Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with this... object. The "VTech Kidi Star DJ Mixer." It appears to be a garish plastic console with a spinning disk, a multitude of buttons, and a penchant for flashing lights and disruptive sounds. Ostensibly for a small, uncoordinated human, it promises to create a "dazzling DJ party," which I can only assume is a euphemism for a nap-shattering cacophony. While the spinning platter might offer a moment's diversion for a less sophisticated feline, the sheer volume of electronic noise and the lack of any soft, chewable, or chasable components suggest this is an utter waste of my elegantly refined time. Its only potential value lies in its ability to be knocked off a high surface, a task for which it seems adequately, if not ideally, shaped.
Key Features
- Mix and jam with a DJ turntable, 15 built-in songs and 2000+ sound combinations
- Create custom sound effects to mix onto songs, then save your music samples and add light effects for a dazzling DJ party
- Connect to your music playlist via BLUETOOTH wireless technology or audio cable; play your mash-ups through the built-in speaker or plug in headphones (music player, audio cable and headphones not included)
- Fine tune your DJ talent by playing along with a built-in music game
- Intended for ages 5+ years; requires 4 AA batteries; batteries included for demo purposes only; new batteries recommended for regular use
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The peace of my afternoon sunbeam was shattered by its arrival. The Human, my primary attendant, tore open a box to reveal the plastic monstrosity, a riot of primary colors that offended my carefully curated gray-and-white aesthetic. She pressed a button, and a tinny, upbeat synthesizer track exploded into the quiet room, punctuated by flashing blue and red lights. I flattened my ears and issued a low growl from my perch on the velvet chaise. This was not a toy; it was an assault. She had the audacity to place it on the floor and gesture toward it with an encouraging chirp. I responded by pointedly turning my back and commencing a thorough cleaning of my shoulder, the ultimate expression of feline disdain. Later, under the cloak of twilight, my curiosity got the better of my principles. The house was still, The Human occupied with her glowing rectangle in the other room. I slunk from the chaise and approached the silent offender. It smelled of plastic and desperation. I gave the turntable a tentative pat with one soft paw. It spun freely, which was mildly satisfying. Emboldened, I placed my front paws on the console to get a better look at the buttons. My weight, perfectly distributed as it is, depressed a large orange pad. A voice shrieked, "SCRATCH IT UP!" followed by the sound of a record being violently scraped. I leaped back, fur on end, my tail a bottlebrush of alarm. From the other room, I heard The Human call, "Pete, you're playing with it! So cute!" The sound of her approaching footsteps was followed by the one thing that could pacify my rattled nerves: the crinkle of the treat bag. She knelt down, offered me a salmon-flavored morsel, and scratched me behind the ears. A sudden, brilliant realization dawned on me. This machine, this horrible, noisy thing... it was a bell. A bell I could ring to summon my staff. The next morning, a full hour before my scheduled breakfast, I strode to the DJ mixer with purpose. I gave the "scratch" pad a firm, deliberate press. "SCRATCH IT UP!" it screamed into the morning calm. Within seconds, The Human appeared, looking sleepy but resigned. "Alright, alright, you little tyrant, I'm coming," she mumbled, stumbling toward the kitchen. I watched her go, a slow blink of triumph in my eyes. The toy itself was an abomination, an insult to good taste. But as a remote-controlled human obedience device? It was, without a doubt, the most magnificent invention I had ever encountered. It was absolutely worthy.
