Pete's Expert Summary
My human has acquired a new transport vessel from the Funko corporation, a purveyor of those lifeless, big-headed statues that gather dust on shelves. This one, a so-called "backpack," is apparently an homage to some orange-skinned warrior and a small green creature from their space operas. It is essentially a large nylon pouch meant for hauling their unnecessary belongings whenever they foolishly venture into the Great Outdoors. Its construction of nylon promises some satisfying crinkle noises, and its generous dimensions could, in theory, create a rather nice, dark, temporary cave for a cat of my stature. However, its primary purpose is to *leave*, which is an offensive concept. The grey color is dignified, I'll grant it that, but the busy pattern is rather pedestrian. It has potential as a stationary fortress, but as a "toy," it's a non-starter.
Key Features
- Walk the path of Jedi with the Funko Star Wars Ahsoka AOP Nylon Backpack!
- The allover print of this bag features a motif of Ahsoka, Grogu , and Ahsoka’s facial markings against a cool grey background
- With a large main pocket, a hidden zipper pocket, and two side pockets, this stellar backpack has plenty of room for carrying all your Jedi gear across the galaxy or wherever your journey takes you! Straps and accents in grey compliment the print on this stylish backpack
- The Funko Star Wars Ahsoka AOP Nylon Backpack is made of nylon
- Backpack has adjustable shoulder straps, side pockets, and silver-colored metal hardware. Additional features include a large carrying handle and printed details. Take note of the coordinating inside lining. This backpack is an officially licensed Disney product. Backpack dimensions: 11.5”W x 17.5”H x 5”D
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The new emissary arrived without fanfare, deposited unceremoniously on the Persian rug that serves as the neutral zone in my domain. It was a monolith of grey nylon, a stark, modern structure covered in what appeared to be primitive, repeating hieroglyphs—the face of a striped warrior woman and a green, long-eared whelp. My human called it "Ahsoka." I called it an affront. As the sovereign of this household, it was my duty to inspect this foreign object and determine its intent. Was it a Trojan horse filled with inferior kibble? A vessel for a trip to the V-E-T? I observed from my velvet throne, tail twitching in judicial contemplation. I descended to the floor, my paws silent on the rug. The emissary smelled of plastic and the distant, sterile world of warehouses. It was cold to the touch. I circled it three times, a traditional rite of assessment. Its straps, limp and lifeless, offered no sport when batted. Its silver metal clasps were unyielding and devoid of intrigue. This was clearly not an offering of peace or play. It was a utilitarian container, a diplomatic pouch from the realm of errands and obligations, and I was deeply unimpressed with its credentials. My inspection, however, was not complete. The main port, a zippered maw, had been left slightly agape by my careless human. This was the invitation I required. With a delicate nudge of my nose, I widened the opening and peered into the darkness within. The interior was a coordinated chaos of the same symbols, a dizzying display. But it was also a void. A silent, still cavern, empty of the human's clutter. The nylon walls muffled the sound of the television, creating a sudden, blissful pocket of quiet in the center of the living room. Stepping inside, I felt the world recede. This was not a toy. This was an embassy. A private consulate for a ruler in need of a moment's peace. It was a portable chamber for strategic thought and undisturbed napping, far superior to any simple cardboard box. I curled up, my distinguished grey and white fur a stark, elegant contrast to the busy inner lining. The emissary was no plaything, but it had proven its worth as a piece of architecture. I would grant it diplomatic immunity, on the condition that it remain here, on my floor, as my personal retreat. The human could buy another one for their pointless journeys. This one was now state property.
