Pete's Expert Summary
So, The Staff has procured a pair of plastic aquatic imposters from a company brazenly named 'Robo Alive'. The concept is simple, even for a human: you immerse these facsimiles in water, and they are meant to spring to "life," swimming in various directions and even changing color. While the promise of a moving target that doesn't require me to go outside is mildly stimulating to my primal hunting instincts, it all seems like a great deal of effort requiring a significant water receptacle for what is, ultimately, a glorified, battery-operated bath toy. It is a spectacle, certainly, but whether it is a spectacle worthy of interrupting a perfectly good sunbeam nap remains to be seen.
Key Features
- ZURU Robo Fish: Drop your Robo Fish in water and watch it come to life with ZURU’s advanced water activated technology!
- Hyper Realistic: Robo Fish look and move just like real fish and swim in 5 different directions.
- Color Change Technology: Watch your Robo Fish magically change colour when dropped in water!
- 6 to Collect: There are 6 different colored Robo Fish to collect to complete your Robo Aquarium!
- Prank your friends: Prank your friends with the ultra-realistic technology of Robo Fish!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The ceremony began in the Sun Room, my personal solarium. The Human, with an air of theatrical importance, produced a large, clear glass bowl—an object I usually associate with a tragic lack of tuna. She filled it with water, creating a shimmering, miniature world on the floor of my domain. Then, from a crackling plastic prison, she freed two captives: one a shocking shade of pink, the other a cheap, glittering gold. They were stiff, lifeless. I gave a dismissive flick of my ear and began grooming a perfectly acceptable patch of fur on my shoulder, feigning disinterest. She dropped them in. There was no splash, just a quiet *plink*. For a moment, nothing. I allowed a smirk to form. Another failed trinket. But then, a twitch. The golden one shuddered, its tail vibrating with an unnatural energy, and began to move. It swam not with the grace of a real fish, but with the frantic, buzzing energy of a trapped fly. The pink one followed suit, its body magically shifting to a strange purple hue as it submerged. They were an affront to nature, an undead ballet of plastic and circuits. They were utterly horrifying. I was captivated. I crept forward, my tuxedo-white paws silent on the hardwood floor. My body was low, my tail a rigid metronome marking my burgeoning obsession. These were not fish. They were not prey. They were something else entirely—a paradox. They were alive, but not. They moved with purpose, but had no mind. I watched them circle each other in their glass prison, their tiny gears whirring just below the surface noise of the water. I raised a paw, hesitating. I would not deign to get my fur wet for such a ridiculous charade. Instead, I simply sat, a silent, grey sentinel, judging their performance. The golden one bumped against the glass in front of me, its vacant black eyes staring into my soul. I did not flinch. I had seen true emptiness before, usually in the bottom of my food bowl five minutes before dinner. This was different. This was a challenge. A silent, mechanical dare. I decided then and there that this hydraulic conundrum was, for now, a worthy diversion. I would study it. I would understand its secrets. And then, I would decide its fate.
