Pete's Expert Summary
Ah, yes, another vessel for my human's strange trinkets has arrived. This one, a "Yard Canvas Backpack" from a brand called Volcom, which I'm told is significant to humans who enjoy rolling around on wheeled planks, is a rather curious shade of "Dust Gold." From my vantage point, it appears to be a structured cave with multiple chambers and tantalizing dangling straps, clearly designed for batting. Its canvas construction suggests a satisfying texture for claw-testing, and its dimensions seem just adequate for a strategic, curled-up nap. However, the presence of zippers presents a frustrating barrier to immediate entry. Ultimately, its worth will be determined by how long it remains empty and pristine before my human stuffs it with their noisy, non-edible junk, ruining its potential as a first-class fortress of solitude.
Key Features
- DIMENSIONS - 17” x 11.5” x 5” (43cm x 29cm x 12.5cm)
- 2 compartment backpack
- Lower front zipper pocket w/ organizer and internal keyclip
- Ergonomic shoulder straps
- Branded woven logos
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The insult arrived in a large, crinkly box. My human extracted the beast and placed it not on the floor, but on *my* armchair—the one perfectly positioned in the afternoon sunbeam. It was an affront of the highest order. This "Volcom" intruder, a dull, mustard-hued monolith, sat there reeking of warehouse and The Outside. It had a strange black-and-white patch on its face, a tribal marking I did not recognize and therefore immediately distrusted. Its two limp tentacles, which the human called "shoulder straps," hung stupidly over the side of the chair, practically begging for a punitive swat. My first approach was one of pure intimidation. I circled the chair, tail twitching, emitting a low growl that has been known to make the vacuum cleaner hesitate. The backpack remained impassive. A new strategy was required: reconnaissance. I leaped silently onto the back of the chair, peering down at my foe. It had ridges and valleys, formed by its two main compartments. A smaller pouch was zippered shut on its front, like a smug, sealed mouth. I decided this was its weak point. I stretched a paw down, claws carefully sheathed, and prodded the zipper pull. It wiggled. More importantly, it made a faint *jingle* from within. A prize was hidden inside. The mission had changed from simple eviction to a heist. The main zippers were a formidable defense, but I am nothing if not persistent. Forgetting the treasure for a moment, I focused on the larger cavern. A few minutes of dedicated hooking with a single, expert claw and I'd created a sufficient opening. I slipped inside. The darkness was immediate and comforting. The canvas walls were rigid, holding their shape around me instead of collapsing like a cheap paper bag. It was less a bag and more of a portable den. I could still smell The Outside, but it was already being overpowered by the superior scent of me. I had not merely defeated the intruder; I had colonized it. I settled into a perfect circle, my gray and white fur a stark contrast to the dark interior. The world outside was muffled, the sunbeam a gentle warmth felt through the canvas. The human could have their chair back, for I had claimed a far superior prize. This backpack was no longer a rival for territory; it was my mobile command center, my personal armored transport. The dangling straps were no longer tentacles, but victory banners I would occasionally bat from my throne. The treasure in the front pocket could wait. For now, conquest was exhausting, and a victor's nap was in order. It is… acceptable.
