Pete's Expert Summary
My staff, in their ongoing and largely fruitless quest to entertain a being far beyond their comprehension, have procured what appears to be a taxidermied rodent. The brand, Folkmanis, suggests a certain level of quality, so I can assume it won't disintegrate upon my first investigative bite. This is a "Groundhog Hand Puppet," meaning its primary function relies entirely on the clumsy appendage of a human to give it the illusion of life. It’s a large, realistic-looking creature, which might trigger a flicker of my primal hunting instinct. However, its total dependence on the human for animation means it will spend most of its existence as an inert, fuzzy lump. A potentially thrilling opponent for a few minutes, but ultimately just another piece of decorative clutter I’ll have to nap around.
Key Features
- Easily animate the antics of this engaging Groundhog Hand Puppet
- Ideal for stage and puppet theater, storytelling, teaching, daycare, pre-school, pretend play, role-playing, presentations, games, collectibles, parties and gifts
- Your hand controls the mouth and expressions of this interactive woodchuck puppet
- Constructed from high-quality materials with exceptionally realistic details; easy to care for years of play
- Comfortably slips over the hand; measures 14 x 6 x 8 inches (LxWxH)
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It appeared on the arm of the sofa, a silent, furry idol in the afternoon sun. It had the shape of prey—the stout body, the beady eyes, the suggestion of powerful digging claws—but it was utterly devoid of essence. It did not breathe. It did not twitch. It did not carry the delicious, terrified scent of a living thing. I watched it from across the room, my tail a slow, metronomic pendulum of suspicion. This was not a toy. This was an effigy, a hollow husk waiting for a spirit, and I felt a deep, instinctual unease about what kind of spirit it might attract in this house. Then, the inevitable happened. The Large Human, my primary provider of sustenance and chin scratches, approached the idol. A hand—that clumsy, five-fingered enforcer of petting and can-opening—slid into the creature's back. The effect was instantaneous and deeply unnatural. The husk convulsed into a semblance of life. Its head swiveled with a jerky motion, its mouth of felt and thread gaped open, and a squeaky, offensive voice that was clearly a poor imitation of something small and wild emanated from the human's own mouth. A lesser spirit had possessed the vessel. It was a crude séance, a parlor trick of necromancy that I found both insulting and fascinating. I padded closer, my gray tuxedo immaculate against the rug, a hunter investigating a paranormal disturbance. The possessed groundhog turned to face me, its lifeless plastic eyes fixed on mine. It "spoke" again, some nonsense about shadows and winter. I ignored the clumsy ventriloquism and focused on the phenomenon itself. I extended a paw, not with the playful curve of a bat, but with the careful precision of an inquisitor. I tapped the puppet's nose. It recoiled, but not with the speed of a real rodent. It moved with the lagging, disconnected motion of the Human Hand piloting it from within. It smelled of synthetic fibers and the human's bland soap. The human eventually tired of the charade, as they always do. The hand-spirit retreated from the vessel, and the groundhog slumped back into its inert state, once again just a lifeless shell on the sofa. My verdict was clear. This was not an enemy to be vanquished or a companion for play. It was a curiosity, a flawed piece of household magic. When animated by its clumsy spiritual guide, it offered a brief, bizarre spectacle worthy of detached observation. When unanimated, it was simply a very well-made pillow. I will permit its existence, if only to study the strange symbiosis between it and my staff.
