Pete's Expert Summary
Ah, a product from the 'Smithsonian,' a brand that suggests a certain level of stuffy, educational seriousness that usually spells doom for genuine play. This device is, in essence, a glorified nightlight designed to project dots and pictures onto the ceiling for the benefit of a small human. For a feline of my refined sensibilities, the primary—and perhaps only—point of interest is the promise of a 'rotating star pattern.' This could be a revolutionary development in the field of uncatchable light-prey. However, the mention of static images of planets and nebulae fills me with dread; they sound like terribly boring, non-interactive digital dust bunnies. It's a high-risk, high-reward situation that could either be a cosmic hunting ground or a spectacular waste of my valuable napping time.
Key Features
- A Dual Function Planetarium Projector brings the Nighttime Sky into your room
- A Rotating Star Pattern of the Northern Sky is projected with 24 HD Space images
- Choose HD images of Planets, Nebulae, Moons, Astronaut, Space Craft and Other Celestial Bodies
- Over 50 different image combinations
- Age 8 and Up
- Includes: dual planetarium room planetarium projector pack, image cover, 4 changeable slide discs, 360-degree motorized rotation, 24 HD space images, star pattern of the northern sky, and over 50 different image combinations
- Auto shutoff/electric timer
- Can be used as a nightlight
- Batteries not included
A Tale from Pete the Cat
I was in the midst of a particularly profound nap on the leather ottoman, dreaming of a world made entirely of warm laundry, when the Human returned with a box. He fumbled with the contents, producing a plastic orb of black and blue, a clumsy-looking thing that hummed with a low, grating whir once he fed it batteries. He called it a "planetarium." I called it an impending disappointment. He dimmed the lights, a precursor that can lead to either a cinematic masterpiece on the glowing wall-panel or, more often, some new and foolish antic. Suddenly, the ceiling above me dissolved. Where once there was bland, white plaster, there was now a swirling dome of tiny, brilliant lights. My nap was forgotten. My professional skepticism wavered. These were not the frantic, singular dots of the dreaded laser pointer. This was a silent, sprawling, majestic herd of light-motes, a galaxy of potential prey, all moving with a slow, hypnotic grace. My tail, a barometer of my soul, began to twitch. My eyes, wide and black, drank in the spectacle. I was no longer Pete, the pampered house cat. I was a cosmic jaguar, and the Northern Sky was my new hunting ground. I launched myself onto the high back of the velvet armchair, the prime observation post in the room. From there, I plotted my attack. I watched the constellation he called "Ursa Major" drift lazily toward the crown molding. With a practiced flick of my paw, I tried to snag the lead star. It passed through my pads, of course, an ethereal ghost. Infuriating. And utterly captivating. The quiet whir of the motor was the rhythm of the chase, the heartbeat of this new, silent universe created just for me. This, I decided, was an acceptable form of worship. But my captor, in his infinite ignorance, ruined the moment. He swapped out a small disc, and my universe of infinite, moving targets was replaced by a single, colossal, and offensively static image of a gassy orange sphere. "Look, Pete! It's Jupiter!" he cooed. I stared, unblinking, at the lazy, unmoving blob. It had no thrill, no chase, no purpose. It was a celestial potato. I let out a low, guttural growl of pure disgust and hopped down from my perch, turning my back on the pathetic display. I began to groom my shoulder with theatrical vigor, the ultimate expression of feline boredom. He must have sensed my critique. The foolish planet vanished, and my swirling star-field returned. The hunt was back on. The machine is flawed, noisy, and its secondary functions are an insult to any creature with a predator's soul. But the primary function, the grand, rotating cosmos on the ceiling… that is a thing of beauty. For that alone, the planetarium is deemed worthy. It may stay. For now.
