Pete's Expert Summary
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.
Key Features
- 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
A Tale from Pete the Cat
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.
