Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in another fit of questionable judgment, has presented me with a fuzzy gray object they call a "backpack." Apparently, it's meant for a small human, but its primary feature from my perspective is its potential as a cheek-rubbing station. It's shaped like a mouse, a rather pathetic imitation of the real thing, and contains an even more pathetic plastic homunculus also dressed as a mouse. While the "fuzzy" aspect has a modicum of appeal, the entire contraption opens up into a tiny room, far too small for a proper nap. Honestly, the only surprise here is that they didn't get me the "Khloe Kitty" version, which would have been a far more appropriate, though equally useless, tribute to my kind. This seems like a tremendous waste of resources that could have been better spent on high-grade tuna.
Key Features
- FUNCTIONAL FUZZY MINI BACKPACK: Backpacks have never been this adorable. This miniature, fuzzy backpack looks like a mouse and has molded straps for on-the-go play. Includes one mini fashion doll!
- MOUSE-INSPIRED MINI DOLL: Meet Marisa Mouse! She is all about taking time for a selfie and saying cheese! She stands at 4" tall, has long wavy gray and black hair, with a mouse-inspired fuzzy hat. She wears a hoodie with "Cheesy" printed on it, skirt, and molded boots.
- OPENS UP FOR EXPANDED PLAY: Open the backpack to reveal a bedroom scene matching Marisa Mouse's-inspired style. Fit up to four Na Na Na Surprise mini dolls inside!
- TAKE ON-THE-GO: When playtime is over, pack up and take on-the-go for a new adventure.
- WHAT'S INCLUDED: backpack, doll, outfit, shoes, doll stand
- TWO STYLES TO COLLECT: Collect both Marisa Mouse and Khloe Kitty!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing was placed on my favorite rug, an offering to a god who had not requested a sacrifice. It was a soft, gray orb with ears, a caricature of a creature I hold in professional contempt: the mouse. My human called it "Marisa." A name. This was not a toy; it was an effigy. I circled it slowly, my white paws silent on the plush fibers of the rug. My task was not to play, but to conduct an interrogation. It smelled of the great cardboard box it came from, a sterile, lifeless scent. No hint of field, no trace of cheese, no soul. My first probing paw-pat was met with a dull, unsatisfying squish. This was an imposter, a hollow shell. As if on cue, my human, the ever-present accomplice, unzipped the creature's spine. The horror. Its body cavity was not filled with the humble organs of a rodent, but a miniature, garishly pink bedroom. And inside, a tiny plastic humanoid stared back at me with painted-on eyes. She wore a ludicrous little hat and a hoodie that proclaimed her allegiance to "Cheesy." This was not just an imposter; this was an infiltration. A tiny spy in a mouse-shaped vessel. I stared at the doll, this "Marisa Mouse." She was their idol, a mockery of the natural order. She stood on a tiny plastic disc, forever poised, never to scurry, never to flee, never to provide the thrill of a proper chase. This entire construct was an insult to my intelligence. It was a diorama of domestication, a playset celebrating the taming of the wild, a concept I find personally offensive. They sought to distract me with soft textures and bright colors, to make me forget the true meaning of the hunt. I made my decision. With a deliberate, unhurried motion, I turned my back on the scene. I did not swat it. I did not deign to push it from the table. To do so would be to acknowledge it as a worthy opponent. Instead, I walked to the far corner of the room, sat down, and began to meticulously groom my left shoulder, refusing to grant the fuzzy spy and its tiny plastic master another moment of my attention. Some things are beneath even a cat's idle curiosity. This was one of them.
