Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a large, offensively vibrant plastic box on wheels, a replica of that "Mystery Machine" from the noisy picture-box show with the talking dog. It's from Playmobil, a brand I associate with an endless supply of tiny, losable plastic bits that are only fun for about five seconds before they disappear under the sofa, becoming future dust-bunny treasures. This particular contraption comes with three of the less-interesting humans from the gang—the one with the silly ascot, the purple-clad one, and the bespectacled nerd. I see no sign of the dog or the perpetually hungry one, a critical oversight. It supposedly has an "illuminated monitor" inside, which sounds vaguely interesting as a potential source of blinky lights to stare at, but the whole thing seems engineered for the clumsy hands of a small human, not the sophisticated, lightning-fast paws of a predator. It's likely destined to become a stationary dust collector rather than a vessel for any true adventure.
Key Features
- Time to solve some mysteries with the members of Mystery, Inc
- In the SCOOBY-DOO! Mystery Machine! This psychedelic vehicle always has everything you need for your ghost-hunting adventures
- Open the van’s rear doors to reveal an illuminated monitor, where you can insert your ghost cards to learn more about the mystery
- Set includes Fred, Daphne, Velma, map, flashlight, spyglass, and other accessories
- Recommended for ages five years and up
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived on a Tuesday, a day I had designated for a sixteen-hour nap in a particularly compelling sunbeam. My human, oblivious as ever, tore open its cardboard prison, releasing the scent of fresh, sterile plastic into my carefully curated air space. He assembled it with a series of dissatisfying clicks and snaps, placing the final product—a garish green-and-blue monstrosity—in the center of the living room rug. It was an affront to the room's neutral-toned decor. Three stiff-limbed figures were placed beside it, their painted-on smiles mocking my very existence. This, I deduced, was not a toy. It was an invasion. My first move was reconnaissance. I approached from the flank, using the leg of the coffee table as cover, my gray tuxedo fur providing excellent camouflage against the beige carpeting. I observed the human demonstrating its features. The back doors swung open with a cheap-sounding clack. He inserted a small, flat card into a slot inside, and a faint blue light flickered to life, illuminating the face of some cartoon phantom. A communication device, clearly. These plastic homunculi were spies, and this was their mobile command center. Their mission: to observe my napping habits and report back to some shadowy anti-feline agency. I could not let this stand. The operation had to be swift and silent. I waited for the human to be distracted by his glowing rectangle before I struck. The one called "Fred" was the first to go. A single, precise bat of my paw sent him flying, his ridiculous ascot offering no protection as he skidded under the entertainment center. Next was "Daphne." She was knocked sideways, tumbling into the dark abyss beneath the armchair. That left only "Velma," the supposed brains of the operation. She stood defiantly by the open van door. I stalked closer, gave her a deliberate nudge, and watched with grim satisfaction as she tipped backward into the vehicle, disappearing into the blue glow of her own infernal machine. With the crew neutralized, the vehicle was mine. I sniffed the empty driver's seat, then hopped onto the roof. The plastic was smooth and cool beneath my paws. From this new vantage point, I had a strategic overview of the entire living room—the doorway to the kitchen, the path to the food bowl, the high ground of the sofa. The psychedelic flowers painted on the side were tacky, but the structural integrity was sound. It was not a toy, and it certainly wasn't a "Mystery Machine." It was a trophy. A captured enemy outpost, now repurposed as Fort Pete. It would serve as a constant reminder to any other plastic spies that this territory was under my undisputed, and very fluffy, control.
