
  • Minecraft lovers of all ages will love this toy inspired A Minecraft Movie!
  • Add to a collection or gift to a fan and bring the Minecraft fun to life!

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The thing arrived in a cardboard cage, its grim, pixelated face staring out from a plastic window. The Human called it a gift, but I know a territorial challenge when I see one. It was a silent, green intruder, reeking of the factory it was born in. Once freed, the Human placed it on the high mantelpiece, a spot I had long considered my sovereign overlook. There it stood, on four stubby legs, a silent green warden watching over my kingdom. It didn't blink. It didn't twitch. Its silence was a mockery, a stoic declaration that it was now a permanent fixture. This would not stand. For two days, I conducted surveillance from the plush comfort of the armchair. I watched how the afternoon sun caught its blocky edges, casting long, geometric shadows across the floor. I observed the Human occasionally adjusting its limbs, a grotesque pantomime of life. The Creeper remained impassive through it all. Was this a test? A bizarre piece of modern art meant to challenge my refined sensibilities? I concluded it was a foe of psychological warfare. Its stillness was designed to unnerve, to make one question reality itself. I would not be so easily broken. The assault was planned for 3 a.m., the hour of ghosts and unsupervised mischief. A silent leap from the chair to the bookshelf, then a delicate, tightrope walk along a row of dusty hardbacks brought me to the battlefield. I was now level with the green sentry. We were face to... well, face to a collection of green squares. I gave it a soft, exploratory tap with my paw. Nothing. I nudged it with my nose. Still nothing. The sheer audacity of its immobility was infuriating. This was no warrior; this was a statue, an insult to the very concept of prey. With a sigh of profound disappointment, I decided to end things. There would be no thrill of the chase, no glorious battle of wits. There would only be gravity, my oldest and most reliable accomplice. I lowered my shoulder and pushed. The figure teetered, its posable legs offering a brief, clumsy resistance. Then, with a slow, deliberate tilt, it surrendered. It plunged from the mantelpiece and met the hardwood floor with a spectacular, resounding *THWACK-CLACK!* The noise echoed through the silent house, a beautiful symphony of my triumph. As I heard the Human stirring upstairs, I sat back on the mantelpiece, occupying the newly vacant space, and began to groom my pristine white chest. The green statue lay defeated on the floor below. It was, I decided, a single-use toy. Its purpose was not to be played with, but to be conquered. A monument to my dominance, to be reset by my staff each morning for my destructive pleasure. It was utterly useless, and therefore, perfect.

Mattel Games Toss Across Kids Outdoor Game, Bean Bag Throw for Camping & Family Nights, Get 3-in-a-Row for 2 to 4 Players

By: Mattel Games

Pete's Expert Summary

My human seems to believe my sophisticated intellect would be stimulated by this... object. It is, from what I can observe, a large plastic grid designed for the lobbing of small, throwable sacks. They call it "Toss Across," a primitive game of X's and O's brought to life with noise and a distinct lack of dignity. The entire affair, with its focus on "rules" and "winning," seems a dreadful waste of energy that could be better spent admiring me. I will concede, however, that the bean bags themselves possess a certain rustic charm. They have a pleasing heft and look suspiciously like well-fed mice, making them prime candidates for being batted into the dark abyss under the furniture, a far more noble fate than being thrown at plastic.

Key Features

  • ​We took classic Tic Tac Toe and added some action!​
  • ​Place the Toss Across unit on a floor, turn all targets blank side up, grab your three bean bags, and get ready to toss! ​
  • ​Players try to get the rotating triangles to flip to show either X or O. Three in a row wins!
  • ​Toss Across is lots of fun and even helps develop hand-eye coordination. Fun for children and the whole family.​

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The thing arrived on a Tuesday, a day usually reserved for extended sun-puddle meditations. The humans hauled a large, colorful box into the living room and, with the sort of ceremonial gravity they usually reserve for carving the holiday turkey, assembled a plastic altar in the middle of the floor. It stood there, a grid of nine blank, silent faces, staring into the room with profound emptiness. I watched from my throne atop the bookcase, my tail twitching with mild irritation. This was my space, and this new idol of hollow plastic was an unwelcome intruder. Then came the offerings. Two sets of small, plump pillows, one a startling blood-red, the other the color of a summer sky. The taller human, the one who is slower with the distribution of treats, picked one up. He made a strange motion, a sort of windmilling of the arm, and sent the sky-colored pillow flying. It struck one of the blank faces with a hollow *thwack*. The face spun wildly for a moment before settling on a symbol: O. The human grunted in satisfaction. The other human responded, tossing a red pillow and flipping another face to an X. It was a cryptic conversation, a silent argument between void and slash. I descended from my perch, gliding silently across the rug. What did these symbols mean? O for "Outside"? X for "No"? Was this how they decided my fate? Whether the door to the patio would be opened or if the can of salmon would remain sealed? They continued their bizarre ritual, their grunts and cheers echoing in the room, completely oblivious to the existential drama I was experiencing. They were bartering with a plastic oracle, and I had to know its secrets. When a red pillow landed astray near the leg of the sofa, I saw my opportunity. This was no mere game piece; it was a syllable, a word in their strange, percussive language. I crept forward, snatched it in my teeth—it had a satisfying, dusty taste—and bolted. I didn't stop until I reached the laundry room, where I deposited the red X on the pile of warm towels in the basket. There. I had made my statement. I had cast my own vote in this strange congress. The humans could have their O's. My contribution was final: X. As in, "X-tremely soft and warm, right here, is where the focus should be." Let them decipher that.