Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to believe these flat, un-pounceable plastic squares are a "toy." As far as I can deduce, they are inert slices of plastic that are utterly useless on their own, requiring a separate, humming piece of machinery to function. Apparently, they are vessels for stories, designed to pacify the smaller, louder human with tales told in a distinctly British accent. The primary benefit, from my point of view, is the potential for uninterrupted silence, which would free up valuable sunbeams for my napping schedule. However, the content itself—seven hours of humans talking about "adventures" that don't involve stalking a particularly juicy spider—seems a dreadful waste of electricity. I overheard the humans mention the wider Yoto system has "sleep soundscapes," which is the only feature that piques my professional interest.
Key Features
- THE CLASSICS COLLECTION: Immerse yourself in a world of imagination, adventure and self-discovery in this collection of classic stories, retold by Yoto.
- IN THE BOX: Pack of 5 audiobook cards; Author: Various; Read by: Various; Language: English; Accent: UK; Running Time: 7 hours; Ages 8+
- EASY TO SET UP & USE: Simply pop an audio card into the Yoto Player or Mini (sold separately) to play & remove to stop. Use the dials to adjust the volume & tracks. Alternatively, control the device via the free Yoto App!
- KID-FRIENDLY WITH PARENTAL CONTROL: Enjoy hours of screen-free entertainment with the Yoto Player & Mini. All content is safe & has been specially chosen & created with children in mind. No cameras. No mics. No ads.
- CONTENT THAT GROWS WITH KIDS' MINDS: Explore 1000+ Yoto cards of bestselling novels, music, activities, free podcasts, radio, sleep soundscapes, timers or even create content with a Make Your Own card!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived, as they so often do, and was immediately claimed by the small human. It was a sterile white thing that hummed with a low, offensive thrum. Then came the plastic wafers. The human slotted one in, and a voice, crisp and foreign like the man on that nature program I'm not allowed to watch, began to drone on. I sighed, settling into the plush folds of my favorite blanket for a nap of deep and meaningful protest. But then, I saw it. A flicker. Near the leg of the coffee table, a faint shimmer, the color of old parchment. I opened one eye. It was gone. My nap could wait; professional surveillance was now required. The story was about a secret garden, or some such nonsense. As the narrator described the "rustle of ivy," I saw it again. This time, a translucent green tendril, woven from nothing but sound and light, snaked its way up the side of the bookshelf before dissolving into motes of dust. The small human saw nothing, their face a mask of dull fascination. But I saw it all. When the voice spoke of a robin with a "bright red breast," a ghostly bird, shimmering like a heat haze, landed on the lampshade. It didn't chirp; its presence was a silent echo, a phantom born from the story. This wasn't a storyteller. It was a conjuring box. My initial disdain for the device curdled into a wary respect. This was not a toy to be batted or chewed. This was a portal. Each plastic card was a key to a different dimension of specters. When the story changed to one about a railway, the faint, ghostly chuff of a steam engine puffed through the hallway. I didn't attack these apparitions. They were harmless, ephemeral, and frankly, far too much effort to chase. Instead, I took up a post on the arm of the sofa, a silent, gray-furred warden. My job was no longer merely to nap and judge; it was to ensure these story-ghosts kept to their designated haunting grounds and didn't, for instance, try to perch on the good curtains. The Yoto device, therefore, is not for playing. It is for watching. It is a window into a world of harmless phantoms that only a creature of my refined senses can perceive. While I still maintain the plastic cards themselves are an affront to good design, the resulting spectral theater is a moderate, if bizarre, improvement over staring at a blank wall. It is worthy, not of my paws, but of my vigilance. And for that, it may remain. For now.