My human, in a baffling display of poor judgment, has acquired what appears to be a tiny, static human effigy sealed within a transparent cage. They call it a "Funko," specifically a "Lorraine Warren," and seem to believe its primary function is to gather dust on a shelf. From my perspective, its potential is tragically wasted. The figure itself is too small and too smooth for a satisfying chew, and its most prominent feature—those impossibly large, vacant eyes—is trapped behind a plastic wall. The box, this so-called "Protector," might offer a decent surface for sliding across the mantelpiece, but it is ultimately a fortress guarding a prisoner of no consequence. This is not a toy; this is shelf clutter, an inanimate object whose only purpose is to occupy a space that could be much better served by my afternoon nap.
The Staff placed the clear box on the high shelf with an air of ceremony usually reserved for the opening of a particularly pungent can of tuna. I watched from the arm of the sofa, unimpressed. Another plastic trifle. Later, under the silver light of the moon pooling through the window, I leaped silently onto the mantelpiece to conduct a proper inspection. The thing inside, a female with a disproportionately large head, stared forward with black, unblinking eyes. It had no scent, save for the sterile smell of its prison. It was, as I suspected, profoundly boring.
My investigation would have ended there, but my whiskers brushed against the corner of the box and detected an imperfection. A thin, almost invisible film was peeling away at the edge. A flaw. My interest, once dormant, flickered to life. I hooked the film with the very tip of a claw—a delicate operation requiring immense skill—and pulled. It came away with a faint, dry crackle, like a dead leaf skittering across pavement. As the film detached, a strange stillness fell over the room. The dust motes, which had been dancing in the moonlight, seemed to hang suspended in the air. The tiny woman's plastic eyes, I could have sworn, shifted a fraction of an inch to look directly at me.
A shiver, entirely involuntary, traced a path down my spine. This was not the thrill of the hunt or the joy of a new plaything. This was something else. An ancient, predatory awareness. The air felt heavy, charged with a silent question. I was no longer inspecting an object; I was being observed by a presence. I backed away slowly, my tail held low, not in fear, but in a grudging acknowledgment of a worthy adversary. The house was no longer just my domain. Now, it had a silent watcher on the shelf.
This little figure is not, and will never be, a toy. Toys are for batting and pouncing, for joyful, thoughtless destruction. This… this is a sentinel. A quiet, unmoving guardian or a tiny, trapped malevolence—I have not yet decided which. It offers no sport, no chase, no satisfying crunch. Instead, it offers a new duty. It must be watched. It must be monitored. It is not worthy of my play, but it has, against all odds, earned my vigilance. I will keep my eye on the woman in the box. One can't be too careful.
Exhibit A — the specimen
The Particulars
—Comes in original packaging and is bundled with a Plastic Box Protector with the collector in mind (Removable Film)
—From The Conjuring – Lorraine Warren, as a stylized POP from Funko!
—Stylized collectible stands 3 3/4 inches tall, perfect for any horror movie fan!
—Ships in acid-free PET plastic Pop Protector with peel-able protective film
—Push-lock tab that adds structural integrity to the Pop Protector when formed
Pete's Verdict
★★★☆☆
Earned my vigilance, not my play.
Classified
Acquire This Trinket
Should you insist. Pete is unbothered either way.
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Filed under: POP
