Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a box of tiny, two-wheeled contraptions. Marketed under the "Supercross" label, these are apparently replicas of some loud, muddy human spectacle. Each one has a small, brightly-colored plastic man fused to its back and is accompanied by what appears to be a miniature, useless ramp. The die-cast metal construction gives them a satisfying heft, suggesting they would travel a respectable distance when batted from the edge of the coffee table, and the wheels are a definite point of interest. However, the sheer quantity—five of them—is a bit much, and the permanently attached riders are a design flaw, preventing me from properly hunting them as individual prey. This may be a momentary diversion, but it risks cluttering my domain.
Key Features
- FIVE SUPERCROSS BIKES AND RIDERS: These official 1:24 scale die-cast Supercross dirt bikes come with starting gates and pro rider figures attached to their bike. Jumpstart your collection with this exclusive 5-pack bundle
- RIDE LIKE THE PROS: With included removable figures and starting gates, you will feel like you are the rider Hold the figure and bike in your hand to pull of moto whips, jumps and more
- AUTHENTIC RACING REPLICA: Each of the five 1:24 scale Supercross bikes have realistic details, including a metal die-cast motor and forks that make it look like the real thing – only fun size
- COLLECT THEM ALL: Add Adam Enticknap, Chase Sexton, Justin Cooper, Ken Roczen, and Shane McElrath's bikes to your collection with this bundle and bring the excitement of Supercross home
- GREAT GIFTS FOR KIDS: Supercross mini dirt bike toys are hot birthday, holiday, and Christmas gift idea toys for boys Toy dirt bikes and motorcycle toys for kids aged 3 and up
- Includes: 5 Supercross 1:24 Scale Die-Cast Motorcycles (with Rider), 5 Starting Gates
- Covered by the Spin Master Care Commitment. See below for full details
A Tale from Pete the Cat
They arrived during the midafternoon shift change of the sunbeams, a time I reserve for deep contemplation on the structural integrity of the sofa cushions. The human, with all the grace of a falling bookshelf, tore open a cardboard prison and released five brightly-colored effigies, each astride a metal beast with two circular feet. He arranged them on the rug in a perfect, straight line, along with their strange little plastic pedestals. He babbled something about "riders" and "starting gates," but I knew better. These were not toys. These were emissaries. I approached with the dignified caution of a diplomat entering hostile territory. My tail gave a single, dismissive flick. The scent was a mixture of cold factory metal and the faint, dusty smell of the human’s hands. I lowered my nose to the one in the middle, a specimen in red and white identified by the human's chanting as "Ken Roczen." Its plastic rider was frozen in a posture of perpetual forward momentum, his face a blank, emotionless mask. He did not blink. He did not yield. He and his steed were a single, unholy union. The other four stood as silent witnesses. What message did they carry? Was this a declaration of war? A tribute? A test was required. An oracle must pose a question to the fates, and I am the oracle of this carpeted kingdom. With a flick of my paw—a gesture I reserve for testing the winds of fate or displacing an errant dust bunny—I sent the Roczen effigy on its path. It did not simply topple. It rolled. It careened across the hardwood floor with a most satisfying *zzzzzzzzip-skitter-skitter*, its wheels spinning in a blur. The sound echoed beautifully in the quiet room before the messenger crashed silently into the leg of the credenza. It had traveled far. Its journey was swift. I watched its still form for a long moment, then looked back at the remaining four. They waited, poised on their altars. The prophecy was clear: these were not mere toys, but instruments of chaos, worthy conduits for my kinetic meditations. They would serve. Their destiny was to be swatted, chased, and ultimately lost in the dark realms beneath the furniture, each disappearance a sacrifice to the gods of my amusement. The human thought he had brought home a toy; in truth, he had delivered a new set of pawns for my grand, strategic games. They are worthy.
