Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with what they seem to believe is an object of entertainment. It is, in fact, a set of three flat, rectangular wood-pulp slabs covered in grids and nonsensical letter-arrangements. The brand is "Generic," a word that in my experience is human-speak for "profoundly uninteresting." While the 10 3/4" x 7 1/2" dimensions offer a promising surface area for a strategic nap, I suspect the true purpose of these "puzzles" is to occupy the human's mind and hands, potentially diverting them from more important tasks, such as filling my food bowl or deploying the laser dot. Its only potential value lies in its ability to anchor a human to a couch, thus creating a warm, stable platform for my own superior forms of relaxation.
Key Features
- Issue numbers 390, 391, and 392
- Each book measures 10 3/4" x 7 1/2"
- A challenging twist on traditional fill in puzzles!
- How to solve PLACES PLEASE... Fill the diagram with all the words in the 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 will be filled.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The package arrived with the tell-tale scent of cardboard and distant warehouses, a promising overture. The human, with their usual clumsy excitement, tore it open to reveal not a crinkle ball, not a feather wand, but three thin, glossy-covered books. They were labeled 390, 391, and 392—clearly some kind of sequential cartography. I leaped onto the table for a closer inspection, my tuxedo-white paws making no sound. The air around them was thick with the scent of fresh ink and processed paper, a complex bouquet that spoke of forests and factories. This was no mere toy. This was a message. The human opened Volume 390 and began to stare intently at a grid of empty squares next to a list of words. They were trying to decipher it, I knew, but they were going about it all wrong. They were looking, not smelling. I pressed my nose to the page. It was all there, a scent map of the territory beyond the window. "PARK," "RIVER," "STREET"—each word was a faint echo of an outdoor aroma. The grid was the landscape, and the numbers were points of interest. The human, bless their simple heart, was trying to chart this world using only their eyes. An amateur. They picked up their clicking stick and made a mark. Wrong. Completely wrong. They were trying to connect "FOUNTAIN" to a spot that clearly smelled of 'stale mulch.' I couldn't stand for such incompetence. I placed a delicate gray paw directly on the number 12, which pulsed with the faint, delectable aroma of 'hot dog stand.' I stared at the human, then back at my paw, then at the word list. *There,* you fool. *Start there.* They just chuckled, called me a "silly boy," and scratched behind my ears before continuing their errant scribbling. For three days, they obsessed over these maps, moving from one volume to the next. I offered my expert consultation on each one, patiently pointing out the olfactory pathways they were missing, guiding them towards the grid coordinates that smelled faintly of 'tuna cannery' and 'spilled cream.' They never listened. They would fill the squares, declare victory, and then move on, utterly oblivious to the rich, scented narrative I had tried to reveal. My final verdict is this: these "puzzles" are fascinating documents, aromatic charts of the world my human is too sensorially dull to appreciate. They are wasted on the simple-minded, but make for an excellent, if frustrating, way to pass the time while waiting for dinner.
