Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has procured a new lump for the household. This specimen, a so-called "Warren The Boar" from the Squishmallows collective, appears to be a plush, spherical creature of minimal utility. It lacks strings, feathers, or any component that might engage a sophisticated predator such as myself. Its primary advertised quality seems to be its 'softness,' which, while a noble attribute for a napping surface, is utterly useless for a proper hunt. I suspect this is less of a toy and more of a stationary obstacle, one whose only potential saving grace might be its function as a chin rest, should my usual velvet cushion be temporarily indisposed.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The incident began as a violation of territorial sanctity. I was meditating in a patch of afternoon sun, contemplating the transient nature of a dust mote, when the human placed it before me. It was a round, gray anomaly with a vacant expression and two comically inadequate tusks. An intruder. This "Warren," as they called it, sat there, a silent, doughy monument to poor taste. It did not blink. It did not scurry. It simply absorbed the light, offering nothing in return. I narrowed my eyes, my tail beginning its low, metronomic sweep of disapproval. This was an insult to my intelligence. My first reconnaissance mission was one of pure intimidation. I circled the creature slowly, emitting a low growl that has been known to make the mail carrier flinch. The boar remained impassive. I moved to phase two: a tactical pat with a single, extended claw. I expected resistance, a satisfying tear, some sign of structural integrity. Instead, my claw sank into the fabric as if it were a tiny, dense cloud. There was no sound, only a profound and unsettling softness. It was... disarming. The thing yielded completely, offering no challenge, only a plush, silent surrender. This called for a new approach. If it could not be an adversary, perhaps it could be assessed for another purpose. I sniffed its flank. It smelled of nothing, a blank slate. Intriguing. Warily, I pressed my head against its side. The creature gave way, molding itself around my skull like a bespoke helmet of comfort. It was absurdly pleasant. With a sigh of weary resignation to my fate, I abandoned all pretense of aggression. I kneaded its squishy surface for a moment, my paws sinking into its marshmallow-like core, and then curled my body against it. Warren the Boar was not a toy. He was not a friend. He was, I concluded, a high-quality, self-adjusting, ergonomic support pillow. He was infrastructure. As I felt a purr rumbling in my chest, a deep and profound vibration of approval, I closed my eyes. The sun warmed my gray fur, the boar cushioned my regal form, and for the first time that day, all was right in my world. The intruder had been subjugated, repurposed into a piece of luxury bedding. He could stay.
