Pete's Expert Summary
It appears the human has brought another brightly colored monument to poor financial decisions into my domain. This one is a large, blue, spiky creature that allegedly talks. They call it "Sonic." Standing at a rather impertinent twelve inches, its main purpose seems to be making a racket with over thirty different noises and flashing its eyes and quills like a miniature emergency vehicle. My human will undoubtedly poke its chest and feet to trigger these outbursts. While the flashing lights might offer a momentary diversion from the crushing boredom of domestic life, I suspect the "humorous phrases" will quickly prove to be an unforgivable intrusion on the sanctity of my nap schedule. Its value is, at best, questionable.
Key Features
- 12” scale movie-styled figure inspired by the Sonic the Hedgehog movies
- Features 30+ iconic and humorous phrases and sounds from the movies
- Light-up eyes and quills by pressing Sonic’s chest
- Press Sonic’s hands and sneakers to activate phrases and sounds!
- Suggested for kids ages 3 years and up
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The dame—my human—walked in with a box under her arm, the kind of box that always spelled trouble. She set it on the rug, a big, flashy thing with a picture of some blue character with an attitude problem. A few minutes of undignified tearing later, and there it was, standing on my turf. Twelve inches of silent, blue plastic, its oversized eyes staring into the middle distance. It was a new player in town, and I, Pete, was going to find out its angle. I circled it slow, my tail twitching like a faulty wire. It smelled of a factory far away, a clean, sterile scent that told me nothing. This one was a professional. My investigation began with a cautious pat. I extended a single, perfect claw and tapped its red-and-white sneaker. "Gotta go fast!" the thing blared, the voice tinny and full of false bravado. I recoiled. A talker, eh? And a fast one, apparently, though it hadn't budged. This case was getting complicated. I decided to lie in wait, observing from the strategic high ground of the sofa arm. The dame, my unwitting informant, approached the subject. She gave its chest a firm press, just as I knew she would. That's when the perp showed its true colors. Its eyes and the ridiculous quills on its head lit up with a blinding, electric blue. "Time to crack some heads! Uh, I mean, eggs!" it squawked. The lights strobed, painting the room in a ghastly glow. It was a light show, a cheap distraction. This "Sonic" wasn't a rival for affection or a new alpha. It was a decoy, a flashy piece of evidence designed to lead the authorities—me—astray. Its entire existence was a loud, bright misdirection. I hopped down, the case closed. The blue hedgehog was no threat. It was a court jester, a bauble meant to entertain the simple-minded warden of this fine establishment. As evening fell and the dame activated its lights again, I found my purpose for it. The strobing blue quills cast long, dancing shadows across the floorboards—perfect, unpredictable targets for a seasoned hunter. It was a terrible conversationalist and an even worse roommate, but as a silent, shadow-casting accomplice for my nightly patrol? It would do. For now.
