Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a "Care Bear," a relic from their own juvenile past, I presume. This one is a garishly pink specimen named "Cheer Bear." It's a 14-inch plush object, purportedly made of "super soft" material, which is its only potentially redeeming quality. Its primary features seem to be an unblinking, saccharine smile and a ludicrous rainbow painted on its stomach. While the size is adequate for a proper wrestling match to hone my predatory skills, its overall purpose appears to be "snuggling," a passive and frankly boring activity. I suspect this will either become a superior, albeit brightly colored, napping pillow, or a monument to my human's poor taste that I will be forced to ignore.
Key Features
- SOFT, SNUGGABLE PLUSHIE: Made from sustainable materials and super soft, 14" Cheer Bear's plush fur is so snuggable you'll never want to put your bestie down! Get ready for unlimited bear hugs!
- PERFECTLY SIZED: Featured in a beautiful 14-inch plush scale, Cheer Bear is the perfect size for taking on adventures of sharing and caring!
- UNIQUE BELLY BADGE: Cheer Bear wears a beautiful belly badge featuring a colorful rainbow! She is a very happy Care Bear and reminds us to see the bright side of life!
- FUN PERSONALITY: Each Care Bear bestie is designed with their own unique personality; 14" Cheer Bear radiates positivity with a great big smile!
- GREAT GIFT IDEA: Sharing is caring! Cheer Bear and all of the Care Bear besties are perfect for any gift-giving occasion! Collect them all!
- Facial expressions and packaging may vary from the displayed images
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in a cardboard prison, which was, for a moment, the most exciting part of the afternoon. My human, with the sort of ceremony usually reserved for the opening of a particularly pungent can of tuna, released the creature. It was an assault on the senses—a shocking monolith of pink fur plopped onto the dignified gray of the living room rug. "This is Cheer Bear, Pete!" the human chirped. "She's going to be your new bestie!" I narrowed my eyes from my perch on the armchair. A "bestie"? This silent, smiling fluff-and-stuff idol with a rainbow emblazoned on its torso was not a "bestie." It was an intruder. For hours, I watched it. The bear did nothing, its sewn-on smile a constant, unnerving beacon of false positivity. It radiated an aura of relentless optimism that I found deeply offensive. When the human was distracted, I slunk down from the chair for a closer inspection. The fur, I grudgingly admitted, was of a high caliber—dense and silky, not unlike my own magnificent tuxedo coat. I gave its foot a tentative pat. It wobbled pathetically. This was no warrior. This was a victim. My plan was simple: tactical annihilation. I crouched low, my tail twitching like a metronome of doom, then launched myself. My initial attack was a full-body tackle, sending the pink nuisance tumbling. I pounced on its fallen form, sinking my front claws into its plush shoulders and my back claws into its abdomen, right over that absurd rainbow. I began the ceremonial disembowelment kicks, a rapid-fire thumping against its soft, yielding belly. It offered no resistance, only a soft *whump-whump-whump* as my feet connected. It was a deeply unsatisfying victory. Exhausted from my one-sided battle, I remained draped over my conquered foe, my breath coming in ragged pants. And then I noticed it. The plush body had molded perfectly around me. My head was cradled by its ridiculously cheerful face, and its soft torso was a cushion of unparalleled comfort. The battle was over, and I had not only won, but I had acquired new territory. This "Cheer Bear" was no friend. It was furniture. And as far as furniture goes, it is exceptionally comfortable. It can stay, not as a companion, but as a monument to my victory and a superior place to nap.