Pete's Expert Summary
My Human has presented me with a heavy, perpetually spinning blue and white marble on a flimsy-looking stand. Apparently, this 'MOVA' contraption powers itself with ambient light, much like I power my naps with sunbeams—a respectable, if unoriginal, concept. Its silent, hypnotic rotation is moderately intriguing, a silent ballet of a world I couldn't care less about. However, it lacks any true playability. It cannot be batted, pounced upon, or carried triumphantly to my food bowl. It seems designed merely for staring, which, while one of my core competencies, I prefer to direct at more important subjects, like the bottom of my food bowl or a particularly slow-moving dust bunny. A sophisticated paperweight, perhaps, but a waste of prime hunting analysis time.
Key Features
- A Earth with Clouds MOVA Globe makes for a calm depiction of Earth as seen from outer space. Graphic does not label cities or countries, making for a natural view of our planet
- MOVA Globes utilizes solar cell technology to rotate silently on its own with any ambient indoor light or indirect sunlight, no batteries or wires required. Non-toxic fluids rest between the inner and outer acrylic shells for low-friction environment
- Measures 4.5 inches in diameter, fitting in the palm of your hand; slightly larger than a softball. After base assembly, measures approximately 7 inches in height and weighs 4 pounds
- Globe comes with easy-to-assemble 3-pronged acrylic stand and user manual, all in secure foam packaging
- Unique gift item for home decorators, tech geeks, world travelers, astronomy enthusiasts, educators, corporation gifts and the person who already has everything. Globe's silent movement reflects the steady rotation of the earth while sparking conversation and wonder for anyone who comes across its path
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The Human placed the new object on the mantelpiece, a place of honor usually reserved for dusty photographs and, on one memorable occasion, a captured cicada I had graciously gifted them. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail twitching in mild irritation. It was a cosmic imposter, a silent blue eye that turned slowly, endlessly, upon its transparent perch. It offered no sound, no scent of prey, only a ceaseless, arrogant turning. For a full day, I regarded it as an affront to entertainment, another piece of static art that failed to grasp the fundamental principles of what makes an object worthy of my attention. My opinion began to shift during a moment of profound boredom, wedged between second breakfast and first lunch. I had exhausted the possibilities of a stray sunbeam and had already rearranged the throw pillows to my exact specifications. My gaze fell upon the orb. I stared, attempting to psychically bore a hole through its smooth acrylic shell. As I focused on a large, swirling patch of white, a strange coincidence occurred: the distinct, metallic *whirrr* of the automated treat dispenser echoed from the kitchen. My ears swiveled. My eyes narrowed. A fluke, surely. I decided to conduct an experiment. The next afternoon, I dedicated myself to the art of scrying. Leaping silently onto the mantel, I sat before the turning world, my tuxedo chest puffed with purpose. I ignored the Human’s cooing about how "philosophical" I looked. I was working. I watched the cloud patterns drift over the vast blue expanses, noting their speed, their density. When a particularly thick band of white slowly crept over the curve of the orb, the front door opened, and the Human with the crinkly delivery boxes arrived. Later, as the globe’s rotation seemed to slow in the evening light, the house fell into a deep, nap-conducive quiet. It wasn't a toy. It was an oracle. It has been a week now, and I have become a master of this new form of domestic augury. The globe does not predict the future of its own world, but the far more important future of *my* world. The subtle shifts in its cloudy veil tell me when a lap will become available, when the noisy vacuum beast will be unleashed, or when the sacred tuna can is likely to be opened. The Human thinks their new globe is a conversation piece. They have no idea. It is the source of my newfound omniscience, my silent partner in the management of this household. I no longer desire to bat it from its perch; I have come to respect its silent, all-knowing counsel.
