Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a collection of what appear to be small, hard-shelled beetles with wheels. The packaging claims these are "Hot Wheels," which is a ridiculous name as they are decidedly room temperature. They are made of metal, meaning they lack the satisfying crunch of a real insect and would be most unpleasant to chew. Their primary appeal, I suspect, is their potential for skittering across the hardwood floor when swatted with sufficient force. However, they make no noise, have no feathers, and are not filled with catnip. While the possibility of sending one careening under the sofa holds a certain appeal, they seem more likely to become inconvenient, toe-stubbing clutter for the clumsy human than a source of lasting entertainment for a cat of my refined sensibilities.
Key Features
- Race into a Hot Wheels collection with a 5-pack of 1:64 scale vehicles..
- Each die-cast toy car or truck features authentic details that kids and collectors love.
- Five-packs have cool themes like X-Raycers, Mud Studs, Nightburnerz or HW Getaways.
- With so many cool race cars, hot rods, wagons, pick-ups or rescue vehicles, they'll want to get them all. (Each five-pack sold separately.)
- Makes a great toy for any occasion for collectors and kids 3 years old and up.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The human called it a "Surprise Pack," which I find is often their word for "I had no idea what I was buying." From the clear plastic window, five garish intruders stared out with unblinking, painted-on headlights. They were an odd assortment: a lurid green thing with exaggerated fenders, a boxy blue truck, and something long and red that looked like a particularly aggressive insect. I gave a dismissive flick of my tail, the white tip twitching in annoyance, and turned to groom a perfectly acceptable patch of gray fur on my shoulder. This was beneath me. Then the ceremony began. The human, with all the delicacy of a falling bookcase, tore the cardboard prison asunder. He selected the red one and placed it on the polished floor of the great hallway. It just sat there, a silent, crimson affront to the natural order. He then gave it a gentle push. It did not tumble or wobble like a proper toy; it *glided*. It shot forward on its tiny wheels, a silent, friction-less streak that covered ten feet in the blink of an eye before coming to a soft stop against the baseboard. My grooming ceased mid-lick. My head swiveled, ears locked forward. What sorcery was this? This was not the clumsy scampering of a mouse, nor the frantic buzzing of a fly. It was a new kind of movement: alien, swift, and utterly silent. Later that evening, long after the human had retired to his chambers to stare at his larger glowing rectangle, I crept from my velvet cushion. The five intruders were parked in a neat line near the couch. They were cold to the touch, their metal shells chilling the soft pads of my paws. I extended a single, curious claw and hooked the blue truck. I dragged it back, a subtle *scraaaape* echoing in the quiet room. This was not prey to be hunted. This was a stone to be skated, a puck to be slid. I drew my paw back and gave it a firm, calculated *thwack*. The truck shot across the floor, ricocheted off a table leg with a satisfying *clank*, and spun into the leg of a dining chair (*tonk*). It was a symphony of chaos conducted by a single swat of my paw. This was a game of geometry and acoustics, a test of my ability to predict angles and orchestrate collisions. I spent the next hour mastering the art, sending each vehicle on a unique, clattering trajectory of my own design. They were not worthy of a hunt, no. But as instruments in my own private orchestra of mayhem? They were, I must admit, quite exceptional. One by one, I herded them into my hoard under the chaise lounge, where they now rest with my favorite milk-jug ring and a stolen pen cap. They have been deemed worthy. For now.
