Production Assistant Jupiter says, “You’ll pay for this foolishness in belly rubs.”

Is it not foolish for one of humankind’s creations to claim perfection? Are our works not destined to be beautifully flawed, lest we, in our Icarian hubris, overstep our mortal boundaries in selfish pursuit of godliness?

Something tells me Kellogg’s cutesy-tootsy Caticorn knows nothing about the myths of yore. If it did, we’d likely be gorging ourselves next to Medusa Bran* instead of some declawed creature dreamt up to steal Lisa Frank’s market share. It’s clear from the box alone that not only is Caticorn Cereal kind of unoriginal: its claim of “Berry Purrr-fection” sets a bar so high, it’s Herculean—especially for just another mixed fruit cereal.

As of right now, Caticorn Cereal at least has exclusivity going for it. It’s only available at Sam’s Club for the time being, before rolling out to other stores. But determining whether it’s worth buying a massive, 2.3lb Pandora’s box of it (that contains two cinderblock-sized boxes of its own) is up to my humble taste buds and limited pantry real estate.

*Inspired by my recent cereal mix idea, Medusa Crunch would combine Oreo O’s with gummy worms and freeze-dried pudding pieces for a truly stunning flavor combo. Just call me Purrr-seus.

First things first, my mouth is agape and offended at the sheer audacity of Caticorn Cereal’s boasted “Glittery Sparkles.” Not only are these pink rings far less lustrous than rose quartz, but they don’t even burp clouds of irremovable candy confetti all over my carpet—a soul-wrenching side effect that’s nevertheless vital to any glitter experience.

Instead, Caticorn rings just have chunky rainbow beauty marks that, alas, can’t save the cereal’s flavor from Berry Purrr-gatory.

Seriously: if a can of Cran-Raspberry La Croix was stuck in limbo, it might taste something like this. With prevailing notes of “sugar” and “de-honeyed graham cracker,” the majority of any Caticorn Cereal spoonful tastes much like Kellogg’s recent Peeps Cereal. That is to say, its range of sweetness is extremely monotone. And each bite’s brief fruity afterword flies by so faintly and daintily that its hard to even assess any constituent berries. Were I to boil it down (at which point it would look like hot NyQuil and Fruit Gushers), I guess you could call it part raspberry and part blackberry, with just a whisker’s worth of strawberry whisked in.

In other words: a diluted version of a tried-and-true combo that’s apt to bore you into a catnap.

If even he won’t touch it, that should tell you something.

By the time it hits milk, Caticorn Cereal has already put all its paws on the table. Milk simply can’t float any fruitiness to the top before the simpler ingrediential duet of sugar and raspberry is all but drowned out its own calcium-enriched creaminess.

Not unlike a cat, who must ignore the kibble he head-butts into his water dish as it swells and erodes.

If I can pay Caticorn Cereal a compliment, it’s that this high-fluff stuff’s still better than Fruity Lucky Charms, simply by virtue of not tasting like lemon-peppered popcorn. Caticorn Cereal isn’t awful—in fact, it’s exactly the type of cereal I’d mindlessly munch, if and only if it were placed directly in front of me…and gestured at with a laser pointer. But this is pretty much a sugar-watered down Very Berry Cheerios, failing to reach even the same novel nuance as Unicorn Cereal.

If you like the kind of no-surprises, consistently tame flavor profile of, say, cream of wheat or actual cat food, I’d still wait until you see Caticorn Cereal reach smaller-volume shelves. Because I’m sure you’re a good person, and you deserve better than 36 consecutive bowls of cryptid chow.

The Bowl: Kellogg’s Caticorn Cereal

The Breakdown: Aggressively inoffensive and fruity by vague aura alone, this is an ultimately forgettable cereal redeemed only by its ongoing potential as a party cereal that you leave out in a bowl with like, dried cherries so Book Club doesn’t eat all your Toast Crunches.

The Bottom Line: 5 Dirt Pie Demogorgons out of 10