Pete's Expert Summary
My Human, in a clear lapse of judgment, has acquired a set of plastic totems from the overly cheerful Disney corporation. It appears to be a bucket—a gaudy yellow one, no less—filled with small, squeaky-looking effigies of some bear and his woodland sycophants. They are apparently designed for something called 'bath time,' a barbaric ritual involving water and indignity that I want no part of. The straining lid on the bucket is a mild curiosity, but the figures themselves are doomed. While their size is optimal for being batted under the heaviest furniture, their intended aquatic destiny renders them tragically unsuitable for a sophisticated creature of dry land such as myself.
Key Features
- Winnie the Pooh, Tigger, Eeyore, Piglet and Roo too, are sure to make a playtime splash in the bath. The set comes in a plastic bucket that features a pour spout and handle, plus a straining lid.
- Includes bucket with straining lid and five figures
- Figures include: Winnie the Pooh, Tigger, Eeyore, Piglet and Roo
- Bucket features pour spout and attached plastic handle
- Plastic lid features medium sized straining holes
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The artifact arrived in a vessel the color of a loud, obnoxious canary. I observed from my perch on the armchair as The Human placed it on the floor. The faces staring out from within the plastic bucket were unnerving—a manic tiger, a despondent donkey, a bear of questionable intelligence. They were prisoners, and I, a connoisseur of silence and shadow, was their only witness. The Human called them "bath toys," a term that sent a shudder through my luxurious gray fur. I knew what happened in the Echoing Chamber of Tiles and Water. Nothing good. I approached with the practiced stealth of a predator investigating a strange new fungus. The Human had left the room, a fatal error. I circled the yellow prison, sniffing. A faint, sterile plastic smell. I nudged the bucket with my nose. The figures rattled inside, a sound like dry bones. I saw the donkey, Eeyore, his stitched-on gloom a mirror of my own cynicism. He understood. This was not a playground; it was a holding cell. He was not a toy; he was a sacrifice waiting for the water gods. My mission became clear. This was not about play; it was about liberation. Using my head, I managed to tip the bucket onto its side. The lid, a flimsy perforated shield, popped off, and the condemned spilled onto the rug. They were lighter than I expected, hollow. I chose my target: the small, anxious-looking Piglet. I hooked a claw gently into its vinyl ear and began to drag it away from the scene of the future crime, toward the sanctuary beneath the sofa. One by one, I would rescue them from their terrible, splashy fate. I would become their silent, tuxedoed savior. The Human returned and let out a small laugh, gathering the scattered figures and returning them to their yellow pail. "Oh, Pete, you found the new toys!" she cooed, oblivious to my heroic efforts. She sealed their doom by carrying them into the bathroom. I watched from the doorway, a prophet ignored. The product, therefore, fails as a toy for me. It is, however, an excellent catalyst for a dramatic rescue fantasy. As a source of ongoing, low-stakes heroic narrative, it has potential. But as for playability? I will not consort with the condemned.
