Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in a moment of questionable judgment that seems to afflict her species with alarming regularity, has presented a device clearly intended for a less sophisticated audience. This "See 'N Say" is a garish plastic disc from Fisher-Price, a brand I associate with the drooling, unsteady bipeds they call "toddlers." It purports to teach animal sounds, a subject on which I am, of course, the household's reigning expert. The mechanism involves a chunky arrow and a lever, which, I admit, presents a certain mechanical curiosity. Pulling it produces a sound corresponding to the selected creature. While the potential for me to repeatedly activate the "Lion" sound to signal my regal displeasure is intriguing, the cacophony of insipid music and poorly rendered animal calls is likely a profound waste of my energy and a direct assault on the serene atmosphere required for my seventeen hours of daily napping.
Key Features
- Interactive early learning toy with 2 pages of animals plus sounds and phrases that teach animal names and their sounds
- Point arrow at animal picture and pull lever to find out its name and hear its sound
- Quiz questions offer toddlers a chance to test their animal knowledge!
- Point arrow to the music note to hear fun songs about the animals.
- Helps strengthen fine motor skills for toddlers and preschool kids ages 18 months and older
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It appeared on the living room rug one Tuesday, a garish sun of yellow plastic that blighted an otherwise perfectly good napping zone. My human knelt, her face alight with the sort of misguided optimism she usually reserves for new brands of "healthy" kibble. She pulled the large, comical lever, and the device let out a strangled "Moooo!" that was an insult to every cow that has ever lived. I flattened my ears, my soft gray fur bristling slightly under my white cravat. A toy for infants. I was being condescended to by a plastic farm. For a day, I ignored it, giving it a wide berth on my patrols and pointedly grooming myself with my back to it. But the lever… it nagged at the back of my mind. It was a clear invitation, a physical manifestation of cause and effect, the very principle by which I operate my world (cause: I sit on human's laptop; effect: I receive immediate attention). During the quiet of the afternoon, with my human occupied by her glowing rectangle in the other room, I approached the thing. It smelled faintly of factory and desperation. I extended a single, well-manicured paw. My initial plan was not to play, but to conduct an experiment. This machine was a primitive communication terminal, and I, a superior intellect, would master it. I hooked a claw under the lever and pulled. A tinny voice chirped, "The pig says 'Oink oink!'" Utterly vulgar. I tried again, nudging the arrow with my nose first. A sheep bleated pathetically. This was not a lexicon befitting a creature of my stature. I scanned the illustrated faces. Dog, frog, horse… all plebeian. Then I saw him. A lion, his mane a bit too tidy, but his expression one of undeniable, if cartoonish, authority. This was the correct dialect. I dedicated the next ten minutes to perfecting the technique. A nudge of the nose to the lion, a swift, decisive pull of the lever with my paw. "ROAR!" The sound was tinny, yes, but the *intent* was pure. When my human returned, she found me not playing, but broadcasting. "ROAR!" I announced my presence. "ROAR!" I declared my dominion over this rug. "ROAR!" I demanded the prompt delivery of a salmon-flavored treat. She laughed, calling me a silly boy, and retrieved the treat bag. She had misunderstood the message but obeyed the command. The device itself is an auditory nightmare, a clumsy tool for a clumsy species. But as a means to an end? It has its uses. It is not a worthy toy, but it can be… operational.
