Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with what appears to be a large, flat box containing a thousand potential messes. They call this "White Mountain Puzzles Music" a relaxing activity, but I see it for what it is: a territorial challenge. It's a two-foot by two-and-a-half-foot rectangle of prime table real estate that will be slowly conquered by their tedious placement of cardboard squares. The subject matter—a jumble of human faces they call "musicians"—is irrelevant. However, the promise of "thicker and larger pieces" does pique my interest. They sound robust, perfectly weighted for a discerning paw to test their aerodynamic properties on the way to the dark abyss under the sofa. The true value, of course, will be the completed surface, an ideal platform for a celebratory nap, assuming their clumsy construction meets my standards.
Key Features
- MUSIC: A celebration of popular music over the last half-century, this puzzle will make you smile, laugh, tap your feet, and sing all of your favorite songs as you piece these artists together.
- HIGH QUALITY DESIGN: This fun 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle contains thick interlocking pieces made from recycled premium blue chipboard that give a sturdy feel and easy grip. Made in the United States. Finished size is 24” x 30”.
- SPARE TIME: This puzzle comes with thicker and larger pieces, so it’s easier to grip and put together. It’s a favorite leisure activity for winter holidays or for any other relaxing time. For kids, puzzles are a unique alternative to toys.
- MORE TO PUZZLE BUILDING: Art jigsaw puzzles are a fun, inexpensive way to enjoy beautiful works of art first hand! Use to boost skills: hand-eye coordination, motor skills, problem solving, etc.
- ART & PICTURES: White Mountain presents beautiful puzzles created with photography and artwork. The paintings and photos include detailed images of natural landscapes, people, objects, and other classic designs.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The invasion began on a Tuesday. The Human, with an air of misplaced accomplishment, tore the wrapping from the box and spilled its contents onto the dining room table. A thousand colorful fragments, a chaos of eyes, guitars, and garish album art, lay scattered like the aftermath of a tiny, silent explosion. I observed from my perch on the armchair, my tail twitching with profound disinterest. It was a mess, and one I had no part in creating. I decided the box itself, a sturdy vessel of recycled blue chipboard, was the only component worthy of my immediate consideration and settled into it for a nap. Hours later, I awoke to a strange new landscape. The Human had painstakingly arranged the border and was now sorting the interior pieces into color-coded platoons. Piles of beards, shiny teeth, and flamboyant costumes lay in neat, offensive little islands. I leaped onto the table, my paws landing with a soft thud amidst a pile of what looked like 1970s hair. It was then that I noticed it: the faces. Staring up at me from the glossy fragments were dozens upon dozens of silent, expectant humans. One, a man with lightning painted on his face, seemed to challenge me. Another, a woman with a mountain of blonde hair, looked on with theatrical pity. I was not to be intimidated. I was the master of this house, the conductor of its daily rhythms. I stared back at the silent choir, the scattered audience of rock gods and pop queens. With a deliberate flick of my paw, I sent a piece—a fragment of a sequined jumpsuit—skittering across the polished wood and onto the floor. A hush seemed to fall over the other pieces. I was no mere observer; I was the critic. I walked among them, my white-tipped tail held high like a baton, nudging a stray keyboard here, sniffing disdainfully at a microphone there. I was curating the chaos, orchestrating their silent reunion. When The Human finally placed the last piece, a sliver of a famous mustache, the cacophony of images resolved into a single, static portrait. The Great Silent Choir was complete. They stared out from their flat world, now whole and unified under my supervision. I gave a slow, deliberate blink of approval. Not for the puzzle, of course—that was merely a human's trivial pastime. My approval was for the grand, sprawling, and perfectly stable napping platform they had assembled for me. I yawned, circled once, and settled directly upon the face of the man with the star on his eye, claiming my rightful throne. The performance, I decided, was finally over.
