Pete's Expert Summary
Ah, so my human requires my expert opinion on this... box of colorful plastic. Very well. From my perch atop the heated blanket, I can see that this is an elaborate system of interlocking cubes meant to distract the small human with something called "math." It seems to be based on some noisy cartoon they watch. For them, it’s about counting and learning, which sounds dreadfully tedious. For me, however, the appeal lies in the sheer quantity of small, lightweight, eminently bat-able components. One hundred individual cubes? Fifty-nine faceplates? Eleven tiny figurines called "Numberlings"? This is not a learning tool; it is a potential avalanche of chaos, a treasure trove of objects to be slid under the sofa, and a glorious mess waiting to happen. The "learning" part is irrelevant, but the playability of the individual parts shows some promise.
Key Features
- OFFICIALLY LICENSED NUMBERBLOCKS TOYS: From the friendly TV series Numberblocks, an award-winning show from BBC, the Numberblocks crew brings math learning to life with the officially licensed MathLink Cubes Numberblocks 1-10 Activity Set!
- HANDS-ON NUMBER TOYS: Children see how numbers really work as they build their own Numberblocks from One to Ten and master key early learning math skills such as counting, adding, subtracting, multiplying, and dividing through hands-on discovery and play.
- COUNTING TOYS FOR KIDS AGES 3-5: Each connecting cubes set can build the friendly characters from Numberblocks so you can follow along with the show or play on your own!
- PRESCHOOL LEARNING TOYS: Each of the 30 Numberblocks math learning activities are linked to the episodes on TV and can be followed along using the Numberblocks counting cubes.
- EASTER GIFTS FOR KIDS: Each set includes 100 MathLink Numberblocks Cubes, 59 faceplates, 54 stickers, 11 Numberlings, 11 Character Cards, 15 double-sided Write 'N' Wipe Activity Cards, 1 stand for Zero and 1 Activity Guide.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The new offering arrived not in a crinkly bag or with the tell-tale scent of catnip, but in a loud, rectangular box wielded by the small human. It was an intrusion of primary colors and rattling plastic that disturbed the sacred silence of my afternoon nap. I watched from the arm of the sofa, tail twitching in irritation, as the contents were spilled across the rug like a geometric disaster. Cubes, strange flat faces, tiny figures, and stiff cards littered my domain. The humans called them "Numberblocks," jabbering about episodes and counting. I called it what it was: evidence of a crime against tranquility. Once the initial flurry of excitement subsided and the small human was momentarily distracted by a juice box, I descended to conduct my investigation. The scene was worse up close. A hundred plastic cubes, each a garish color, lay in wait. I approached a yellow one, sniffing it delicately. It smelled of nothing but cold, sterile plastic. Disappointing. Then, I extended a single, perfect white claw and gave it a tentative tap. The cube shot across the hardwood floor, its journey a satisfying *skitter-skitter-thump* against the baseboard. Well now. That was something. My gaze then fell upon a tiny purple figurine, a "Numberling Two," they had called it. It stood there, a silent, smiling indictment of good taste. Its potential as a victim was immense. My cynicism began to war with my predatory instincts. The small human returned and began clicking the blocks together, forming a monstrous, ten-block-tall blue creature with a cartoon face. It was an affront to aesthetics, a tower of pure tackiness. But as the small human constructed, a single red block was left unattended. This was my moment. With a flick of my paw, it was gone, vanished into the dark realm beneath the entertainment center. The small human, engrossed in their mathematical monstrosity, noticed nothing. I felt a thrill, the quiet satisfaction of a successful heist. I retired to my observation post, feigning sleep but watching with keen interest. The humans believe they have purchased an educational tool. They are fools. They have purchased an inventory. A hundred little pieces for me to "curate." A dozen tiny figures to hunt in the dead of night. They think they are teaching the small human to count. In reality, they are teaching me the art of strategic relocation and the physics of small-object trajectory. This box of blocks is not for them. It is for me. And my work has just begun. The verdict: a resounding success, though for entirely the wrong reasons.
