Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a flat, square box from a brand called "Mudpuppy," a name that already offends my sensibilities. Inside, apparently, are 500 small, flat pieces of cardboard that, when arranged correctly, form an image of my kind impersonating various human noisemakers. While the tribute is noted—it is only natural for the less-evolved to emulate perfection—the activity itself seems dreadfully static. The humans will stare at these inanimate squares for hours, a colossal waste of time that could be spent providing me with chin scratches or premium cuts of tuna. The only redeeming qualities I can foresee are the potential for batting loose pieces into the abyss beneath the sofa and the high probability that the box itself will be a prime, perfectly-sized napping location.
Key Features
- 500-PIECE PUZZLE – The 500-piece Music Cats Puzzle from Mudpuppy is perfect for family fun! Everyone young and old will enjoy watching the amusing cat scene slowly come together The finished puzzle measures 20” x 20”
- STUNNING DETAILS – Piece together this cat jigsaw puzzle to reveal various feline portraits inspired by the world’s greatest musical meowsters! From David Bowie, Meowyonce, Purrince, Dolly Purrton and more, there’s something here for everyone!
- PERFECT FOR FAMILY FUN – This delightfully entertaining jigsaw puzzle is ideal for ages 8 to 99, so it’s the ideal addition to your next family fun night It also makes a great gift idea for any cat lover or puzzle lover – even if it’s for yourself!
- STURDY STORAGE BOX – Packaged in an 8” x 8” x 2” storage box, you’ll always have a place to safely keep pieces together and free from damage when not in use
- SCREEN-FREE FUN – For over 25 years, Mudpuppy has created quality non-digital puzzles, games and toys for children and families that facilitate creative play and imaginative thinking All Mudpuppy products adhere to CPSIA, ASTM, and CE Safety Regulations
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived with an air of smug self-importance, its colorful surface promising "Hours of Family Fun." I yawned. The Human, my primary staff member, sliced the seal and dumped a confetti of chaos onto the dining room table. A thousand tiny, colorful edges. An absolute mess. She called it a puzzle. I called it an insult to organized matter. For the first hour, I observed from my perch on the armchair, watching her and her mate squint, mutter, and occasionally celebrate the successful joining of two pathetic little pieces. It was, as predicted, a monument to boredom. My curiosity, a fickle and treacherous beast, eventually got the better of me. I leaped silently onto the table, a gray shadow amidst their manufactured clutter. I sniffed a piece. It smelled of ink and processed wood pulp, nothing more. But then, my eye caught a sliver of an image. A flash of orange fur, a shock of red, and a single, electric-blue lightning bolt over an eye. I froze. I had seen this human before, on the strange singing box. The one with the mesmerizing, mismatched eyes. Here, he was one of us. Perfected. The human murmured, "That's David Meowie, Pete." I knew. I began to patrol the perimeter of their work area, not as a pet, but as a silent partner in this strange artistic endeavor. My patrol was a lie, of course. My true mission was sabotage. I located a piece with a particularly smug-looking cat in a purple coat and, with a flick of my tail, sent it skittering off the edge of the table. It disappeared with a soft *tink* on the hardwood floor. One down. Next, a piece that was clearly part of a glamorous feline's sequined jumpsuit—Meowyoncé, I presumed—was nudged delicately under the edge of the placemat. The humans were so engrossed they didn't notice their project was being subtly, expertly curated by a master of stealth. Hours later, they were finished, save for two conspicuously missing shapes. They searched, they sighed, they accused one another. I simply groomed a forepaw, feigning disinterest. They would never find them. Let their masterpiece remain forever incomplete, a testament to their inability to secure their workspace from a superior intellect. The puzzle itself was a decent tribute, I'll admit. But the real game, the true art, was the one only I was playing. The finished 20-inch square now serves as a rather nice, if slightly holey, coaster for my afternoon nap, a constant reminder of my victory.
