Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a box of stiff paper and cardboard called "Ultimate Pub Trivia." It appears to be an elaborate ritual for bipeds where they gather in groups, shout strange words at each other, and completely neglect their primary duty: adoring me. The brand, "University Games," sounds dreadfully academic and lacking in any understanding of proper feather-toy physics. While the box itself might offer a geometrically pleasing napping surface, the contents—bits of paper with questions about "sports" and "pop culture"—are an utter waste of pulp that could have been used for more shreddable packing material. This is clearly a scheme to distract the staff from what truly matters, and I suspect it offers zero playability unless one enjoys batting flimsy cards under the sofa.
Key Features
- PUB QUIZ AT HOME: bring the weekly pub trivia night home to play in teams or host your own live-streamed trivia night using questions from the game!
- TEST YOUR WITS: play with original trivia questions covering 5 different categories
- 5 DIFFERENT CATEGORIES: play in teams and answer questions that cover 5 different pop culture categories like sports, past present and future, pop culture, anything goes, and literature
- FAMILY GAME NIGHT: drinking is optional but not required for this game, perfect for 4 or more players ages 12 and up
- BE THE QUIZMASTER: Host your own live stream pub quiz events on Youtube, Twitch, Instagram or Facebook easily and effortlessly with content from the game
- Check out our video to learn more and see the game in action
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The evening's tranquility was shattered by the crinkle of cellophane. The box appeared, a garish thing promising "Ultimate Pub Trivia." Soon, the humans divided themselves into factions, their voices rising in a cacophony of competitive zeal. They designated one of them—the one who is least reliable with the timing of wet food—as the "Quizmaster." A laughable title. I, stretched languidly on the highest point of the cat tree, knew who the true master of this quiz, and this entire house, was. They began with "Literature." A simple question about a "whale." I’ve dispatched bigger dust bunnies. They stumbled, argued. I flicked my tail in disdain. Their "Quizmaster" read the next question from the "Anything Goes" category. This was my chance. As the teams conferred in frantic whispers, I leaped silently from my perch, landing squarely in the center of the table. The flimsy cards skittered, but I ignored them. I was not here to cause chaos; I was here to assume my rightful position. I stared down the so-called Quizmaster, my gaze imperious. A hush fell over the room. They understood. I was now in charge. When a team ventured an answer I deemed acceptable (or at least amusingly wrong), I would reward them with a slow, deliberate blink. An incorrect or boring answer earned a flick of my ear and a pointed turn of my head toward my empty food bowl. They began to play for my approval, not for points. "What's the capital of Vermont?" one of them read. The answer was irrelevant. The real question was, could they say "Montpelier" in a tone that pleased their feline overlord? The game ended not when the box dictated, but when I decided it was time for my evening constitutional to the litter box. I hopped off the table, giving the entire setup a final, dismissive glance. As a toy, it is a catastrophic failure. But as a pedestal? As a stage upon which I could demonstrate the art of true judgment and control? For that purpose, it excelled. They learned a valuable lesson tonight: trivia is temporary, but the authority of a well-groomed cat is eternal. The game is worthy, but only as an accessory to my reign.
