Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite and often baffling wisdom, has acquired what appears to be a thin, flat rectangle of processed wood pulp. This "Penny Press Puzzle" book is, I deduce, a stationary trap for the human mind. The staff is meant to stare at its grids and, using a pointy stick, fill them with words that apparently go in every conceivable direction. For me, its appeal is minimal. It does not skitter, it does not chirp, and it is not infused with catnip. However, its 10 3/4" x 7 1/2" dimensions make it a theoretically acceptable platform for sitting upon, particularly if the human is attempting to use it. Its primary function seems to be diverting attention that could, and should, be directed toward filling my food bowl or providing chin scratches. A potential waste of time, unless strategically napped upon.
Key Features
- A challenging twist on traditional fill in puzzles.
- Volume 413
- Measures 10 3/4" x 7 1/2" and contains 64 pages
- Fill the diagram with all the words in the word list. The words from each group start on their matching number and they will read in all directions: forward, backward, up, down and diagonally. Words from different groups sometimes overlap; therefore, some letters will be used more than once. When the puzzle is completed, all the squares be filled.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The new operative arrived in a plain brown wrapper, an unassuming package that belied the sophisticated nature of the threat within. My human placed it on the coffee table—my coffee table—and I watched from my perch on the armchair, tail twitching. It called itself "Volume 413." A code name, clearly. I recognized the manufacturer, Penny Press, a known purveyor of these attention-sinks. This one, however, was different. I overheard the human muttering about its unique challenge: words that moved not just forward and back, but up, down, and diagonally, a chaotic web designed to ensnare a simple primate mind. This was not a simple crossword; this was psychological warfare. My surveillance began in earnest that evening. The human opened the operative, revealing a stark grid of black and white squares. A sharpened graphite wand was produced. The human’s focus narrowed, their gaze locked onto the page. They were falling into the trap. I had to intervene. A direct assault was too crude. This required finesse. I began with a casual, silent drop to the floor, followed by a theatrical yawn and stretch, positioning myself just within the human's peripheral vision. No response. The operative’s hold was stronger than I anticipated. My approach shifted. I leaped onto the couch, landing with a soft thud that was impossible to ignore. I sauntered over, my plush gray tuxedo a stark contrast to the sterile pages of the puzzle book. The human’s hand, holding the wand, was tracing a path across the grid. It was the point of connection, the conduit through which the operative was stealing my human’s devotion. With the precision of a seasoned hunter, I extended a single, soft paw and gently tapped the moving wand. It skittered sideways, leaving a faint gray streak across a series of empty squares. The human blinked, breaking the trance. "Oh. Pete. You want to help?" Help? No. I wanted to conquer. But I saw my opening. I settled myself with deliberate slowness, planting my perfectly soft, warm body directly over the lower half of the puzzle grid. The human sighed, a sound of gentle defeat. The wand was set aside. A hand, now free from its nefarious task, found its way to the spot just behind my ears. I began to purr, a low rumble of victory. The operative, Volume 413, was silent beneath me. It was no toy, not in the traditional sense. It was a battlefield. And on this day, the field was mine. It is unworthy of play, but it makes a most excellent trophy.
