Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in their infinite and questionable wisdom, has acquired a plastic gauntlet. Apparently, it is a "Cosmic Morpher," which allows the wearer to pretend they are one of the loud, brightly colored simpletons from that show on the glowing box. It flashes, it makes noises, and—most suspiciously—it claims to "listen" to the television and react. While the cacophony of lights and pre-programmed battle cries is an obvious affront to any civilized being's nap schedule, I must confess a flicker of curiosity. A device that listens? Perhaps it could be trained to recognize the specific frequency of a treat bag being opened. More likely, it is a garish waste of batteries, designed to make a flailing human even less predictable and therefore more likely to step on my tail.
Key Features
- SCANS SOUNDS FROM THE SHOW: When activated, the Cosmic Morpher roleplay toy will “listen” to Power Rangers episodes playing on your tv, tablet, and more and react to what it “hears”
- CHOOSE YOUR RANGER COLOR: Tap the Cosmic Fury Orb in the center of the morpher to cycle through Ranger colors and choose your favorite, then hear their voice
- LIGHTS & SOUNDS: Press the action buttons on the front of the morpher to activate fighting sounds and flashes
- INSPIRED BY POWER RANGERS DINO FURY: The 30th season of Power Rangers finds the Dino Fury Rangers in space, battling the evil Lord Zedd
- LOOK FOR OTHER MORPHINOMINAL KIDS ROLE PLAY TOYS AND COSTUMES: Including kids masks, costume role play weapons, and more. Each sold separately, subject to availability
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in a box far more interesting than its contents. After my human liberated the plastic shackle, they promptly strapped it to their wrist and began waving their arm about like a malfunctioning garden sprinkler. I watched from my perch atop the sofa's armrest, my tail giving a slow, judgmental thump-thump-thump against the upholstery. They jabbed at it, and it produced a series of shrill zaps and flashes of colored light. An utter nuisance. Then, they turned on the television to that dreadful Power Rangers program, and the gauntlet began to chime and glow in sync with the on-screen chaos. It was "listening." I narrowed my eyes. A spy in my own living room. Later, the human committed the cardinal sin of leaving their new toy on the coffee table while they went to procure more of their flavored fizzy water. The gauntlet lay dormant, its central orb dark. This was my chance. I leaped silently onto the table, sniffing the strange, sterile plastic. I let out a low, interrogative "mrrrow?" Nothing. I tapped the central orb with my nose, just as I'd seen the human do. It cycled through a garish rainbow—red, blue, green, pink—each color accompanied by a different human's shout. Tasteless. But the listening function... that was the puzzle. I sat back on my haunches, observing the silent room. The television was off. The gauntlet was quiet. What kind of sound was it listening for? Not my voice, clearly. It was calibrated for explosions and laser blasts. I looked around for an appropriate analogue. My gaze fell upon the human's metallic keys, resting near the edge of the table. With a delicate, calculated push of my paw, I sent them skittering off the edge. They hit the hardwood floor with a sharp, complex *jangle-clatter-skkksh*. Instantly, the gauntlet on the table burst to life, flashing a victorious green and emitting a triumphant fanfare. A slow smile spread across my feline face. I understood now. It wasn't listening for context, but for a specific profile of sound—sharp, percussive, chaotic. It was a simpleton's device, easily fooled. I spent the next ten minutes conducting a series of experiments, knocking a pen onto the floor (a satisfying blue flash), batting a crinkle ball (a flurry of red lights), and eliciting a full-spectrum response by merely pushing a glass of water to its doom. The resulting mess was the human's problem. I had cracked the code. The toy was still loud and obnoxious, but it was no longer just a nuisance. It was a tool. An instrument I could play to orchestrate my own particular brand of chaos. It has, for now, proven its worth.
