Pete's Expert Summary
So, the Human has acquired a box containing one thousand flat, colorful squares of pressed wood pulp. The stated goal is to assemble them into a large, singular image of some sort of oversized, slick fish. A "dolphin," they call it. Honestly, the final picture is irrelevant. The true value lies in the individual components. A thousand potential projectiles, each perfectly shaped for batting under the sofa, hiding in heating vents, or simply carrying off to my lair for later consideration. While the Human's frustrating, table-bound activity seems a colossal waste of good napping hours, the "toy" itself presents a significant opportunity for tactical relocation and general disruption. The potential for "lost" pieces is, I must admit, quite high.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The initial unveiling was a cacophony of rustling plastic and the dry, papery scent of cardboard. The Human, with the sort of misplaced enthusiasm I usually reserve for a freshly opened can of tuna, dumped the contents onto the large table in the sunbeam room. A cascade of colorful confetti, an explosion of chaos. My interest was piqued not by the whole, but by the parts. I leaped onto a nearby chair to observe this fool’s errand, this exercise in primitive cartography. The Human began turning pieces over, one by one, a tedious and repetitive motion that soon lulled me into a state of supreme indifference. My tail gave a lazy thump-thump against the cushion. My patrol began an hour later. The Human had assembled a pathetic little border of flat, blue pieces. I stalked the perimeter of the table, a gray tuxedoed inspector on my rounds. The pieces were a jumble of color and shape, but as I drew closer, I noticed something remarkable. The larger image of the shiny fish was itself composed of thousands of minuscule photographs. And on one particular piece, a tab-ended sliver of dark blue near the dolphin’s eye, was a tiny, almost imperceptible image. I froze, pupils dilating. It was a picture of a hummingbird, wings a blur, frozen in time. A bird. A perfect, beautiful, *un-catchable* bird, imprisoned in cardboard. A switch flipped within my mind. This was no longer the Human’s silly game. This was a rescue mission. That piece, that single, insignificant fragment of a much larger, blander picture, became the sole focus of my existence. I watched for days as the Human’s clumsy fingers fumbled around it, occasionally picking it up, examining it, and then, mercifully, placing it back in the unsorted sea. They were getting closer to the section where it belonged. The audacity. They meant to lock my hummingbird away forever, surrounded by an endless, watery prison. The opportunity came on a Tuesday. The Human, groaning in frustration, stood up to "stretch their legs" and fetch more of that bitter brown water they drink. Their back was turned. This was it. I made no sound as I launched myself from the chair to the table, my paws landing with practiced silence amidst the cardboard clutter. I ignored the siren song of a thousand other swattable pieces. My eyes were locked on the prize. A quick, precise dip of my head, a gentle grasp of my teeth on the piece, and I was away. I leaped from the table and vanished under the grand armchair in the corner. The Human will search for hours. They will curse the "American Puzzles" company for a miscount. They will never know that their grand dolphin is forever blind in one eye, and that I am curled up, purring, guarding a priceless treasure. The toy is a failure, but its finest component is now mine.
