Pete's Expert Summary
It appears my human has brought home a vessel of deception. This "Smart Counting Cookies" contraption from a brand called "Learning Resources" is a plastic jar filled with inedible, numbered discs masquerading as treats. Its supposed purpose is to teach a lesser being—likely a toddler, given the primary colors and general lack of sophistication—the rudimentary concept of counting. While the jar itself presents a certain gravitational appeal for a good shove off the kitchen counter, and the small, flat cookies might have some potential for being batted into the dark abyss under the fridge, the entire premise is an affront. I am a cat of refined taste; my time is far too valuable to be wasted on remedial mathematics or engaging with objects that don't crinkle, squeak, or contain catnip.
Key Features
- Children learn to recognize, count, and compare numbers with soft, plastic Counting Cookies
- The cookies have raised chocolate chips so children can use their sense of touch to count how many chocolate chips are on the cookie
- Set includes plastic cookie jar containing 11 cookies with numerals 0-10 printed on the bottom and corresponding number of counting chips on top
- Cookies measure 1¾ inch in diameter and jar measures 6½ inch H
- GIVE THE GIFT OF LEARNING: Whether you’re shopping for holidays, birthdays, or just because, toys from Learning Resources help you discover new learning fun every time you give a gift! Ideal gift for Halloween, Christmas, Stocking Stuffers, Easter or even for Homeschool.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The intrusion came, as it so often does, during my mid-afternoon strategic nap in the primary sunbeam. The human, with all the subtlety of a falling bookcase, knelt beside me, holding a garish plastic cylinder. "Look, Pete! Cookies!" The word, usually a herald of joyous, tuna-flavored possibility, was a lie. The smell that wafted from the jar was not of fish or fowl, but of a factory. It was the sterile scent of disappointment. I offered only a twitch of my ear to acknowledge this sacrilege. Unfazed, the human unscrewed the bright red lid and tipped the contents onto the rug. Ten plastic discs clattered in a dull, uninspiring pile. She picked one up, a brown circle with raised bumps, and pushed it toward my nose. "See, Pete? This one has three chocolate chips! Can you count them? One... two... three!" I stared at her, then gave a slow blink, the highest form of feline contempt. I know what three is. It is the number of seconds it takes for me to lose interest in this nonsense. But then, she left them there. The pile of inert discs lay abandoned on the Persian rug, a monument to flawed gift-giving. Boredom is a powerful motivator, so I rose, stretched languidly, and sauntered over. I nudged one with my nose. It was the one with seven bumps, not that I was counting. I was merely assessing its texture. I gave it a soft pat with my paw. To my surprise, it skittered across the floor with impressive speed, its plastic base gliding smoothly over the wood. This... this had potential. A chase began. I stalked, I pounced, I sent the disc flying with a well-aimed swat, finally cornering it beneath the velvet armchair. It was a passable diversion. The true revelation came later. As I sat grooming, contemplating the disc's capture, my gaze fell upon the empty jar and its discarded red lid. The human had left them separate. The jar was a transparent tube, a perfect vessel. The lid was a challenge. A puzzle. I leaped onto the coffee table and began my work. Could I fit the lid back on? Could I knock the jar over without it shattering? Could I, perhaps, put one of the *other*, more worthy toys *inside* the jar and seal it, creating my own personal treasure vault? The cookies, I concluded, were irrelevant. They were merely the ammunition, the mundane filling for a far superior toy. The real prize was the container. The Learning Resources company thought they had created a tool for teaching numbers. What they had actually created, for a mind as advanced as my own, was a rudimentary physics experiment and a primitive puzzle box. For that, and that alone, it earned a flicker of my approval. The humans will never understand its true purpose. Let them think I'm counting.
