Pete's Expert Summary
My human has brought another one of these flat-box distractions into my domain. This one, by a company called White Mountain, is apparently a "puzzle" filled with 1,000 "extra large" pieces of cardboard depicting a chaotic menagerie of flat, two-dimensional humans from their glowing rectangle. While the art is utterly meaningless to me, the sheer quantity of small, sturdy, and eminently battable pieces is intriguing. The true value, however, lies in the large, 24 x 30 inch territory it will inevitably claim on a prime lounging surface. This presents a delightful strategic challenge: either I conquer this new landscape for napping, or I systematically dismantle it piece by piece, reminding the staff who truly owns this house. It has potential, but only as a stage for my own superior games.
Key Features
- Television families: from the Flintstones, My three sons and the Munsters, to the Simpsons, the waltons and duck Dynasty; enjoy all the fun TV families featured on this cleverly illustrated puzzle.
- 1000-Piece puzzle: thrill and challenge your family and friends piecing together this incredible 1000-Piece jigsaw puzzle. Bring home hours of fun and entertainment everyone will enjoy.
- About the artist: working out of his home studio for almost 20 years, James Mellett is a freelance Illustrator. Mellett is known, awarded, and recognized for his astounding sports art.
- More to puzzle building: art jigsaw puzzles are a fun, inexpensive way to enjoy works of art firsthand. Use to boost valuable motor skills, hand-eye coordination, and problem solving skills.
- Specifics: includes 1, 000 extra large puzzle pieces made of sturdy blue chipboard on recycled paper. Puzzle Dimensions (completed): 24 x 30 inches. 100% customer satisfaction. Made in USA.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The invasion began on a Tuesday. The box, a promising vessel for a nap, was unceremoniously emptied onto the dining room table, its contents spilling out like a plague of colorful cardboard locusts. My table. The very same table where, from 2 PM to 4 PM, a perfect rectangle of afternoon sun creates the single most glorious napping spot in the entire hemisphere. The humans, my so-called caretakers, began their bizarre ritual, poring over the chaos. They called it "TV Families." I called it an act of war. For the first day, I was a ghost, a whisper of gray fur and silent paws. I observed from the high ground of the cat tree, my eyes narrowing as I watched their clumsy strategy. They sorted the edge pieces, their murmurs of "got one!" a grating affront to the afternoon silence. They were building a border, a wall around my territory. I noted their patterns, the way the female human would place a piece, lean back to admire her work, and then take a sip of her foul-smelling herbal water. This was her moment of weakness, her moment of pride. And pride, as I have observed, often precedes a mysterious and unsolvable disappearance. My target was a piece from the garish yellow family they seemed so proud of assembling. It was a corner of a square window, unremarkable yet clearly essential. Under the cover of their dinner preparations, I leaped silently onto the table. The "sturdy blue chipboard" felt solid under my paws, a quality surface for my work. Ignoring the thousand other temptations for random destruction, I located my target. With the surgical precision of a seasoned hunter, I hooked it with a single claw and gave it a gentle, controlled flick. It skittered beautifully across the polished wood and disappeared into the dark abyss under the sideboard. I then retired to my evening grooming spot, the very picture of innocence. The ensuing search was music to my ears. The sighs, the crawling on the floor, the accusations. "Are you *sure* you put it there?" It was glorious. My campaign continued for three days. A piece of a red-headed caveman's tunic. The top of a pointy-haired child's head. Each disappearance was a masterpiece of stealth and timing. By Friday, their morale was broken. The project was declared "too frustrating" and swept back into its box. As the clock struck two, I hopped onto the now-liberated table, stretched out my gray-and-white frame, and settled into the warm, golden rectangle of sun. The puzzle was a worthy opponent, but its ultimate purpose was simply to remind the humans of the supreme importance of my comfort. A lesson well taught.
