Pete's Expert Summary
So, The Staff has acquired this… thing. It’s an effigy of some secondary character from that rather loud canine-centric television programme they sometimes watch. Based on my observations, this "Bob Bilby" is a hand puppet. Its primary function is for a human to insert their clumsy appendage inside and animate this lump of felt, presumably for the amusement of a less discerning audience. Its singular listed feature is that it is "plush," which I concede is the absolute minimum requirement for any object seeking to enter my domain. While its softness might make for a passable chin rest during a sunbeam nap, the inherent need for The Staff's active, and likely undignified, participation makes the entire concept deeply suspect. It is, in essence, a fuzzy glove with a face, a tool for a performance I have no intention of applauding.
Key Features
- 1 Plush
A Tale from Pete the Cat
I first encountered the creature lying limp on the velvet armchair, a territory I had only recently relinquished for a brief tour of the kitchen. It was a peculiar specimen, mostly brown with a long, vulnerable-looking nose and ears that flopped with an air of tragic surrender. It smelled faintly of cardboard and The Staff's cloying hand lotion. My initial assessment was that this was a new, oddly-shaped pillow, a tribute offered to me for my continued gracious presence. I circled it twice, prodded its soft flank with a single, perfectly manicured claw, and, finding it satisfactory, settled against it. The plushness was acceptable, providing excellent support for my distinguished tuxedoed chest. All was right in the world. The peace was shattered when The Staff entered the room. With a gasp of what I can only assume was jealousy, they snatched the pillow away from me. The sheer audacity. But the horror was only just beginning. They committed a great desecration, shoving their entire hand into the very core of my new pillow, which suddenly lurched to life. Its head wobbled, its vacant eyes stared into the middle distance, and a high, squeaky voice emanated from The Staff's general direction. "Hello, Pete! I'm Bob Bilby! Wanna play?" I stared, unblinking. This was not play. This was an insult to my intelligence. The creature, this "Bob," bobbed and weaved with the clumsy, uncoordinated rhythm of a human trying to imitate life. It was a grotesque pantomime. I gave it a look of such profound disdain that The Staff's falsetto faltered. I turned my back, tail giving a single, dismissive flick, and began to groom a perfectly clean shoulder with intense focus. The message was clear: this performance was beneath my notice. Eventually, the charade ended. The Staff, sighing, removed their hand, and the creature collapsed back into its proper, inanimate state. They tossed it back onto the armchair. I waited a full five minutes, to assert my dominance over the timeline of events, before gracefully leaping back up. The puppet was once again a pillow. Its brief, humiliating career as a performer was over. I pushed it into a more agreeable shape, rested my chin upon its head, and closed my eyes. As a toy, it was a catastrophic failure. As a bespoke napping accessory, however... it would suffice. For now.
